the photoplay a psychological study by hugo mÜnsterberg d. appleton and company new york london contents introduction chapter page . the outer development of the moving pictures . the inner development of the moving pictures part i. the psychology of the photoplay . depth and movement . attention . memory and imagination . emotions part ii. the esthetics of the photoplay . the purpose of art . the means of the various arts . the means of the photoplay . the demands of the photoplay . the function of the photoplay introduction chapter i the outer development of the moving pictures it is arbitrary to say where the development of the moving pictures began and it is impossible to foresee where it will lead. what invention marked the beginning? was it the first device to introduce movement into the pictures on a screen? or did the development begin with the first photographing of various phases of moving objects? or did it start with the first presentation of successive pictures at such a speed that the impression of movement resulted? or was the birthday of the new art when the experimenters for the first time succeeded in projecting such rapidly passing pictures on a wall? if we think of the moving pictures as a source of entertainment and esthetic enjoyment, we may see the germ in that camera obscura which allowed one glass slide to pass before another and thus showed the railway train on one slide moving over the bridge on the other glass plate. they were popular half a century ago. on the other hand if the essential feature of the moving pictures is the combination of various views into one connected impression, we must look back to the days of the phenakistoscope which had scientific interest only; it is more than eighty years since it was invented. in america, which in most recent times has become the classical land of the moving picture production, the history may be said to begin with the days of the chicago exposition, , when edison exhibited his kinetoscope. the visitor dropped his nickel into a slot, the little motor started, and for half a minute he saw through the magnifying glass a girl dancing or some street boys fighting. less than a quarter of a century later twenty thousand theaters for moving pictures are open daily in the united states and the millions get for their nickel long hours of enjoyment. in edison's small box into which only one at a time could peep through the hole, nothing but a few trite scenes were exhibited. in those twenty thousand theaters which grew from it all human passions and emotions find their stage, and whatever history reports or science demonstrates or imagination invents comes to life on the screen of the picture palace. yet this development from edison's half-minute show to the "birth of a nation" did not proceed on american soil. that slot box, after all, had little chance for popular success. the decisive step was taken when pictures of the edison type were for the first time thrown on a screen and thus made visible to a large audience. that step was taken in london. the moving picture theater certainly began in england. but there was one source of the stream springing up in america, which long preceded edison: the photographic efforts of the englishman muybridge, who made his experiments in california as early as . his aim was to have photographs of various phases of a continuous movement, for instance of the different positions which a trotting horse is passing through. his purpose was the analysis of the movement into its component parts, not the synthesis of a moving picture from such parts. yet it is evident that this too was a necessary step which made the later triumphs possible. if we combine the scientific and the artistic efforts of the new and the old world, we may tell the history of the moving pictures by the following dates and achievements. in the year a doctor roget described in the "philosophical transactions" an interesting optical illusion of movement, resulting, for instance, when a wheel is moving along behind a fence of upright bars. the discussion was carried much further when it was taken up a few years later by a master of the craft, by faraday. in the _journal of the royal institute of great britain_ he writes in "on a peculiar class of optical deceptions." he describes there a large number of subtle experiments in which cogwheels of different forms and sizes were revolving with different degrees of rapidity and in different directions. the eye saw the cogs of the moving rear wheel through the passing cogs of the front wheel. the result is the appearance of movement effects which do not correspond to an objective motion. the impression of backward movement can arise from forward motions, quick movement from slow, complete rest from combinations of movements. for the first time the impression of movement was synthetically produced from different elements. for those who fancy that the "new psychology" with its experimental analysis of psychological experiences began only in the second half of the nineteenth century or perhaps even with the foundation of the psychological laboratories, it might be enlightening to study those discussions of the early thirties. the next step leads us much further. in the fall of stampfer in germany and plateau in france, independent of each other, at the same time designed a device by which pictures of objects in various phases of movement give the impression of continued motion. both secured the effect by cutting fine slits in a black disk in the direction of the radius. when the disk is revolved around its center, these slits pass the eye of the observer. if he holds it before a mirror and on the rear side of the disk pictures are drawn corresponding to the various slits, the eye will see one picture after another in rapid succession at the same place. if these little pictures give us the various stages of a movement, for instance a wheel with its spokes in different positions, the whole series of impressions will be combined into the perception of a revolving wheel. stampfer called them the stroboscopic disks, plateau the phenakistoscope. the smaller the slits, the sharper the pictures. uchatius in vienna constructed an apparatus as early as to throw these pictures of the stroboscopic disks on the wall. horner followed with the daedaleum, in which the disk was replaced by a hollow cylinder which had the pictures on the inside and holes to watch them from without while the cylinder was in rotation. from this was developed the popular toy which as the zoötrope or bioscope became familiar everywhere. it was a revolving black cylinder with vertical slits, on the inside of which paper strips with pictures of moving objects in successive phases were placed. the clowns sprang through the hoop and repeated this whole movement with every new revolution of the cylinder. in more complex instruments three sets of slits were arranged above one another. one set corresponded exactly to the distances of the pictures and the result was that the moving object appeared to remain on the same spot. the second brought the slits nearer together; then the pictures necessarily produced an effect as if the man were really moving forward while he performed his tricks. in the third set the slits were further distant from one another than the pictures, and the result was that the picture moved backward. the scientific principle which controls the moving picture world of today was established with these early devices. isolated pictures presented to the eye in rapid succession but separated by interruptions are perceived not as single impressions of different positions, but as a continuous movement. but the pictures of movements used so far were drawn by the pen of the artist. life showed to him everywhere continuous movements; his imagination had to resolve them into various instantaneous positions. he drew the horse race for the zoötrope, but while the horses moved forward, nobody was able to say whether the various pictures of their legs really corresponded to the stages of the actual movements. thus a true development of the stroboscopic effects appeared dependent upon the fixation of the successive stages. this was secured in the early seventies, but to make this progress possible the whole wonderful unfolding of the photographer's art was needed, from the early daguerreotype, which presupposed hours of exposure, to the instantaneous photograph which fixes the picture of the outer world in a small fraction of a second. we are not concerned here with this technical advance, with the perfection of the sensitive surface of the photographic plate. in the photographer's camera had reached a stage at which it was possible to take snapshot pictures. but this alone would not have allowed the photographing of a real movement with one camera, as the plates could not have been exchanged quickly enough to catch the various phases of a short motion. here the work of muybridge sets in. he had a black horse trot or gallop or walk before a white wall, passing twenty-four cameras. on the path of the horse were twenty-four threads which the horse broke one after another and each one released the spring which opened the shutter of an instrument. the movement of the horse was thus analyzed into twenty-four pictures of successive phases; and for the first time the human eye saw the actual positions of a horse's legs during the gallop or trot. it is not surprising that these pictures of muybridge interested the french painters when he came to paris, but fascinated still more the great student of animal movements, the physiologist marey. he had contributed to science many an intricate apparatus for the registration of movement processes. "marey's tambour" is still the most useful instrument in every physiological and psychological laboratory, whenever slight delicate movements are to be recorded. the movement of a bird's wings interested him especially, and at his suggestion muybridge turned to the study of the flight of birds. flying pigeons were photographed in different positions, each picture taken in a five-hundredth part of a second. but marey himself improved the method. he made use of an idea which the astronomer jannsen had applied to the photographing of astronomical processes. jannsen photographed, for instance, the transit of the planet venus across the sun in december, , on a circular sensitized plate which revolved in the camera. the plate moved forward a few degrees every minute. there was room in this way to have eighteen pictures of different phases of the transit on the marginal part of the one plate. marey constructed the apparatus for the revolving disk so that the intervals instead of a full minute became only one-twelfth of a second. on the one revolving disk twenty-five views of the bird in motion could be taken. this brings us to the time of the early eighties. marey remained indefatigable in improving the means for quick successive snapshots with the same camera. human beings were photographed by him in white clothes on a black background. when ten pictures were taken in a second the subtlest motions in their jumping or running could be disentangled. the leading aim was still decidedly a scientific understanding of the motions, and the combination of the pictures into a unified impression of movement was not the purpose. least of all was mere amusement intended. about that time anschütz in germany followed the muybridge suggestions with much success and gave to this art of photographing the movement of animals and men a new turn. he not only photographed the successive stages, but printed them on a long strip which was laid around a horizontal wheel. this wheel is in a dark box and the eye can see the pictures on the paper strip only at the moment when the light of a geissler's tube flashes up. the wheel itself has such electric contacts that the intervals between two flashes correspond to the time which is necessary to move the wheel from one picture to the next. however quickly the wheel may be revolved the lights follow one another with the same rapidity with which the pictures replace one another. during the movement when one picture moves away and another approaches the center of vision all is dark. hence the eye does not see the changes but gets an impression as if the picture remained at the same spot, only moving. the bird flaps its wings and the horse trots. it was really a perfect kinetoscopic instrument. yet its limitations were evident. no movements could be presented but simple rhythmical ones, inasmuch as after one revolution of the wheel the old pictures returned. the marching men appeared very lifelike; yet they could not do anything but march on and on, the circumference of the wheel not allowing more room than was needed for about forty stages of the moving legs from the beginning to the end of the step. if the picture of a motion was to go beyond these simplest rhythmical movements, if persons in action were really to be shown, it would be necessary to have a much larger number of pictures in instantaneous illumination. the wheel principle would have to be given up and a long strip with pictures would be needed. that presupposed a correspondingly long set of exposures and this demand could not be realized as long as the pictures were taken on glass plates. but in that period experiments were undertaken on many sides to substitute a more flexible transparent material for the glass. translucent papers, gelatine, celluloid, and other substances were tried. it is well known that the invention which was decisive was the film which eastman in rochester produced. with it came the great mechanical improvement, the use of the two rollers. one roller holds the long strip of film which is slowly wound over the second, the device familiar to every amateur photographer today. with film photography was gained the possibility not only of securing a much larger number of pictures than marey or anschütz made with their circular arrangements, but of having these pictures pass before the eye illumined by quickly succeeding flashlights for any length of time. moreover, instead of the quick illumination the passing pictures might be constantly lighted. in that case slits must pass by in the opposite direction so that each picture is seen for a moment only, as if it were at rest. this idea is perfectly realized in edison's machine. in edison's kinetoscope a strip of celluloid film forty-five feet in length with a series of pictures each three-quarters of an inch long moved continuously over a series of rolls. the pictures passed a magnifying lens, but between the lens and the picture was a revolving shutter which moved with a speed carefully adjusted to the film. the opening in the shutter was opposite the lens at the moment when the film had moved on three-quarters of an inch. hence the eye saw not the passing of the pictures but one picture after another at the same spot. pretty little scenes could now be acted in half a minute's time, as more than six hundred pictures could be used. the first instrument was built in , and soon after the chicago world's fair it was used for entertainment all over the world. the wheel of anschütz had been widespread too; yet it was considered only as a half-scientific apparatus. with edison's kinetoscope the moving pictures had become a means for popular amusement and entertainment, and the appetite of commercialism was whetted. at once efforts to improve on the edison machine were starting everywhere, and the adjustment to the needs of the wide public was in the foreground. crowning success came almost at the same time to lumière and son in paris and to paul in london. they recognized clearly that the new scheme could not become really profitable on a large scale as long as only one person at a time could see the pictures. both the well-known french manufacturers of photographic supplies and the english engineer considered the next step necessary to be the projection of the films upon a large screen. yet this involved another fundamental change. in the kinetoscope the films passed by continuously. the time of the exposure through the opening in the revolving shutter had to be extremely short in order to give distinct pictures. the slightest lengthening would make the movement of the film itself visible and produce a blurring effect. this time was sufficient for the seeing of the picture; it could not be sufficient for the greatly enlarged view on the wall. too little light passed through to give a distinct image. hence it became essential to transform the continuous movement of the film into an intermittent one. the strip of film must be drawn before the lens by jerking movements so that the real motion of the strip would occur in the periods in which the shutter was closed, while it was at rest for the fraction of time in which the light of the projection apparatus passed through. both lumière and paul overcame this difficulty and secured an intermittent pushing forward of the pictures for three-quarters of an inch, that is for the length of the single photograph. in the spring of paul's theatrograph or animatograph was completed, and in the following year he began his engagement at the alhambra theater, where the novelty was planned as a vaudeville show for a few days but stayed for many a year, since it proved at once an unprecedented success. the american field was conquered by the lumière camera. the eden musée was the first place where this french kinematograph was installed. the enjoyment which today one hundred and twenty-five thousand moving picture theaters all over the globe bring to thirty million people daily is dependent upon lumière's and paul's invention. the improvements in the technique of taking the pictures and of projecting them on the screen are legion, but the fundamental features have not been changed. yes; on the whole the development of the last two decades has been a conservative one. the fact that every producer tries to distribute his films to every country forces a far-reaching standardization on the entire moving picture world. the little pictures on the film are still today exactly the same size as those which edison used for his kinetoscope and the long strips of film are still gauged by four round perforations at the side of each to catch the sprockets which guide the film. as soon as the moving picture show had become a feature of the vaudeville theater, the longing of the crowd for ever new entertainments and sensations had to be satisfied if the success was to last. the mere enjoyment of the technical wonder as such necessarily faded away and the interest could be kept up only if the scenes presented on the screen became themselves more and more enthralling. the trivial acts played in less than a minute without any artistic setting and without any rehearsal or preparation soon became unsatisfactory. the grandmother who washes the baby and even the street boy who plays a prank had to be replaced by quick little comedies. stages were set up; more and more elaborate scenes were created; the film grew and grew in length. competing companies in france and later in the united states, england, germany and notably in italy developed more and more ambitious productions. as early as the eden musée in new york produced an elaborate setting of the passion play in nearly fifty thousand pictures, which needed almost an hour for production. the personnel on the stage increased rapidly, huge establishments in which any scenery could be built up sprang into being. but the inclosed scene was often not a sufficient background; the kinematographic camera was brought to mountains and seashore, and soon to the jungles of africa or to central asia if the photoplay demanded exciting scenes on picturesque backgrounds. thousands of people entered into the battle scenes which the historical drama demanded. we stand today in the midst of this external growth of which no one dreamed in the days of the kinetoscope. yet this technical progress and this tremendous increase of the mechanical devices for production have their true meaning in the inner growth which led from trite episodes to the height of tremendous action, from trivial routine to a new and most promising art. chapter ii the inner development of the moving pictures it was indeed not an external technical advance only which led from edison's half a minute show of the little boy who turns on the hose to the "daughter of neptune," or "quo vadis," or "cabiria," and many another performance which fills an evening. the advance was first of all internal; it was an esthetic idea. yet even this does not tell the whole story of the inner growth of the moving pictures, as it points only to the progress of the photoplay. it leaves out of account the fact that the moving pictures appeal not merely to the imagination, but that they bring their message also to the intellect. they aim toward instruction and information. just as between the two covers of a magazine artistic stories stand side by side with instructive essays, scientific articles, or discussions of the events of the day, the photoplay is accompanied by a kinematoscopic rendering of reality in all its aspects. whatever in nature or in social life interests the human understanding or human curiosity comes to the mind of the spectator with an incomparable intensity when not a lifeless photograph but a moving picture brings it to the screen. the happenings of the day afford the most convenient material, as they offer the chance for constantly changing programmes and hence the ideal conditions for a novelty seeking public. no actors are needed; the dramatic interest is furnished by the political and social importance of the events. in the early days when the great stages for the production of photoplays had not been built, the moving picture industry relied in a much higher degree than today on this supply from the surrounding public life. but while the material was abundant, it soon became rather insipid to see parades and processions and orators, and even where the immediate interest seemed to give value to the pictures it was for the most part only a local interest and faded away after a time. the coronation of the king or the inauguration of the president, the earthquake in sicily, the great derby, come, after all, too seldom. moreover through the strong competition only the first comer gained the profits and only the most sensational dashes of kinematographers with the reporter's instinct could lead to success in the eyes of the spoiled moving picture audiences. certainly the history of these enterprises is full of adventures worthy to rank with the most daring feats in the newspaper world. we hear that when the investiture of the prince of wales was performed at carnarvon at four o'clock in the afternoon, the public of london at ten o'clock of the same day saw the ceremony on the screen in a moving picture twelve minutes in length. the distance between the two places is two hundred miles. the film was seven hundred and fifty feet long. it had been developed and printed in a special express train made up of long freight cars transformed into dark rooms and fitted with tanks for the developing and washing and with a machine for printing and drying. yet on the whole the current events were slowly losing ground even in europe, while america had never given such a large share of interest to this rival of the newspaper. it is claimed that the producers in america disliked these topical pictures because the accidental character of the events makes the production irregular and interferes too much with the steady preparation of the photoplays. only when the war broke out, the great wave of excitement swept away this apathy. the pictures from the trenches, the marches of the troops, the life of the prisoners, the movements of the leaders, the busy life behind the front, and the action of the big guns absorbed the popular interest in every corner of the world. while the picturesque old-time war reporter has almost disappeared, the moving picture man has inherited all his courage, patience, sensationalism, and spirit of adventure. a greater photographic achievement, however, than the picturing of the social and historic events was the marvelous success of the kinematograph with the life of nature. no explorer in recent years has crossed distant lands and seas without a kinematographic outfit. we suddenly looked into the most intimate life of the african wilderness. there the elephants and giraffes and monkeys passed to the waterhole, not knowing that the moving picture man was turning his crank in the top of a tree. we followed scott and shackleton into the regions of eternal ice, we climbed the himalayas, we saw the world from the height of the aëroplane, and every child in europe knows now the wonders of niagara. but the kinematographer has not sought nature only where it is gigantic or strange; he follows its path with no less admirable effect when it is idyllic. the brook in the woods, the birds in their nest, the flowers trembling in the wind have brought their charm to the delighted eye more and more with the progress of the new art. but the wonders of nature which the camera unveils to us are not limited to those which the naked eye can follow. the technical progress led to the attachment of the microscope. after overcoming tremendous difficulties, the scientists succeeded in developing a microscope kinematography which multiplies the dimensions a hundred thousand times. we may see on the screen the fight of the bacteria with the microscopically small blood corpuscles in the blood stream of a diseased animal. yes, by the miracles of the camera we may trace the life of nature even in forms which no human observation really finds in the outer world. out there it may take weeks for the orchid to bud and blossom and fade; in the picture the process passes before us in a few seconds. we see how the caterpillar spins its cocoon and how it breaks it and how the butterfly unfolds its wings; and all which needed days and months goes on in a fraction of a minute. new interest for geography and botany and zoölogy has thus been aroused by these developments, undreamed of in the early days of the kinematograph, and the scientists themselves have through this new means of technique gained unexpected help for their labors. the last achievement in this universe of photoknowledge is "the magazine on the screen." it is a bold step which yet seemed necessary in our day of rapid kinematoscopic progress. the popular printed magazines in america had their heydey in the muckraking period about ten years ago. their hold on the imagination of the public which wants to be informed and entertained at the same time has steadily decreased, while the power of the moving picture houses has increased. the picture house ought therefore to take up the task of the magazines which it has partly displaced. the magazines give only a small place to the news of the day, a larger place to articles in which scholars and men of public life discuss significant problems. much american history in the last two decades was deeply influenced by the columns of the illustrated magazines. those men who reached the millions by such articles cannot overlook the fact--they may approve or condemn it--that the masses of today prefer to be taught by pictures rather than by words. the audiences are assembled anyhow. instead of feeding them with mere entertainment, why not give them food for serious thought? it seemed therefore a most fertile idea when the "paramount pictograph" was founded to carry intellectual messages and ambitious discussions into the film houses. political and economic, social and hygienic, technical and industrial, esthetic and scientific questions can in no way be brought nearer to the grasp of millions. the editors will have to take care that the discussions do not degenerate into one-sided propaganda, but so must the editors of a printed magazine. among the scientists the psychologist may have a particular interest in this latest venture of the film world. the screen ought to offer a unique opportunity to interest wide circles in psychological experiments and mental tests and in this way to spread the knowledge of their importance for vocational guidance and the practical affairs of life. yet that power of the moving pictures to supplement the school room and the newspaper and the library by spreading information and knowledge is, after all, secondary to their general task, to bring entertainment and amusement to the masses. this is the chief road on which the forward march of the last twenty years has been most rapid. the theater and the vaudeville and the novel had to yield room and ample room to the play of the flitting pictures. what was the real principle of the inner development on this artistic side? the little scenes which the first pictures offered could hardly have been called plays. they would have been unable to hold the attention by their own contents. their only charm was really the pleasure in the perfection with which the apparatus rendered the actual movements. but soon touching episodes were staged, little humorous scenes or melodramatic actions were played before the camera, and the same emotions stirred which up to that time only the true theater play had awakened. the aim seemed to be to have a real substitute for the stage. the most evident gain of this new scheme was the reduction of expenses. one actor is now able to entertain many thousand audiences at the same time, one stage setting is sufficient to give pleasure to millions. the theater can thus be democratized. everybody's purse allows him to see the greatest artists and in every village a stage can be set up and the joy of a true theater performance can be spread to the remotest corner of the lands. just as the graphophone can multiply without limit the music of the concert hall, the singer, and the orchestra, so, it seemed, would the photoplay reproduce the theater performance without end. of course, the substitute could not be equal to the original. the color was lacking, the real depth of the objective stage was missing, and above all the spoken word had been silenced. the few interspersed descriptive texts, the so-called "leaders," had to hint at that which in the real drama the speeches of the actors explain and elaborate. it was thus surely only the shadow of a true theater, different not only as a photograph is compared with a painting, but different as a photograph is compared with the original man. and yet, however meager and shadowlike the moving picture play appeared compared with the performance of living actors, the advantage of the cheap multiplication was so great that the ambition of the producers was natural, to go forward from the little playlets to great dramas which held the attention for hours. the kinematographic theater soon had its shakespeare repertoire; ibsen has been played and the dramatized novels on the screen became legion. victor hugo and dickens scored new triumphs. in a few years the way from the silly trite practical joke to hamlet and peer gynt was covered with such thoroughness that the possibility of giving a photographic rendering of any thinkable theater performance was proven for all time. but while this movement to reproduce stage performances went on, elements were superadded which the technique of the camera allowed but which would hardly be possible in a theater. hence the development led slowly to a certain deviation from the path of the drama. the difference which strikes the observer first results from the chance of the camera man to set his scene in the real backgrounds of nature and culture. the stage manager of the theater can paint the ocean and, if need be, can move some colored cloth to look like rolling waves; and yet how far is his effect surpassed by the superb ocean pictures when the scene is played on the real cliffs and the waves are thundering at their foot and the surf is foaming about the actors. the theater has its painted villages and vistas, its city streets and its foreign landscape backgrounds. but here the theater, in spite of the reality of the actors, appears thoroughly unreal compared with the throbbing life of the street scenes and of the foreign crowds in which the camera man finds his local color. but still more characteristic is the rapidity with which the whole background can be changed in the moving pictures. reinhardt's revolving stage had brought wonderful surprises to the theater-goer and had shifted the scene with a quickness which was unknown before. yet how slow and clumsy does it remain compared with the routine changes of the photoplays. this changing of background is so easy for the camera that at a very early date this new feature of the plays was introduced. at first it served mostly humorous purposes. the public of the crude early shows enjoyed the flashlike quickness with which it could follow the eloper over the roofs of the town, upstairs and down, into cellar and attic, and jump into the auto and race over the country roads until the culprit fell over a bridge into the water and was caught by the police. this slapstick humor has by no means disappeared, but the rapid change of scenes has meanwhile been put into the service of much higher aims. the development of an artistic plot has been brought to possibilities which the real drama does not know, by allowing the eye to follow the hero and heroine continuously from place to place. now he leaves his room, now we see him passing along the street, now he enters the house of his beloved, now he is led into the parlor, now she is hurrying to the library of her father, now they all go to the garden: ever new stage settings sliding into one another. technical difficulties do not stand in the way. a set of pictures taken by the camera man a thousand miles away can be inserted for a few feet in the film, and the audience sees now the clubroom in new york, and now the snows of alaska and now the tropics, near each other in the same reel. moreover the ease with which the scenes are altered allows us not only to hurry on to ever new spots, but to be at the same time in two or three places. the scenes become intertwined. we see the soldier on the battlefield, and his beloved one at home, in such steady alternation that we are simultaneously here and there. we see the man speaking into the telephone in new york and at the same time the woman who receives his message in washington. it is no difficulty at all for the photoplay to have the two alternate a score of times in the few minutes of the long distance conversation. but with the quick change of background the photoartists also gained a rapidity of motion which leaves actual men behind. he needs only to turn the crank of the apparatus more quickly and the whole rhythm of the performance can be brought to a speed which may strikingly aid the farcical humor of the scene. and from here it was only a step to the performance of actions which could not be carried out in nature at all. at first this idea was made serviceable to rather rough comic effects. the policeman climbed up the solid stone front of a high building. the camera man had no difficulty in securing the effects, as it was only necessary to have the actor creep over a flat picture of the building spread on the floor. every day brought us new tricks. we see how the magician breaks one egg after another and takes out of each egg a little fairy and puts one after another on his hand where they begin to dance a minuet. no theater could ever try to match such wonders, but for the camera they are not difficult; the little dancers were simply at a much further distance from the camera and therefore appeared in their lilliputian size. rich artistic effects have been secured, and while on the stage every fairy play is clumsy and hardly able to create an illusion, in the film we really see the man transformed into a beast and the flower into a girl. there is no limit to the trick pictures which the skill of the experts invent. the divers jump, feet first, out of the water to the springboard. it looks magical, and yet the camera man has simply to reverse his film and to run it from the end to the beginning of the action. every dream becomes real, uncanny ghosts appear from nothing and disappear into nothing, mermaids swim through the waves and little elves climb out of the easter lilies. as the crank of the camera which takes the pictures can be stopped at any moment and the turning renewed only after some complete change has been made on the stage any substitution can be carried out without the public knowing of the break in the events. we see a man walking to the edge of a steep rock, leaving no doubt that it is a real person, and then by a slip he is hurled down into the abyss below. the film does not indicate that at the instant before the fall the camera has been stopped and the actor replaced by a stuffed dummy which begins to tumble when the movement of the film is started again. but not only dummies of the same size can be introduced. a little model brought quite near to the camera may take the place of the large real object at a far distance. we see at first the real big ship and can convince ourselves of its reality by seeing actual men climbing up the rigging. but when it comes to the final shipwreck, the movement of the film is stopped and the camera brought near to a little tank where a miniature model of the ship takes up the rôle of the original and explodes and really sinks to its two-feet-deep watery grave. while, through this power to make impossible actions possible, unheard of effects could be reached, all still remained in the outer framework of the stage. the photoplay showed a performance, however rapid or unusual, as it would go on in the outer world. an entirely new perspective was opened when the managers of the film play introduced the "close-up" and similar new methods. as every friend of the film knows, the close-up is a scheme by which a particular part of the picture, perhaps only the face of the hero or his hand or only a ring on his finger, is greatly enlarged and replaces for an instant the whole stage. even the most wonderful creations, the great historical plays where thousands fill the battlefields or the most fantastic caprices where fairies fly over the stage, could perhaps be performed in a theater, but this close-up leaves all stagecraft behind. suddenly we see not booth himself as he seeks to assassinate the president, but only his hand holding the revolver and the play of his excited fingers filling the whole field of vision. we no longer see at his desk the banker who opens the telegram, but the opened telegraphic message itself takes his place on the screen for a few seconds, and we read it over his shoulder. it is not necessary to enumerate still more changes which the development of the art of the film has brought since the days of the kinetoscope. the use of natural backgrounds, the rapid change of scenes, the intertwining of the actions in different scenes, the changes of the rhythms of action, the passing through physically impossible experiences, the linking of disconnected movements, the realization of supernatural effects, the gigantic enlargement of small details: these may be sufficient as characteristic illustrations of the essential trend. they show that the progress of the photoplay did not lead to a more and more perfect photographic reproduction of the theater stage, but led away from the theater altogether. superficial impressions suggest the opposite and still leave the esthetically careless observer in the belief that the photoplay is a cheap substitute for the real drama, a theater performance as good or as bad as a photographic reproduction allows. but this traditional idea has become utterly untrue. _the art of the photoplay has developed so many new features of its own, features which have not even any similarity to the technique of the stage that the question arises: is it not really a new art which long since left behind the mere film reproduction of the theater and which ought to be acknowledged in its own esthetic independence?_ this right to independent recognition has so far been ignored. practically everybody who judged the photoplays from the esthetic point of view remained at the old comparison between the film and the graphophone. the photoplay is still something which simply imitates the true art of the drama on the stage. may it not be, on the contrary, that it does not imitate or replace anything, but is in itself an art as different from that of the theater as the painter's art is different from that of the sculptor? and may it not be high time, in the interest of theory and of practice, to examine the esthetic conditions which would give independent rights to the new art? if this is really the situation, it must be a truly fascinating problem, as it would give the chance to watch the art in its first unfolding. a new esthetic cocoon is broken; where will the butterfly's wings carry him? we have at last reached the real problem of this little book. we want to study the right of the photoplay, hitherto ignored by esthetics, to be classed as an art in itself under entirely new mental life conditions. what we need for this study is evidently, first, an insight into the means by which the moving pictures impress us and appeal to us. not the physical means and technical devices are in question, but the mental means. what psychological factors are involved when we watch the happenings on the screen? but secondly, we must ask what characterizes the independence of an art, what constitutes the conditions under which the works of a special art stand. the first inquiry is psychological, the second esthetic; the two belong intimately together. hence we turn first to the psychological aspect of the moving pictures and later to the artistic one. part i the psychology of the photoplay chapter iii[ ] depth and movement [ ] readers who have no technical interest in physiological psychology may omit chapter iii and turn directly to chapter iv on attention. the problem is now quite clear before us. do the photoplays furnish us only a photographic reproduction of a stage performance; is their aim thus simply to be an inexpensive substitute for the real theater, and is their esthetic standing accordingly far below that of the true dramatic art, related to it as the photograph of a painting to the original canvas of the master? or do the moving pictures bring us an independent art, controlled by esthetic laws of its own, working with mental appeals which are fundamentally different from those of the theater, with a sphere of its own and with ideal aims of its own? if this so far neglected problem is ours, we evidently need not ask in our further discussions about all which books on moving pictures have so far put into the foreground, namely the physical technique of producing the pictures on the film or of projecting the pictures on the screen, or anything else which belongs to the technical or physical or economic aspect of the photoplay industry. moreover it is then evidently not our concern to deal with those moving pictures which serve mere curiosity or the higher desires for information and instruction. those educational pictures may give us delight, and certainly much esthetic enjoyment may be combined with the intellectual satisfaction, when the wonders of distant lands are unveiled to us. the landscape setting of such a travel film may be a thing of beauty, but the pictures are not taken for art's sake. the aim is to serve the spread of knowledge. our esthetic interest turns to the means by which the photoplay influences the mind of the spectator. if we try to understand and to explain the means by which music exerts its powerful effects, we do not reach our goal by describing the structure of the piano and of the violin, or by explaining the physical laws of sound. we must proceed to the psychology and ask for the mental processes of the hearing of tones and of chords, of harmonies and disharmonies, of tone qualities and tone intensities, of rhythms and phrases, and must trace how these elements are combined in the melodies and compositions. in this way we turn to the photoplay, at first with a purely psychological interest, and ask for the elementary excitements of the mind which enter into our experience of the moving pictures. we now disregard entirely the idea of the theater performance. we should block our way if we were to start from the theater and were to ask how much is left out in the mere photographic substitute. we approach the art of the film theater as if it stood entirely on its own ground, and extinguish all memory of the world of actors. we analyze the mental processes which this specific form of artistic endeavor produces in us. to begin at the beginning, the photoplay consists of a series of flat pictures in contrast to the plastic objects of the real world which surrounds us. but we may stop at once: what does it mean to say that the surroundings appear to the mind plastic and the moving pictures flat? the psychology of this difference is easily misunderstood. of course, when we are sitting in the picture palace we know that we see a flat screen and that the object which we see has only two dimensions, right-left, and up-down, but not the third dimension of depth, of distance toward us or away from us. it is flat like a picture and never plastic like a work of sculpture or architecture or like a stage. yet this is knowledge and not immediate impression. we have no right whatever to say that the scenes which we see on the screen appear to us as flat pictures. we may become more strongly conscious of this difference between an object of our knowledge and an object of our impression, if we remember a well-known instrument, the stereoscope. the stereoscope, which was quite familiar to the parlor of a former generation, consists of two prisms through which the two eyes look toward two photographic views of a landscape. but the two photographic views are not identical. the landscape is taken from two different points of view, once from the right and once from the left. as soon as these two views are put into the stereoscope the right eye sees through the prism only the view from the right, the left eye only the view from the left. we know very well that only two flat pictures are before us; yet we cannot help seeing the landscape in strongly plastic forms. the two different views are combined in one presentation of the landscape in which the distant objects appear much further away from us than the foreground. we feel immediately the depth of things. it is as if we were looking at a small plastic model of the landscape and in spite of our objective knowledge cannot recognize the flat pictures in the solid forms which we perceive. it cannot be otherwise, because whenever in practical life we see an object, a vase on our table, as a solid body, we get the impression of its plastic character first of all by seeing it with our two eyes from two different points of view. the perspective in which our right eye sees the things on our table is different from the perspective for the left eye. our plastic seeing therefore depends upon this combination of two different perspective views, and whenever we offer to the two eyes two such one-sided views, they must be combined into the impression of the substantial thing. the stereoscope thus illustrates clearly that the knowledge of the flat character of pictures by no means excludes the actual perception of depth, and the question arises whether the moving pictures of the photoplay, in spite of our knowledge concerning the flatness of the screen, do not give us after all the impression of actual depth. it may be said offhand that even the complete appearance of depth such as the stereoscope offers would be in no way contradictory to the idea of moving pictures. then the photoplay would give the same plastic impression which the real stage offers. all that would be needed is this. when the actors play the scenes, not a single but a double camera would have to take the pictures. such a double camera focuses the scene from two different points of view, corresponding to the position of the two eyes. both films are then to be projected on the screen at the same time by a double projection apparatus which secures complete correspondence of the two pictures so that in every instance the left and the right view are overlapping on the screen. this would give, of course, a chaotic, blurring image. but if the apparatus which projects the left side view has a green glass in front of the lens and the one which projects the right side view a red glass, and every person in the audience has a pair of spectacles with the left glass green and the right glass red--a cardboard lorgnette with red and green gelatine paper would do the same service and costs only a few cents--the left eye would see only the left view, the right eye only the right view. we could not see the red lines through the green glass nor the green lines through the red glass. in the moment the left eye gets the left side view only and the right eye the right side view, the whole chaos of lines on the screen is organized and we see the pictured room on the screen with the same depth as if it were really a solid room set on the stage and as if the rear wall in the room were actually ten or twenty feet behind the furniture in the front. the effect is so striking that no one can overcome the feeling of depth under these conditions. but while the regular motion pictures certainly do not offer us this complete plastic impression, it would simply be the usual confusion between knowledge about the picture and its real appearance if we were to deny that we get a certain impression of depth. if several persons move in a room, we gain distinctly the feeling that one moves behind another in the film picture. they move toward us and from us just as much as they move to the right and left. we actually perceive the chairs or the rear wall of the room as further away from us than the persons in the foreground. this is not surprising if we stop to think how we perceive the depth, for instance, of a real stage. let us fancy that we sit in the orchestra of a real theater and see before us the stage set as a room with furniture and persons in it. we now see the different objects on the stage at different distances, some near, some far. one of the causes was just mentioned. we see everything with our right or our left eye from different points of view. but if now we close one eye and look at the stage with the right eye only, the plastic effect does not disappear. the psychological causes for this perception of depth with one eye are essentially the differences of apparent size, the perspective relations, the shadows, and the actions performed in the space. now all these factors which help us to grasp the furniture on the stage as solid and substantial play their rôle no less in the room which is projected on the screen. we are too readily inclined to imagine that our eye can directly grasp the different distances in our surroundings. yet we need only imagine that a large glass plate is put in the place of the curtain covering the whole stage. now we see the stage through the glass; and if we look at it with one eye only it is evident that every single spot on the stage must throw its light to our eye by light rays which cross the glass plate at a particular point. for our seeing it would make no difference whether the stage is actually behind that glass plate or whether all the light rays which pass through the plate come from the plate itself. if those rays with all their different shades of light and dark started from the surface of the glass plate, the effect on the one eye would necessarily be the same as if they originated at different distances behind the glass. this is exactly the case of the screen. if the pictures are well taken and the projection is sharp and we sit at the right distance from the picture, we must have the same impression as if we looked through a glass plate into a real space. the photoplay is therefore poorly characterized if the flatness of the pictorial view is presented as an essential feature. that flatness is an objective part of the technical physical arrangements, but not a feature of that which we really see in the performance of the photoplay. we are there in the midst of a three-dimensional world, and the movements of the persons or of the animals or even of the lifeless things, like the streaming of the water in the brook or the movements of the leaves in the wind, strongly maintain our immediate impression of depth. many secondary features characteristic of the motion picture may help. for instance, by a well-known optical illusion the feeling of depth is strengthened if the foreground is at rest and the background moving. thus the ship passing in front of the motionless background of the harbor by no means suggests depth to the same degree as the picture taken on the gliding ship itself so that the ship appears to be at rest and the harbor itself passing by. the depth effect is so undeniable that some minds are struck by it as the chief power in the impressions from the screen. vachel lindsay, the poet, feels the plastic character of the persons in the foreground so fully that he interprets those plays with much individual action as a kind of sculpture in motion. he says: "the little far off people on the oldfashioned speaking stage do not appeal to the plastic sense in this way. they are by comparison mere bits of pasteboard with sweet voices, while on the other hand the photoplay foreground is full of dumb giants. the bodies of these giants are in high sculptural relief." others have emphasized that this strong feeling of depth touches them most when persons in the foreground stand with a far distant landscape as background--much more than when they are seen in a room. psychologically this is not surprising either. if the scene were a real room, every detail in it would appear differently to the two eyes. in the room on the screen both eyes receive the same impression, and the result is that the consciousness of depth is inhibited. but when a far distant landscape is the only background, the impression from the picture and life is indeed the same. the trees or mountains which are several hundred feet distant from the eye give to both eyes exactly the same impression, inasmuch as the small difference of position between the two eyeballs has no influence compared with the distance of the objects from our face. we would see the mountains with both eyes alike in reality, and therefore we feel unhampered in our subjective interpretation of far distant vision when the screen offers exactly the same picture of the mountains to our two eyes. hence in such cases we believe that we see the persons really in the foreground and the landscape far away. _nevertheless we are never deceived; we are fully conscious of the depth, and yet we do not take it for real depth._ too much stands in the way. some unfavorable conditions are still deficiencies of the technique; for instance, the camera picture in some respects exaggerates the distances. if we see through the open door of the rear wall into one or two other rooms, they appear like a distant corridor. moreover we have ideal conditions for vision in the right perspective only when we sit in front of the screen at a definite distance. we ought to sit where we see the objects in the picture at the same angle at which the camera photographed the originals. if we are too near or too far or too much to one side, we perceive the plastic scene from a viewpoint which would demand an entirely different perspective than that which the camera fixated. in motionless pictures this is less disturbing; in moving pictures every new movement to or from the background must remind us of the apparent distortion. moreover, the size and the frame and the whole setting strongly remind us of the unreality of the perceived space. but the chief point remains that we see the whole picture with both eyes and not with only one, and that we are constantly reminded of the flatness of the picture because the two eyes receive identical impressions. and we may add an argument nearly related to it, namely, that the screen as such is an object of our perception and demands an adaptation of the eye and an independent localization. we are drawn into this conflict of perception even when we look into a mirror. if we stand three feet from a large mirror on the wall, we see our reflection three feet from our eyes in the plate glass and we see it at the same time six feet from our eye behind the glass. both localizations take hold of our mind and produce a peculiar interference. we all have learned to ignore it, but characteristic illusions remain which indicate the reality of this doubleness. in the case of the picture on the screen this conflict is much stronger. _we certainly see the depth, and yet we cannot accept it._ there is too much which inhibits belief and interferes with the interpretation of the people and landscape before us as truly plastic. they are surely not simply pictures. the persons can move toward us and away from us, and the river flows into a distant valley. and yet the distance in which the people move is not the distance of our real space, such as the theater shows, and the persons themselves are not flesh and blood. it is a unique inner experience, which is characteristic of the perception of the photoplays. _we have reality with all its true dimensions; and yet it keeps the fleeting, passing surface suggestion without true depth and fullness, as different from a mere picture as from a mere stage performance._ it brings our mind into a peculiar complex state; and we shall see that this plays a not unimportant part in the mental make-up of the whole photoplay. while the problem of depth in the film picture is easily ignored, the problem of movement forces itself on every spectator. it seems as if here the really essential trait of the film performance is to be found, and that the explanation of the motion in the pictures is the chief task which the psychologist must meet. we know that any single picture which the film of the photographer has fixed is immovable. we know, furthermore, that we do not see the passing by of the long strip of film. we know that it is rolled from one roll and rolled up on another, but that this movement from picture to picture is not visible. it goes on while the field is darkened. what objectively reaches our eye is one motionless picture after another, but the replacing of one by another through a forward movement of the film cannot reach our eye at all. why do we, nevertheless, see a continuous movement? the problem did not arise with the kinetoscope only but had interested the preceding generations who amused themselves with the phenakistoscope and the stroboscopic disks or the magic cylinder of the zoötrope and bioscope. the child who made his zoötrope revolve and looked through the slits of the black cover in the drum saw through every slit the drawing of a dog in one particular position. yet as the twenty-four slits passed the eye, the twenty-four different positions blended into one continuous jumping movement of the poodle. but this so-called stroboscopic phenomenon, however interesting it was, seemed to offer hardly any difficulty. the friends of the zoötrope surely knew another little plaything, the thaumatrope. dr. paris had invented it in . it shows two pictures, one on the front, one on the rear side of a card. as soon as the card is quickly revolved about a central axis, the two pictures fuse into one. if a horse is on one side and a rider on the other, if a cage is on one and a bird on the other, we see the rider on the horse and the bird in the cage. it cannot be otherwise. it is simply the result of the positive afterimages. if at dark we twirl a glowing joss stick in a circle, we do not see one point moving from place to place, but we see a continuous circular line. it is nowhere broken because, if the movement is quick, the positive afterimage of the light in its first position is still effective in our eye when the glowing point has passed through the whole circle and has reached the first position again. we speak of this effect as a positive afterimage, because it is a real continuation of the first impression and stands in contrast to the so-called negative afterimage in which the aftereffect is opposite to the original stimulus. in the case of a negative afterimage the light impression leaves a dark spot, the dark impression gives a light afterimage. black becomes white and white becomes black; in the world of colors red leaves a green and green a red afterimage, yellow a blue and blue a yellow afterimage. if we look at the crimson sinking sun and then at a white wall, we do not see red light spots but green dark spots. compared with these negative pictures, the positive afterimages are short and they last through any noticeable time only with rather intense illumination. yet they are evidently sufficient to bridge the interval between the two slits in the stroboscopic disk or in the zoötrope, the interval in which the black paper passes the eye and in which accordingly no new stimulus reaches the nerves. the routine explanation of the appearance of movement was accordingly: that every picture of a particular position left in the eye an afterimage until the next picture with the slightly changed position of the jumping animal or of the marching men was in sight, and the afterimage of this again lasted until the third came. the afterimages were responsible for the fact that no interruptions were noticeable, while the movement itself resulted simply from the passing of one position into another. what else is the perception of movement but the seeing of a long series of different positions? if instead of looking through the zoötrope we watch a real trotting horse on a real street, we see its whole body in ever new progressing positions and its legs in all phases of motion; and this continuous series is our perception of the movement itself. this seems very simple. yet it was slowly discovered that the explanation is far too simple and that it does not in the least do justice to the true experiences. with the advance of modern laboratory psychology the experimental investigations frequently turned to the analysis of our perception of movement. in the last thirty years many researches, notably those of stricker, exner, hall, james, fischer, stern, marbe, lincke, wertheimer, and korte have thrown new light on the problem by carefully devised experiments. one result of them came quickly into the foreground of the newer view: the perception of movement is an independent experience which cannot be reduced to a simple seeing of a series of different positions. a characteristic content of consciousness must be added to such a series of visual impressions. the mere idea of succeeding phases of movement is not at all the original movement idea. this is suggested first by the various illusions of movement. we may believe that we perceive a movement where no actual changes of visual impressions occur. this, to be sure, may result from a mere misinterpretation of the impression: for instance when in the railway train at the station we look out of the window and believe suddenly that our train is moving, while in reality the train on the neighboring track has started. it is the same when we see the moon floating quickly through the motionless clouds. we are inclined to consider as being at rest that which we fixate and to interpret the relative changes in the field of vision as movements of those parts which we do not fixate. but it is different when we come, for instance, to those illusions in which movement is forced on our perception by contrast and aftereffect. we look from a bridge into the flowing water and if we turn our eyes toward the land the motionless shore seems to swim in the opposite direction. it is not sufficient in such cases to refer to contrasting eye movements. it can easily be shown by experiments that these movements and counter-movements in the field of vision can proceed in opposite directions at the same time and no eye, of course, is able to move upward and downward, or right and left, in the same moment. a very characteristic experiment can be performed with a black spiral line on a white disk. if we revolve such a disk slowly around its center, the spiral line produces the impression of a continuous enlargement of concentric curves. the lines start at the center and expand until they disappear in the periphery. if we look for a minute or two into this play of the expanding curves and then turn our eyes to the face of a neighbor, we see at once how the features of the face begin to shrink. it looks as if the whole face were elastically drawn toward its center. if we revolve the disk in the opposite direction, the curves seem to move from the edge of the disk toward the center, becoming smaller and smaller, and if then we look toward a face, the person seems to swell up and every point in the face seems to move from the nose toward the chin or forehead or ears. our eye which watches such an aftereffect cannot really move at the same time from the center of the face toward both ears and the hair and the chin. the impression of movement must therefore have other conditions than the actual performance of the movements, and above all it is clear from such tests that the seeing of the movements is a unique experience which can be entirely independent from the actual seeing of successive positions. the eye itself gets the impression of a face at rest, and yet we see the face in the one case shrinking, in the other case swelling; in the one case every point apparently moving toward the center, in the other case apparently moving away from the center. the experience of movement is here evidently produced by the spectator's mind and not excited from without. we may approach the same result also from experiments of very different kind. if a flash of light at one point is followed by a flash at another point after a very short time, about a twentieth of a second, the two lights appear to us simultaneous. the first light is still fully visible when the second flashes, and it cannot be noticed that the second comes later than the first. if now in the same short time interval the first light moves toward the second point, we should expect that we would see the whole process as a lighted line at rest, inasmuch as the beginning and the end point appear simultaneous, if the end is reached less than a twentieth of a second after the starting point. but the experiment shows the opposite result. instead of the expected lighted line, we see in this case an actual movement from one point to the other. again we must conclude that the movement is more than the mere seeing of successive positions, as in this case we see the movement, while the isolated positions do not appear as successive but as simultaneous. another group of interesting phenomena of movement may be formed from those cases in which the moving object is more easily noticed than the impressions of the whole field through which the movement is carried out. we may overlook an area in our visual field, especially when it lies far to one side from our fixation point, but as soon as anything moves in that area our attention is drawn. we notice the movement more quickly than the whole background in which the movement is executed. the fluttering of kerchiefs at a far distance or the waving of flags for signaling is characteristic. all indicate that the movement is to us something different from merely seeing an object first at one and afterward at another place. we can easily find the analogy in other senses. if we touch our forehead or the back of our hand with two blunt compass points so that the two points are about a third of an inch distant from each other, we do not discriminate the two points as two, but we perceive the impression as that of one point. we cannot discriminate the one pressure point from the other. but if we move the point of a pencil to and fro from one point to the other we perceive distinctly the movement in spite of the fact that it is a movement between two end points which could not be discriminated. it is wholly characteristic that the experimenter in every field of sensations, visual or acoustical or tactual, often finds himself before the experience of having noticed a movement while he is unable to say in which direction the movement occurred. we are familiar with the illusions in which we believe that we see something which only our imagination supplies. if an unfamiliar printed word is exposed to our eye for the twentieth part of a second, we readily substitute a familiar word with similar letters. everybody knows how difficult it is to read proofs. we overlook the misprints, that is, we replace the wrong letters which are actually in our field of vision by imaginary right letters which correspond to our expectations. are we not also familiar with the experience of supplying by our fancy the associative image of a movement when only the starting point and the end point are given, if a skillful suggestion influences our mind. the prestidigitator stands on one side of the stage when he apparently throws the costly watch against the mirror on the other side of the stage; the audience sees his suggestive hand movement and the disappearance of the watch and sees twenty feet away the shattering of the mirror. the suggestible spectator cannot help seeing the flight of the watch across the stage. the recent experiments by wertheimer and korte have gone into still subtler details. both experimenters worked with a delicate instrument in which two light lines on a dark ground could be exposed in very quick succession and in which it was possible to vary the position of the lines, the distance of the lines, the intensity of their light, the time exposure of each, and the time between the appearance of the first and of the second. they studied all these factors, and moreover the influence of differently directed attention and suggestive attitude. if a vertical line is immediately followed by a horizontal, the two together may give the impression of one right angle. if the time between the vertical and the horizontal line is long, first one and then the other is seen. but at a certain length of the time interval, a new effect is reached. we see the vertical line falling over and lying flat like the horizontal line. if the eyes are fixed on the point in the midst of the angle, we might expect that this movement phenomenon would stop, but the opposite is the case. the apparent movement from the vertical to the horizontal has to pass our fixation point and it seems that we ought now to recognize clearly that there is nothing between those two positions, that the intermediate phases of the movement are lacking; and yet the experiment shows that under these circumstances we frequently get the strongest impression of motion. if we use two horizontal lines, the one above the other, we see, if the right time interval is chosen, that the upper one moves downward toward the lower. but we can introduce there a very interesting variation. if we make the lower line, which appears objectively after the upper one, more intense, the total impression is one which begins with the lower. we see first the lower line moving toward the upper one which also approaches the lower; and then follows the second phase in which both appear to fall down to the position of the lower one. it is not necessary to go further into details in order to demonstrate that the apparent movement is in no way the mere result of an afterimage and that the impression of motion is surely more than the mere perception of successive phases of movement. the movement is in these cases not really seen from without, but is superadded, by the action of the mind, to motionless pictures. the statement that our impression of movement does not result simply from the seeing of successive stages but includes a higher mental act into which the successive visual impressions enter merely as factors is in itself not really an explanation. we have not settled by it the nature of that higher central process. but it is enough for us to see that the impression of the continuity of the motion results from a complex mental process by which the various pictures are held together in the unity of a higher act. nothing can characterize the situation more clearly than the fact which has been demonstrated by many experiments, namely, that this feeling of movement is in no way interfered with by the distinct consciousness that important phases of the movement are lacking. on the contrary, under certain circumstances we become still more fully aware of this apparent motion created by our inner activity when we are conscious of the interruptions between the various phases of movement. we come to the consequences. what is then the difference between seeing motion in the photoplay and seeing it on the real stage? there on the stage where the actors move the eye really receives a continuous series. each position goes over into the next without any interruption. the spectator receives everything from without and the whole movement which he sees is actually going on in the world of space without and accordingly in his eye. but if he faces the film world, _the motion which he sees appears to be a true motion, and yet is created by his own mind_. the afterimages of the successive pictures are not sufficient to produce a substitute for the continuous outer stimulation; the essential condition is rather the inner mental activity which unites the separate phases in the idea of connected action. thus we have reached the exact counterpart of our results when we analyzed the perception of depth. we see actual depth in the pictures, and yet we are every instant aware that it is not real depth and that the persons are not really plastic. it is only a suggestion of depth, a depth created by our own activity, but not actually seen, because essential conditions for the true perception of depth are lacking. now we find that the movement too is perceived but that the eye does not receive the impressions of true movement. it is only a suggestion of movement, and the idea of motion is to a high degree the product of our own reaction. _depth and movement alike come to us in the moving picture world, not as hard facts but as a mixture of fact and symbol. they are present and yet they are not in the things. we invest the impressions with them._ the theater has both depth and motion, without any subjective help; the screen has them and yet lacks them. we see things distant and moving, but we furnish to them more than we receive; we create the depth and the continuity through our mental mechanism. chapter iv attention the mere perception of the men and women and of the background, with all their depth and their motion, furnishes only the material. the scene which keeps our interest alive certainly involves much more than the simple impression of moving and distant objects. we must accompany those sights with a wealth of ideas. they must have a meaning for us, they must be enriched by our own imagination, they must awaken the remnants of earlier experiences, they must stir up our feelings and emotions, they must play on our suggestibility, they must start ideas and thoughts, they must be linked in our mind with the continuous chain of the play, and they must draw our attention constantly to the important and essential element of the action. an abundance of such inner processes must meet the world of impressions and the psychological analysis has only started when perception of depth and movement alone are considered. if we hear chinese, we perceive the sounds, but there is no inner response to the words; they are meaningless and dead for us; we have no interest in them. if we hear the same thoughts expressed in our mother tongue, every syllable carries its meaning and message. then we are readily inclined to fancy that this additional significance which belongs to the familiar language and which is absent from the foreign one is something which comes to us in the perception itself as if the meaning too were passing through the channels of our ears. but psychologically the meaning is ours. in learning the language we have learned to add associations and reactions of our own to the sounds which we perceive. it is not different with the optical perceptions. the best does not come from without. of all internal functions which create the meaning of the world around us, the most central is the attention. the chaos of the surrounding impressions is organized into a real cosmos of experience by our selection of that which is significant and of consequence. this is true for life and stage alike. our attention must be drawn now here, now there, if we want to bind together that which is scattered in the space before us. everything must be shaded by attention and inattention. whatever is focused by our attention wins emphasis and irradiates meaning over the course of events. in practical life we discriminate between voluntary and involuntary attention. we call it voluntary if we approach the impressions with an idea in our mind as to what we want to focus our attention on. we carry our personal interest, our own idea into the observation of the objects. our attention has chosen its aim beforehand, and we ignore all that does not fulfil this specific interest. all our working is controlled by such voluntary attention. we have the idea of the goal which we want to reach in our mind beforehand and subordinate all which we meet to this selective energy. through our voluntary attention we seek something and accept the offering of the surroundings only in so far as it brings us what we are seeking. it is quite different with the involuntary attention. the guiding influence here comes from without. the cue for the focusing of our attention lies in the events which we perceive. what is loud and shining and unusual attracts our involuntary attention. we must turn our mind to a place where an explosion occurs, we must read the glaring electric signs which flash up. to be sure, the perceptions which force themselves on our involuntary attention may get their motive power from our own reactions. everything which appeals to our natural instincts, everything which stirs up hope or fear, enthusiasm or indignation, or any strong emotional excitement will get control of our attention. but in spite of this circuit through our emotional responses the starting point lies without and our attention is accordingly of the involuntary type. in our daily activity voluntary and involuntary attention are always intertwined. our life is a great compromise between that which our voluntary attention aims at and that which the aims of the surrounding world force on our involuntary attention. how does the theater performance differ in this respect from life? might we not say that voluntary attention is eliminated from the sphere of art and that the audience is necessarily following the lead of an attention which receives all its cues from the work of art itself and which therefore acts involuntarily? to be sure, we may approach a theater performance with a voluntary purpose of our own. for instance, we may be interested in a particular actor and may watch him with our opera glass all the time whenever he is on the stage, even in scenes in which his rôle is insignificant and in which the artistic interest ought to belong to the other actors. but such voluntary selection has evidently nothing to do with the theater performance as such. by such behavior we break the spell in which the artistic drama ought to hold us. we disregard the real shadings of the play and by mere personal side interests put emphasis where it does not belong. if we really enter into the spirit of the play, our attention is constantly drawn in accordance with the intentions of the producers. surely the theater has no lack of means to draw this involuntary attention to any important point. to begin with, the actor who speaks holds our attention more strongly than the actors who at that time are silent. yet the contents of the words may direct our interest to anybody else on the stage. we watch him whom the words accuse, or betray or delight. but the mere interest springing from words cannot in the least explain that constantly shifting action of our involuntary attention during a theater performance. the movements of the actors are essential. the pantomime without words can take the place of the drama and still appeal to us with overwhelming power. the actor who comes to the foreground of the stage is at once in the foreground of our consciousness. he who lifts his arm while the others stand quiet has gained our attention. above all, every gesture, every play of the features, brings order and rhythm into the manifoldness of the impressions and organizes them for our mind. again, the quick action, the unusual action, the repeated action, the unexpected action, the action with strong outer effect, will force itself on our mind and unbalance the mental equilibrium. the question arises: how does the photoplay secure the needed shifting of attention? here, too, involuntary attention alone can be expected. an attention which undertakes its explorations guided by preconceived ideas instead of yielding to the demands of the play would lack adjustment to its task. we might sit through the photoplay with the voluntary intention of watching the pictures with a scientific interest in order to detect some mechanical traits of the camera, or with a practical interest, in order to look up some new fashions, or with a professional interest, in order to find out in what new england scenery these pictures of palestine might have been photographed. but none of these aspects has anything to do with the photoplay. if we follow the play in a genuine attitude of theatrical interest, we must accept those cues for our attention which the playwright and the producers have prepared for us. but there is surely no lack of means by which our mind can be influenced and directed in the rapid play of the pictures. of course the spoken word is lacking. we know how often the words on the screen serve as substitutes for the speech of the actors. they appear sometimes as so-called "leaders" between the pictures, sometimes even thrown into the picture itself, sometimes as content of a written letter or of a telegram or of a newspaper clipping which is projected like a picture, strongly enlarged, on the screen. in all these cases the words themselves prescribe the line in which the attention must move and force the interest of the spectator toward the new goal. but such help by the writing on the wall is, after all, extraneous to the original character of the photoplay. as long as we study the psychological effect of the moving pictures themselves, we must concentrate our inquiry on the moving pictures as such and not on that which the playwright does for the interpretation of the pictures. it may be granted that the letters and newspaper articles take a middle place. they are a part of the picture, but their influence on the spectator is, nevertheless, very similar to that of the leaders. we are here concerned only with what the pictorial offering contains. we must therefore also disregard the accompanying music or the imitative noises which belong to the technique of the full-fledged photoplay nowadays. they do not a little to push the attention hither and thither. yet they are accessory, while the primary power must lie in the content of the pictures themselves. but it is evident that with the exception of the words, no means for drawing attention which is effective on the theater stage is lost in the photoplay. all the directing influences which the movements of the actors exert can be felt no less when they are pictured in the films. more than that, the absence of the words brings the movements which we see to still greater prominence in our mind. our whole attention can now be focused on the play of the face and of the hands. every gesture and every mimic excitement stirs us now much more than if it were only the accompaniment of speech. moreover, the technical conditions of the kinematograph show favor the importance of the movement. first the play on the screen is acted more rapidly than that on the stage. by the absence of speech everything is condensed, the whole rhythm is quickened, a greater pressure of time is applied, and through that the accents become sharper and the emphasis more powerful for the attention. but secondly the form of the stage intensifies the impression made by those who move toward the foreground. the theater stage is broadest near the footlights and becomes narrower toward the background; the moving picture stage is narrowest in front and becomes wider toward the background. this is necessary because its width is controlled by the angle at which the camera takes the picture. the camera is the apex of an angle which encloses a breadth of only a few feet in the nearest photographic distance, while it may include a width of miles in the far distant landscape. whatever comes to the foreground therefore gains strongly in relative importance over its surroundings. moving away from the camera means a reduction much greater than a mere stepping to the background on the theater stage. furthermore lifeless things have much more chance for movements in the moving pictures than on the stage and their motions, too, can contribute toward the right setting of the attention. but we know from the theater that movement is not the only condition which makes us focus our interest on a particular element of the play. an unusual face, a queer dress, a gorgeous costume or a surprising lack of costume, a quaint piece of decoration, may attract our mind and even hold it spellbound for a while. such means can not only be used but can be carried to a much stronger climax of efficiency by the unlimited means of the moving pictures. this is still more true of the power of setting or background. the painted landscape of the stage can hardly compete with the wonders of nature and culture when the scene of the photoplay is laid in the supreme landscapes of the world. wide vistas are opened, the woods and the streams, the mountain valleys and the ocean, are before us with the whole strength of reality; and yet in rapid change which does not allow the attention to become fatigued. finally the mere formal arrangement of the succeeding pictures may keep our attention in control, and here again are possibilities which are superior to those of the solid theater stage. at the theater no effect of formal arrangement can give exactly the same impression to the spectators in every part of the house. the perspective of the wings and the other settings and their relation to the persons and to the background can never appear alike from the front and from the rear, from the left and from the right side, from the orchestra and from the balcony, while the picture which the camera has fixated is the same from every corner of the picture palace. the greatest skill and refinement can be applied to make the composition serviceable to the needs of attention. the spectator may not and ought not to be aware that the lines of the background, the hangings of the room, the curves of the furniture, the branches of the trees, the forms of the mountains, help to point toward the figure of the woman who is to hold his mind. the shading of the lights, the patches of dark shadows, the vagueness of some parts, the sharp outlines of others, the quietness of some parts of the picture as against the vehement movement of others all play on the keyboard of our mind and secure the desired effect on our involuntary attention. but if all is admitted, we still have not touched on the most important and most characteristic relation of the photoplay pictures to the attention of the audience; and here we reach a sphere in which any comparison with the stage of the theater would be in vain. what is attention? what are the essential processes in the mind when we turn our attention to one face in the crowd, to one little flower in the wide landscape? it would be wrong to describe the process in the mind by reference to one change alone. if we have to give an account of the act of attention, as seen by the modern psychologist, we ought to point to several coördinated features. they are not independent of one another but are closely interrelated. we may say that whatever attracts our attention in the sphere of any sense, sight or sound, touch or smell, surely becomes more vivid and more clear in our consciousness. this does not at all mean that it becomes more intense. a faint light to which we turn our attention does not become the strong light of an incandescent lamp. no, it remains the faint, just perceptible streak of lightness, but it has grown more impressive, more distinct, more clear in its details, more vivid. it has taken a stronger hold of us or, as we may say by a metaphor, it has come into the center of our consciousness. but this involves a second aspect which is surely no less important. while the attended impression becomes more vivid, all the other impressions become less vivid, less clear, less distinct, less detailed. they fade away. we no longer notice them. they have no hold on our mind, they disappear. if we are fully absorbed in our book, we do not hear at all what is said around us and we do not see the room; we forget everything. our attention to the page of the book brings with it our lack of attention to everything else. we may add a third factor. we feel that our body adjusts itself to the perception. our head enters into the movement of listening for the sound, our eyes are fixating the point in the outer world. we hold all our muscles in tension in order to receive the fullest possible impression with our sense organs. the lens in our eye is accommodated exactly to the correct distance. in short our bodily personality works toward the fullest possible impression. but this is supplemented by a fourth factor. our ideas and feelings and impulses group themselves around the attended object. it becomes the starting point for our actions while all the other objects in the sphere of our senses lose their grip on our ideas and feelings. these four factors are intimately related to one another. as we are passing along the street we see something in the shop window and as soon as it stirs up our interest, our body adjusts itself, we stop, we fixate it, we get more of the detail in it, the lines become sharper, and while it impresses us more vividly than before the street around us has lost its vividness and clearness. if on the stage the hand movements of the actor catch our interest, we no longer look at the whole large scene, we see only the fingers of the hero clutching the revolver with which he is to commit his crime. our attention is entirely given up to the passionate play of his hand. it becomes the central point for all our emotional responses. we do not see the hands of any other actor in the scene. everything else sinks into a general vague background, while that one hand shows more and more details. the more we fixate it, the more its clearness and distinctness increase. from this one point wells our emotion, and our emotion again concentrates our senses on this one point. it is as if this one hand were during this pulse beat of events the whole scene, and everything else had faded away. on the stage this is impossible; there nothing can really fade away. that dramatic hand must remain, after all, only the ten thousandth part of the space of the whole stage; it must remain a little detail. the whole body of the hero and the other men and the whole room and every indifferent chair and table in it must go on obtruding themselves on our senses. what we do not attend cannot be suddenly removed from the stage. every change which is needed must be secured by our own mind. in our consciousness the attended hand must grow and the surrounding room must blur. but the stage cannot help us. the art of the theater has there its limits. here begins the art of the photoplay. that one nervous hand which feverishly grasps the deadly weapon can suddenly for the space of a breath or two become enlarged and be alone visible on the screen, while everything else has really faded into darkness. the act of attention which goes on in our mind has remodeled the surrounding itself. the detail which is being watched has suddenly become the whole content of the performance, and everything which our mind wants to disregard has been suddenly banished from our sight and has disappeared. the events without have become obedient to the demands of our consciousness. in the language of the photoplay producers it is a "close-up." _the close-up has objectified in our world of perception our mental act of attention and by it has furnished art with a means which far transcends the power of any theater stage._ the scheme of the close-up was introduced into the technique of the film play rather late, but it has quickly gained a secure position. the more elaborate the production, the more frequent and the more skillful the use of this new and artistic means. the melodrama can hardly be played without it, unless a most inartistic use of printed words is made. the close-up has to furnish the explanations. if a little locket is hung on the neck of the stolen or exchanged infant, it is not necessary to tell us in words that everything will hinge on this locket twenty years later when the girl is grown up. if the ornament at the child's throat is at once shown in a close-up where everything has disappeared and only its quaint form appears much enlarged on the screen, we fix it in our imagination and know that we must give our fullest attention to it, as it will play a decisive part in the next reel. the gentleman criminal who draws his handkerchief from his pocket and with it a little bit of paper which falls down on the rug unnoticed by him has no power to draw our attention to that incriminating scrap. the device hardly belongs in the theater because the audience would not notice it any more than would the scoundrel himself. it would not be able to draw the attention. but in the film it is a favorite trick. at the moment the bit of paper falls, we see it greatly enlarged on the rug, while everything else has faded away, and we read on it that it is a ticket from the railway station at which the great crime was committed. our attention is focused on it and we know that it will be decisive for the development of the action. a clerk buys a newspaper on the street, glances at it and is shocked. suddenly we see that piece of news with our own eyes. the close-up magnifies the headlines of the paper so that they fill the whole screen. but it is not necessary that this focusing of the attention should refer to levers in the plot. any subtle detail, any significant gesture which heightens the meaning of the action may enter into the center of our consciousness by monopolizing the stage for a few seconds. there is love in her smiling face, and yet we overlook it as they stand in a crowded room. but suddenly, only for three seconds, all the others in the room have disappeared, the bodies of the lovers themselves have faded away, and only his look of longing and her smile of yielding reach out to us. the close-up has done what no theater could have offered by its own means, though we might have approached the effect in the theater performance if we had taken our opera glass and had directed it only to those two heads. but by doing so we should have emancipated ourselves from the offering of the stage picture, that is, the concentration and focusing were secured by us and not by the performance. in the photoplay it is the opposite. have we not reached by this analysis of the close-up a point very near to that to which the study of depth perception and movement perception was leading? we saw that the moving pictures give us the plastic world and the moving world, and that nevertheless the depth and the motion in it are not real, unlike the depth and motion of the stage. we find now that the reality of the action in the photoplay in still another respect lacks objective independence, because it yields to our subjective play of attention. wherever our attention becomes focused on a special feature, the surrounding adjusts itself, eliminates everything in which we are not interested, and by the close-up heightens the vividness of that on which our mind is concentrated. it is as if that outer world were woven into our mind and were shaped not through its own laws but by the acts of our attention. chapter v memory and imagination when we sit in a real theater and see the stage with its depth and watch the actors moving and turn our attention hither and thither, we feel that those impressions from behind the footlights have objective character, while the action of our attention is subjective. those men and things come from without but the play of the attention starts from within. yet our attention, as we have seen, does not really add anything to the impressions of the stage. it makes some more vivid and clear while others become vague or fade away, but through the attention alone no content enters our consciousness. wherever our attention may wander on the stage, whatever we experience comes to us through the channels of our senses. the spectator in the audience, however, does experience more than merely the light and sound sensations which fall on the eye and ear at that moment. he may be entirely fascinated by the actions on the stage and yet his mind may be overflooded with other ideas. only one of their sources, but not the least important one, is the memory. indeed the action of the memory brings to the mind of the audience ever so much which gives fuller meaning and ampler setting to every scene--yes, to every word and movement on the stage. to think of the most trivial case, at every point of the drama we must remember what happened in the previous scenes. the first act is no longer on the stage when we see the second. the second alone is now our sense impression. yet this second act is in itself meaningless if it is not supported by the first. hence the first must somehow be in our consciousness. at least in every important scene we must remember those situations of the preceding act which can throw light on the new developments. we see the young missionary in his adventures on his perilous journey and we remember how in the preceding act we saw him in his peaceful cottage surrounded by the love of his parents and sisters and how they mourned when he left them behind. the more exciting the dangers he passes through in the far distant land, the more strongly does our memory carry us back to the home scenes which we witnessed before. the theater cannot do more than suggest to our memory this looking backward. the young hero may call this reminiscence back to our consciousness by his speech and his prayer, and when he fights his way through the jungles of africa and the savages attack him, the melodrama may put words into his mouth which force us to think fervently of those whom he has left behind. but, after all, it is our own material of memory ideas which supplies the picture. the theater cannot go further. the photoplay can. we see the jungle, we see the hero at the height of his danger; and suddenly there flashes upon the screen a picture of the past. for not more than two seconds does the idyllic new england scene slip into the exciting african events. when one deep breath is over we are stirred again by the event of the present. that home scene of the past flitted by just as a hasty thought of bygone days darts through the mind. the modern photoartist makes use of this technical device in an abundance of forms. in his slang any going back to an earlier scene is called a "cut-back." the cut-back may have many variations and serve many purposes. but the one which we face here is psychologically the most interesting. we have really an objectivation of our memory function. the case of the cut-back is there quite parallel to that of the close-up. in the one we recognize the mental act of attending, in the other we must recognize the mental act of remembering. _in both cases the act which in the ordinary theater would go on in our mind alone is here in the photoplay projected into the pictures themselves. it is as if reality has lost its own continuous connection and become shaped by the demands of our soul._ it is as if the outer world itself became molded in accordance with our fleeting turns of attention or with our passing memory ideas. it is only another version of the same principle when the course of events is interrupted by forward glances. the mental function involved is that of expectation or, when the expectation is controlled by our feelings, we may class it under the mental function of imagination. the melodrama shows us how the young millionaire wastes his nights in a dissipated life, and when he drinks his blasphemous toast at a champagne feast with shameless women, we suddenly see on the screen the vision of twenty years later when the bartender of a most miserable saloon pushes the penniless tramp out into the gutter. the last act in the theater may bring us to such an ending, but there it can come only in the regular succession of events. that pitiful ending cannot be shown to us when life is still blooming and when a twenty years' downward course is still to be interpreted. there only our own imagination can anticipate how the mill of life may grind. in the photoplay our imagination is projected on the screen. with an uncanny contrast that ultimate picture of defeat breaks in where victory seems most glorious; and five seconds later the story of youth and rapture streams on. again we see the course of the natural events remolded by the power of the mind. the theater can picture only how the real occurrences might follow one another; the photoplay can overcome the interval of the future as well as the interval of the past and slip the day twenty years hence between this minute and the next. in short, it can act as our imagination acts. it has the mobility of our ideas which are not controlled by the physical necessity of outer events but by the psychological laws for the association of ideas. in our mind past and future become intertwined with the present. the photoplay obeys the laws of the mind rather than those of the outer world. but the play of memory and imagination can have a still richer significance in the art of the film. the screen may produce not only what we remember or imagine but what the persons in the play see in their own minds. the technique of the camera stage has successfully introduced a distinct form for this kind of picturing. if a person in the scene remembers the past, a past which may be entirely unknown to the spectator but which is living in the memory of the hero or heroine, then the former events are not thrown on the screen as an entirely new set of pictures, but they are connected with the present scene by a slow transition. he sits at the fireplace in his study and receives the letter with the news of her wedding. the close-up picture which shows us the enlargement of the engraved wedding announcement appears as an entirely new picture. the room suddenly disappears and the hand which holds the card flashes up. again when we have read the card, it suddenly disappears and we are in the room again. but when he has dreamily stirred the fire and sits down and gazes into the flames, then the room seems to dissolve, the lines blur, the details fade away, and while the walls and the whole room slowly melt, with the same slow transition the flower garden blossoms out, the flower garden where he and she sat together under the lilac bush and he confessed to her his boyish love. and then the garden slowly vanishes and through the flowers we see once more the dim outlines of the room and they become sharper and sharper until we are in the midst of the study again and nothing is left of the vision of the past. the technique of manufacturing such gradual transitions from one picture into another and back again demands much patience and is more difficult than the sudden change, as two exactly corresponding sets of views have to be produced and finally combined. but this cumbersome method has been fully accepted in moving picture making and the effect indeed somewhat symbolizes the appearance and disappearance of a reminiscence. this scheme naturally opens wide perspectives. the skilful photoplaywright can communicate to us long scenes and complicated developments of the past in the form of such retrospective pictures. the man who shot his best friend has not offered an explanation in the court trial which we witness. it remains a perfect secret to the town and a mystery to the spectator; and now as the jail door closes behind him the walls of the prison fuse and melt away and we witness the scene in the little cottage where his friend secretly met his wife and how he broke in and how it all came about and how he rejected every excuse which would dishonor his home. the whole murder story becomes embedded in the reappearance of his memory ideas. the effect is much less artistic when the photoplay, as not seldom happens, uses this pattern as a mere substitute for words. in the picturization of a gaboriau story the woman declines to tell before the court her life story which ended in a crime. she finally yields, she begins under oath to describe her whole past; and at the moment when she opens her mouth the courtroom disappears and fades into the scene in which the love adventure began. then we pass through a long set of scenes which lead to the critical point, and at that moment we slide back into the courtroom and the woman finishes her confession. that is an external substitution of the pictures for the words, esthetically on a much lower level than the other case where the past was living only in the memory of the witness. yet it is again an embodiment of past events which the genuine theater could offer to the ear but never to the eye. just as we can follow the reminiscences of the hero, we may share the fancies of his imagination. once more the case is distinctly different from the one in which we, the spectators, had our imaginative ideas realized on the screen. here we are passive witnesses to the wonders which are unveiled through the imagination of the persons in the play. we see the boy who is to enter the navy and who sleeps on shipboard the first night; the walls disappear and his imagination flutters from port to port. all he has seen in the pictures of foreign lands and has heard from his comrades becomes the background of his jubilant adventures. now he stands in the rigging while the proud vessel sails into the harbor of rio de janeiro and now into manila bay; now he enjoys himself in japanese ports and now by the shores of india; now he glides through the suez canal and now he returns to the skyscrapers of new york. not more than one minute was needed for his world travel in beautiful fantastic pictures; and yet we lived through all the boy's hopes and ecstasies with him. if we had seen the young sailor in his hammock on the theater stage, he might have hinted to us whatever passed through his mind by a kind of monologue or by some enthusiastic speech to a friend. but then we should have seen before our inner eye only that which the names of foreign places awake in ourselves. we should not really have seen the wonders of the world through the eyes of his soul and with the glow of his hope. the drama would have given dead names to our ear; the photoplay gives ravishing scenery to our eye and shows the fancy of the young fellow in the scene really living. from here we see the perspective to the fantastic dreams which the camera can fixate. whenever the theater introduces an imagined setting and the stage clouds sink over the sleeper and the angels fill the stage, the beauty of the verses must excuse the shortcomings of the visual appeal. the photoplay artist can gain his triumphs here. even the vulgar effects become softened by this setting. the ragged tramp who climbs a tree and falls asleep in the shady branches and then lives through a reversed world in which he and his kind feast and glory and live in palaces and sail in yachts, and, when the boiler of the yacht explodes, falls from the tree to the ground, becomes a tolerable spectacle because all is merged in the unreal pictures. or, to think of the other extreme, gigantic visions of mankind crushed by the juggernaut of war and then blessed by the angel of peace may arise before our eyes with all their spiritual meaning. even the whole play may find its frame in a setting which offers a five-reel performance as one great imaginative dream. in the pretty play, "when broadway was a trail," the hero and heroine stand on the metropolitan tower and bend over its railing. they see the turmoil of new york of the present day and ships passing the statue of liberty. he begins to tell her of the past when in the seventeenth century broadway was a trail; and suddenly the time which his imagination awakens is with us. through two hours we follow the happenings of three hundred years ago. from new amsterdam it leads to the new england shores, all the early colonial life shows us its intimate charm, and when the hero has found his way back over the broadway trail, we awake and see the last gestures with which the young narrator shows to the girl the broadway buildings of today. memory looks toward the past, expectation and imagination toward the future. but in the midst of the perception of our surroundings our mind turns not only to that which has happened before and which may happen later; it is interested in happenings at the same time in other places. the theater can show us only the events at one spot. our mind craves more. life does not move forward on one single pathway. the whole manifoldness of parallel currents with their endless interconnections is the true substance of our understanding. it may be the task of a particular art to force all into one steady development between the walls of one room, but every letter and every telephone call to the room remind us even then that other developments with other settings are proceeding in the same instant. the soul longs for this whole interplay, and the richer it is in contrasts, the more satisfaction may be drawn from our simultaneous presence in many quarters. the photoplay alone gives us our chance for such omnipresence. we see the banker, who had told his young wife that he has a directors' meeting, at a late hour in a cabaret feasting with a stenographer from his office. she had promised her poor old parents to be home early. we see the gorgeous roof garden and the tango dances, but our dramatic interest is divided among the frivolous pair, the jealous young woman in the suburban cottage, and the anxious old people in the attic. our mind wavers among the three scenes. the photoplay shows one after another. yet it can hardly be said that we think of them as successive. it is as if we were really at all three places at once. we see the joyous dance which is of central dramatic interest for twenty seconds, then for three seconds the wife in her luxurious boudoir looking at the dial of the clock, for three seconds again the grieved parents eagerly listening for any sound on the stairs, and anew for twenty seconds the turbulent festival. the frenzy reaches a climax, and in that moment we are suddenly again with his unhappy wife; it is only a flash, and the next instant we see the tears of the girl's poor mother. the three scenes proceed almost as if no one were interrupted at all. it is as if we saw one through another, as if three tones blended into one chord. there is no limit to the number of threads which may be interwoven. a complex intrigue may demand coöperation at half a dozen spots, and we look now into one, now into another, and never have the impression that they come one after another. the temporal element has disappeared, the one action irradiates in all directions. of course, this can easily be exaggerated, and the result must be a certain restlessness. if the scene changes too often and no movement is carried on without a break, the play may irritate us by its nervous jerking from place to place. near the end of the theda bara edition of carmen the scene changes one hundred and seventy times in ten minutes, an average of a little more than three seconds for each scene. we follow don jose and carmen and the toreador in ever new phases of the dramatic action and are constantly carried back to don jose's home village where his mother waits for him. there indeed the dramatic tension has an element of nervousness, in contrast to the geraldine farrar version of carmen which allows a more unbroken development of the single action. but whether it is used with artistic reserve or with a certain dangerous exaggeration, in any case its psychological meaning is obvious. it demonstrates to us in a new form the same principle which the perception of depth and of movement, the acts of attention and of memory and of imagination have shown. _the objective world is molded by the interests of the mind. events which are far distant from one another so that we could not be physically present at all of them at the same time are fusing in our field of vision, just as they are brought together in our own consciousness._ psychologists are still debating whether the mind can ever devote itself to several groups of ideas at the same time. some claim that any so-called division of attention is really a rapid alteration. yet in any case subjectively we experience it as an actual division. our mind is split and can be here and there apparently in one mental act. this inner division, this awareness of contrasting situations, this interchange of diverging experiences in the soul, can never be embodied except in the photoplay. an interesting side light falls on this relation between the mind and the pictured scenes, if we turn to a mental process which is quite nearly related to those which we have considered, namely, suggestion. it is similar in that a suggested idea which awakes in our consciousness is built up from the same material as the memory ideas or the imaginative ideas. the play of associations controls the suggestions, as it does the reminiscences and fancies. yet in an essential point it is quite different. all the other associative ideas find merely their starting point in those outer impressions. we see a landscape on the stage or on the screen or in life and this visual perception is the cue which stirs up in our memory or imagination any fitting ideas. the choice of them, however, is completely controlled by our own interest and attitude and by our previous experiences. those memories and fancies are therefore felt as our subjective supplements. we do not believe in their objective reality. a suggestion, on the other hand, is forced on us. the outer perception is not only a starting point but a controlling influence. the associated idea is not felt as our creation but as something to which we have to submit. the extreme case is, of course, that of the hypnotizer whose word awakens in the mind of the hypnotized person ideas which he cannot resist. he must accept them as real, he must believe that the dreary room is a beautiful garden in which he picks flowers. the spellbound audience in a theater or in a picture house is certainly in a state of heightened suggestibility and is ready to receive suggestions. one great and fundamental suggestion is working in both cases, inasmuch as the drama as well as the photoplay suggests to the mind of the spectator that this is more than mere play, that it is life which we witness. but if we go further and ask for the application of suggestions in the detailed action, we cannot overlook the fact that the theater is extremely limited in its means. a series of events on the stage may strongly force on the mind the prediction of something which must follow, but inasmuch as the stage has to do with real physical beings who must behave according to the laws of nature, it cannot avoid offering us the actual events for which we were waiting. to be sure, even on the stage the hero may talk, the revolver in his hand, until it is fully suggested to us that the suicidal shot will end his life in the next instant; and yet just then the curtain may fall, and only the suggestion of his death may work in our mind. but this is evidently a very exceptional case as a fall of the curtain means the ending of the scene. in the act itself every series of events must come to its natural ending. if two men begin to fight on the stage, nothing remains to be suggested; we must simply witness the fight. and if two lovers embrace each other, we have to see their caresses. the photoplay can not only "cut back" in the service of memories, but it can cut off in the service of suggestion. even if the police did not demand that actual crimes and suicides should never be shown on the screen, for mere artistic reasons it would be wiser to leave the climax to the suggestion to which the whole scene has led. there is no need of bringing the series of pictures to its logical end, because they are pictures only and not the real objects. at any instant the man may disappear from the scene, and no automobile can race over the ground so rapidly that it cannot be stopped just as it is to crash into the rushing express train. the horseback rider jumps into the abyss; we see him fall, and yet at the moment when he crashes to the ground we are already in the midst of a far distant scene. again and again with doubtful taste the sensuality of the nickel audiences has been stirred up by suggestive pictures of a girl undressing, and when in the intimate chamber the last garment was touched, the spectators were suddenly in the marketplace among crowds of people or in a sailing vessel on the river. the whole technique of the rapid changes of scenes which we have recognized as so characteristic of the photoplay involves at every end point elements of suggestion which to a certain degree link the separate scenes as the afterimages link the separate pictures. chapter vi emotions to picture emotions must be the central aim of the photoplay. in the drama words of wisdom may be spoken and we may listen to the conversations with interest even if they have only intellectual and not emotional character. but the actor whom we see on the screen can hold our attention only by what he is doing and his actions gain meaning and unity for us through the feelings and emotions which control them. more than in the drama the persons in the photoplay are to us first of all subjects of emotional experiences. their joy and pain, their hope and fear, their love and hate, their gratitude and envy, their sympathy and malice, give meaning and value to the play. what are the chances of the photoartist to bring these feelings to a convincing expression? no doubt, an emotion which is deprived of its discharge by words has lost a strong element, and yet gestures, actions, and facial play are so interwoven with the psychical process of an intense emotion that every shade can find its characteristic delivery. the face alone with its tensions around the mouth, with its play of the eye, with its cast of the forehead, and even with the motions of the nostrils and the setting of the jaw, may bring numberless shades into the feeling tone. here again the close-up can strongly heighten the impression. it is at the climax of emotion on the stage that the theatergoer likes to use his opera glass in order not to overlook the subtle excitement of the lips and the passion of the eyeballs and the ghastly pupil and the quivering cheeks. the enlargement by the close-up on the screen brings this emotional action of the face to sharpest relief. or it may show us enlarged a play of the hands in which anger and rage or tender love or jealousy speak in unmistakable language. in humorous scenes even the flirting of amorous feet may in the close-up tell the story of their possessors' hearts. nevertheless there are narrow limits. many emotional symptoms like blushing or growing pale would be lost in the mere photographic rendering, and, above all, these and many other signs of feeling are not under voluntary control. the photoactors may carefully go through the movements and imitate the contractions and relaxations of the muscles, and yet may be unable to produce those processes which are most essential for the true life emotion, namely those in the glands, blood vessels, and involuntary muscles. certainly the going through the motions will shade consciousness sufficiently so that some of these involuntary and instinctive responses may set in. the actor really experiences something of the inner excitement which he imitates and with the excitement the automatic reactions appear. yet only a few can actually shed tears, however much they move the muscles of the face into the semblance of crying. the pupil of the eye is somewhat more obedient, as the involuntary muscles of the iris respond to the cue which a strong imagination can give, and the mimic presentation of terror or astonishment or hatred may actually lead to the enlargement or contraction of the pupil, which the close-up may show. yet there remains too much which mere art cannot render and which life alone produces, because the consciousness of the unreality of the situation works as a psychological inhibition on the automatic instinctive responses. the actor may artificially tremble, or breathe heavily, but the strong pulsation of the carotid artery or the moistness of the skin from perspiration will not come with an imitated emotion. of course, that is true of the actor on the stage, too. but the content of the words and the modulation of the voice can help so much that the shortcomings of the visual impression are forgotten. to the actor of the moving pictures, on the other hand, the temptation offers itself to overcome the deficiency by a heightening of the gestures and of the facial play, with the result that the emotional expression becomes exaggerated. no friend of the photoplay can deny that much of the photoart suffers from this almost unavoidable tendency. the quick marchlike rhythm of the drama of the reel favors this artificial overdoing, too. the rapid alternation of the scenes often seems to demand a jumping from one emotional climax to another, or rather the appearance of such extreme expressions where the content of the play hardly suggests such heights and depths of emotion. the soft lights are lost and the mental eye becomes adjusted to glaring flashes. this undeniable defect is felt with the american actors still more than with the european, especially with the french and italian ones with whom excited gestures and highly accentuated expressions of the face are natural. a new england temperament forced into neapolitan expressions of hatred or jealousy or adoration too easily appears a caricature. it is not by chance that so many strong actors of the stage are such more or less decided failures on the screen. they have been dragged into an art which is foreign to them, and their achievement has not seldom remained far below that of the specializing photoactor. the habitual reliance on the magic of the voice deprives them of the natural means of expression when they are to render emotions without words. they give too little or too much; they are not expressive, or they become grotesque. of course, the photoartist profits from one advantage. he is not obliged to find the most expressive gesture in one decisive moment of the stage performance. he can not only rehearse, but he can repeat the scene before the camera until exactly the right inspiration comes, and the manager who takes the close-up visage may discard many a poor pose before he strikes that one expression in which the whole content of the feeling of the scene is concentrated. in one other respect the producer of the photoplay has a technical advantage. more easily than the stage manager of the real theater he can choose actors whose natural build and physiognomy fit the rôle and predispose them for the desired expression. the drama depends upon professional actors; the photoplay can pick players among any group of people for specific rôles. they need no art of speaking and no training in delivery. the artificial make-up of the stage actors in order to give them special character is therefore less needed for the screen. the expression of the faces and the gestures must gain through such natural fitness of the man for the particular rôle. if the photoplay needs a brutal boxer in a mining camp, the producer will not, like the stage manager, try to transform a clean, neat, professional actor into a vulgar brute, but he will sift the bowery until he has found some creature who looks as if he came from that mining camp and who has at least the prizefighter's cauliflower ear which results from the smashing of the ear cartilage. if he needs the fat bartender with his smug smile, or the humble jewish peddler, or the italian organ grinder, he does not rely on wigs and paint; he finds them all ready-made on the east side. with the right body and countenance the emotion is distinctly more credible. the emotional expression in the photoplays is therefore often more natural in the small rôles which the outsiders play than in the chief parts of the professionals who feel that they must outdo nature. but our whole consideration so far has been onesided and narrow. we have asked only about the means by which the photoactor expresses his emotion, and we were naturally confined to the analysis of his bodily reactions. but while the human individual in our surroundings has hardly any other means than the bodily expressions to show his emotions and moods, the photoplaywright is certainly not bound by these limits. yet even in life the emotional tone may radiate beyond the body. a person expresses his mourning by his black clothes and his joy by gay attire, or he may make the piano or violin ring forth in happiness or moan in sadness. even his whole room or house may be penetrated by his spirit of welcoming cordiality or his emotional setting of forbidding harshness. the feeling of the soul emanates into the surroundings and the impression which we get of our neighbor's emotional attitude may be derived from this external frame of the personality as much as from the gestures and the face. this effect of the surrounding surely can and must be much heightened in the artistic theater play. all the stage settings of the scene ought to be in harmony with the fundamental emotions of the play, and many an act owes its success to the unity of emotional impression which results from the perfect painting of the background; it reverberates to the passions of the mind. from the highest artistic color and form effects of the stage in the reinhardt style down to the cheapest melodrama with soft blue lights and tender music for the closing scene, the stage arrangements tell the story of the intimate emotion. but just this additional expression of the feeling through the medium of the surrounding scene, through background and setting, through lines and forms and movements, is very much more at the disposal of the photoartist. he alone can change the background and all the surroundings of the acting person from instant to instant. he is not bound to one setting, he has no technical difficulty in altering the whole scene with every smile and every frown. to be sure, the theater can give us changing sunshine and thunderclouds too. but it must go on at the slow pace and with the clumsiness with which the events in nature pass. the photoplay can flit from one to the other. not more than one sixteenth of a second is needed to carry us from one corner of the globe to the other, from a jubilant setting to a mourning scene. the whole keyboard of the imagination may be used to serve this emotionalizing of nature. there is a girl in her little room, and she opens a letter and reads it. there is no need of showing us in a close-up the letter page with the male handwriting and the words of love and the request for her hand. we see it in her radiant visage, we read it from her fascinated arms and hands; and yet how much more can the photoartist tell us about the storm of emotions in her soul. the walls of her little room fade away. beautiful hedges of hawthorn blossom around her, rose bushes in wonderful glory arise and the whole ground is alive with exotic flowers. or the young artist sits in his attic playing his violin; we see the bow moving over the strings but the dreamy face of the player does not change with his music. under the spell of his tones his features are immovable as if they were staring at a vision. they do not speak of the changing emotions which his melodies awake. we cannot hear those tones. and yet we do hear them: a lovely spring landscape widens behind his head, we see the valleys of may and the bubbling brooks and the young wild beeches. and slowly it changes into the sadness of the autumn, the sere leaves are falling around the player, heavy clouds hang low over his head. suddenly at a sharp accent of his bow the storm breaks, we are carried to the wildness of rugged rocks or to the raging sea; and again comes tranquillity over the world, the little country village of his youth fills the background, the harvest is brought from the fields, the sun sets upon a scene of happiness, and while the bow slowly sinks, the walls and ceiling of his attic close in again. no shade, no tint, no hue of his emotions has escaped us; we followed them as if we had heard the rejoicing and the sadness, the storm and the peace of his melodious tones. such imaginative settings can be only the extreme; they would not be fit for the routine play. but, however much weaker and fainter the echo of the surroundings may be in the realistic pictures of the standard photoplay, the chances are abundant everywhere and no skillful playwright will ever disregard them entirely. not the portrait of the man but the picture as a whole has to be filled with emotional exuberance. everything so far has referred to the emotions of the persons in the play, but this cannot be sufficient. when we were interested in attention and memory we did not ask about the act of attention and memory in the persons of the play, but in the spectator, and we recognized that these mental activities and excitements in the audience were projected into the moving pictures. just here was the center of our interest, because it showed that uniqueness of the means with which the photoplaywright can work. if we want to shape the question now in the same way, we ought to ask how it is with the emotions of the spectator. but then two different groups of cases must be distinguished. on the one side we have those emotions in which the feelings of the persons in the play are transmitted to our own soul. on the other side, we find those feelings with which we respond to the scenes in the play, feelings which may be entirely different, perhaps exactly opposite to those which the figures in the play express. the first group is by far the larger one. our imitation of the emotions which we see expressed brings vividness and affective tone into our grasping of the play's action. we sympathize with the sufferer and that means that the pain which he expresses becomes our own pain. we share the joy of the happy lover and the grief of the despondent mourner, we feel the indignation of the betrayed wife and the fear of the man in danger. the visual perception of the various forms of expression of these emotions fuses in our mind with the conscious awareness of the emotion expressed; we feel as if we were directly seeing and observing the emotion itself. moreover the idea awakens in us the appropriate reactions. the horror which we see makes us really shrink, the happiness which we witness makes us relax, the pain which we observe brings contractions in our muscles; and all the resulting sensations from muscles, joints, tendons, from skin and viscera, from blood circulation and breathing, give the color of living experience to the emotional reflection in our mind. it is obvious that for this leading group of emotions the relation of the pictures to the feelings of the persons in the play and to the feelings of the spectator is exactly the same. if we start from the emotions of the audience, we can say that the pain and the joy which the spectator feels are really projected to the screen, projected both into the portraits of the persons and into the pictures of the scenery and background into which the personal emotions radiate. the fundamental principle which we recognized for all the other mental states is accordingly no less efficient in the case of the spectator's emotions. the analysis of the mind of the audience must lead, however, to that second group of emotions, those in which the spectator responds to the scenes on the film from the standpoint of his independent affective life. we see an overbearing pompous person who is filled with the emotion of solemnity, and yet he awakens in us the emotion of humor. we answer by our ridicule. we see the scoundrel who in the melodramatic photoplay is filled with fiendish malice, and yet we do not respond by imitating his emotion; we feel moral indignation toward his personality. we see the laughing, rejoicing child who, while he picks the berries from the edge of the precipice, is not aware that he must fall down if the hero does not snatch him back at the last moment. of course, we feel the child's joy with him. otherwise we should not even understand his behaviour, but we feel more strongly the fear and the horror of which the child himself does not know anything. the photoplaywrights have so far hardly ventured to project this second class of emotion, which the spectator superadds to the events, into the show on the screen. only tentative suggestions can be found. the enthusiasm or the disapproval or indignation of the spectator is sometimes released in the lights and shades and in the setting of the landscape. there are still rich possibilities along this line. the photoplay has hardly come to its own with regard to these secondary emotions. here it has not emancipated itself sufficiently from the model of the stage. those emotions arise, of course, in the audience of a theater too, but the dramatic stage cannot embody them. in the opera the orchestra may symbolize them. for the photoplay, which is not bound to the physical succession of events but gives us only the pictorial reflection, there is an unlimited field for the expression of these attitudes in ourselves. but the wide expansion of this field and of the whole manifoldness of emotional possibilities in the moving pictures is not sufficiently characterized as long as we think only of the optical representation in the actual outer world. the camera men of the moving pictures have photographed the happenings of the world and all its wonders, have gone to the bottom of the sea and up to the clouds; they have surprised the beasts in the jungles and in the arctic ice; they have dwelt with the lowest races and have captured the greatest men of our time: and they are always haunted by the fear that the supply of new sensations may be exhausted. curiously enough, they have so far ignored the fact that an inexhaustible wealth of new impressions is at their disposal, which has hardly been touched as yet. there is a material and a formal side to the pictures which we see in their rapid succession. the material side is controlled by the content of what is shown to us. but the formal side depends upon the outer conditions under which this content is exhibited. even with ordinary photographs we are accustomed to discriminate between those in which every detail is very sharp and others, often much more artistic, in which everything looks somewhat misty and blurring and in which sharp outlines are avoided. we have this formal aspect, of course, still more prominently if we see the same landscape or the same person painted by a dozen different artists. each one has his own style. or, to point to another elementary factor, the same series of moving pictures may be given to us with a very slow or with a rapid turning of the crank. it is the same street scene, and yet in the one case everyone on the street seems leisurely to saunter along, while in the other case there is a general rush and hurry. nothing is changed but the temporal form; and in going over from the sharp image to the blurring one, nothing is changed but a certain spatial form: the content remains the same. as soon as we give any interest to this formal aspect of the presentation, we must recognize that the photoplaywright has here possibilities to which nothing corresponds in the world of the stage. take the case that we want to produce an effect of trembling. we might use the pictures as the camera has taken them, sixteen in a second. but in reproducing them on the screen we change their order. after giving the first four pictures we go back to picture , then give , , , and return to , then , , , and go back to , and so on. any other rhythm, of course, is equally possible. the effect is one which never occurs in nature and which could not be produced on the stage. the events for a moment go backward. a certain vibration goes through the world like the tremolo of the orchestra. or we demand from our camera a still more complex service. we put the camera itself on a slightly rocking support and then every point must move in strange curves and every motion takes an uncanny whirling character. the content still remains the same as under normal conditions, but the changes in the formal presentation give to the mind of the spectator unusual sensations which produce a new shading of the emotional background. of course, impressions which come to our eye can at first awaken only sensations, and a sensation is not an emotion. but it is well known that in the view of modern physiological psychology our consciousness of the emotion itself is shaped and marked by the sensations which arise from our bodily organs. as soon as such abnormal visual impressions stream into our consciousness, our whole background of fusing bodily sensations becomes altered and new emotions seem to take hold of us. if we see on the screen a man hypnotized in the doctor's office, the patient himself may lie there with closed eyes, nothing in his features expressing his emotional setting and nothing radiating to us. but if now only the doctor and the patient remain unchanged and steady, while everything in the whole room begins at first to tremble and then to wave and to change its form more and more rapidly so that a feeling of dizziness comes over us and an uncanny, ghastly unnaturalness overcomes the whole surrounding of the hypnotized person, we ourselves become seized by the strange emotion. it is not worth while to go into further illustrations here, as this possibility of the camera work still belongs entirely to the future. it could not be otherwise as we remember that the whole moving picture play arose from the slavish imitation of the drama and began only slowly to find its own artistic methods. but there is no doubt that the formal changes of the pictorial presentation will be legion as soon as the photoartists give their attention to this neglected aspect. the value of these formal changes for the expression of the emotions may become remarkable. the characteristic features of many an attitude and feeling which cannot be expressed without words today will then be aroused in the mind of the spectator through the subtle art of the camera. part ii the esthetics of the photoplay chapter vii the purpose of art we have analyzed the mental functions which are most powerful in the audience of the photoplay. we studied the mere act of perceiving the pictures on the screen, of perceiving their apparently plastic character, their depth, and their apparent movements. we turned then to those psychical acts by which we respond to the perceived impressions. in the foreground stood the act of attention, but then we followed the play of associations, of memory, of imagination, of suggestion, and, most important of all, we traced the distribution of interest. finally we spoke of the feelings and emotions with which we accompany the play. certainly all this does not exhaust the mental reactions which arise in our mind when we witness a drama of the film. we have not spoken, for instance, of the action which the plot of the story or its social background may start in our soul. the suffering of the poor, the injustice by which the weak may be forced into the path of crime, and a hundred other social motives may be impressed on us by the photoplay; thoughts about human society, about laws and reforms, about human differences and human fates, may fill our mind. yet this is not one of the characteristic functions of the moving pictures. it is a side effect which may set in just as it may result from reading the newspapers or from hearing of practical affairs in life. but in all our discussions we have also left out another mental process, namely, esthetic emotion. we did speak about the emotions which the plot of the play stirs up. we discussed the feelings in which we sympathize with the characters of the scene, in which we share their suffering and their joy; and we also spoke about that other group of emotions by which we take a mental attitude toward the behaviour of the persons in the play. but there is surely a third group of feelings and emotions which we have not yet considered, namely, those of our joy in the play, our esthetic satisfaction or dissatisfaction. we have omitted them intentionally, because the study of this group of feelings involves a discussion of the esthetic process as such, and we have left all the esthetic problems for this second part of our investigation. if we disregard this pleasure or displeasure in the beauty of the photoplay and reflect only on the processes of perception, attention, interest, memory, imagination, suggestion, and emotion which we have analyzed, we see that we everywhere come to the same result. one general principle seemed to control the whole mental mechanism of the spectator, or rather the relation between the mental mechanism and the pictures on the screen. we recognized that in every case the objective world of outer events had been shaped and molded until it became adjusted to the subjective movements of the mind. the mind develops memory ideas and imaginative ideas; in the moving pictures they become reality. the mind concentrates itself on a special detail in its act of attention; and in the close-up of the moving pictures this inner state is objectified. the mind is filled with emotions; and by means of the camera the whole scenery echoes them. even in the most objective factor of the mind, the perception, we find this peculiar oscillation. we perceive the movement; and yet we perceive it as something which has not its independent character as an outer world process, because our mind has built it up from single pictures rapidly following one another. we perceive things in their plastic depth; and yet again the depth is not that of the outer world. we are aware of its unreality and of the pictorial flatness of the impressions. in every one of these features the contrast to the mental impressions from the real stage is obvious. there in the theater we know at every moment that we see real plastic men before us, that they are really in motion when they walk and talk and that, on the other hand, it is our own doing and not a part of the play when our attention turns to this or that detail, when our memory brings back events of the past, when our imagination surrounds them with fancies and emotions. and here, it seems, we have a definite starting point for an esthetic comparison. if we raise the unavoidable question--how does the photoplay compare with the drama?--we seem to have sufficient material on hand to form an esthetic judgment. the verdict, it appears, can hardly be doubtful. must we not say art is imitation of nature? the drama can show us on the stage a true imitation of real life. the scenes proceed just as they would happen anywhere in the outer world. men of flesh and blood with really plastic bodies stand before us. they move like any moving body in our surroundings. moreover those happenings on the stage, just like the events in life, are independent of our subjective attention and memory and imagination. they go their objective course. thus the theater comes so near to its purpose of imitating the world of men that the comparison with the photoplay suggests almost a disastrous failure of the art of the film. the color of the world has disappeared, the persons are dumb, no sound reaches our ear. the depth of the scene appears unreal, the motion has lost its natural character. worst of all, the objective course of events is falsified; our own attention and memory and imagination have shifted and remodeled the events until they look as nature could never show them. what we really see can hardly be called any longer an imitation of the world, such as the theater gives us. when the graphophone repeats a beethoven symphony, the voluminousness of the orchestra is reduced to a thin feeble surface sound, and no one would accept this product of the disk and the diaphragm as a full substitute for the performance of the real orchestra. but, after all, every instrument is actually represented, and we can still discriminate the violins and the celli and the flutes in exactly the same order and tonal and rhythmic relation in which they appear in the original. the graphophone music appears, therefore, much better fitted for replacing the orchestra than the moving pictures are to be a substitute for the theater. there all the essential elements seem conserved; here just the essentials seem to be lost and the aim of the drama to imitate life with the greatest possible reality seems hopelessly beyond the flat, colorless pictures of the photoplay. still more might we say that the plaster of paris cast is a fair substitute for the marble statue. it shares with the beautiful marble work the same form and imitates the body of the living man just as well as the marble statue. moreover, this product of the mechanical process has the same white color which the original work of the sculptor possesses. hence we must acknowledge it as a fair approach to the plastic work of art. in the same way the chromo print gives the essentials of the oil painting. everywhere the technical process has secured a reproduction of the work of art which sounds or looks almost like the work of the great artist, and only the technique of the moving pictures, which so clearly tries to reproduce the theater performance, stands so utterly far behind the art of the actor. is not an esthetic judgment of rejection demanded by good taste and sober criticism? we may tolerate the photoplay because, by the inexpensive technical method which allows an unlimited multiplication of the performances, it brings at least a shadow of the theater to the masses who cannot afford to see real actors. but the cultivated mind might better enjoy plaster of paris casts and chromo prints and graphophone music than the moving pictures with their complete failure to give us the essentials of the real stage. we have heard this message, or if it was not expressed in clear words it surely lingered for a long while in the minds of all those who had a serious relation to art. it probably still prevails today among many, even if they appreciate the more ambitious efforts of the photoplaywrights in the most recent years. the philanthropic pleasure in the furnishing of cheap entertainment and the recognition that a certain advance has recently been made seem to alleviate the esthetic situation, but the core of public opinion remains the same; the moving pictures are no real art. and yet all this arguing and all this hasty settling of a most complex problem is fundamentally wrong. it is based on entirely mistaken ideas concerning the aims and purposes of art. if those errors were given up and if the right understanding of the moving pictures were to take hold of the community, nobody would doubt that the chromo print and the graphophone and the plaster cast are indeed nothing but inexpensive substitutes for art with many essential artistic elements left out, and therefore ultimately unsatisfactory to a truly artistic taste. but everybody would recognize at the same time that the relation of the photoplay to the theater is a completely different one and that the difference counts entirely in favor of the moving pictures. _they are not and ought never to be imitations of the theater. they can never give the esthetic values of the theater; but no more can the theater give the esthetic values of the photoplay._ with the rise of the moving pictures has come an entirely new independent art which must develop its own life conditions. the moving pictures would indeed be a complete failure if that popular theory of art which we suggested were right. but that theory is wrong from beginning to end, and it must not obstruct the way to a better insight which recognizes that the stage and the screen are as fundamentally different as sculpture and painting, or as lyrics and music. _the drama and the photoplay are two coördinated arts, each perfectly valuable in itself._ the one cannot replace the other; and the shortcomings of the one as against the other reflect only the fact that the one has a history of fifteen years while the other has one of five thousand. this is the thesis which we want to prove, and the first step to it must be to ask: what is the aim of art if not the imitation of reality? but can the claim that art imitates nature or rather that imitation is the essence of art be upheld if we seriously look over the field of artistic creations? would it not involve the expectation that the artistic value would be the greater, the more the ideal of imitation is approached? a perfect imitation which looks exactly like the original would give us the highest art. yet every page in the history of art tells us the opposite. we admire the marble statue and we despise as inartistic the colored wax figures. there is no difficulty in producing colored wax figures which look so completely like real persons that the visitor at an exhibit may easily be deceived and may ask information from the wax man leaning over the railing. on the other hand what a tremendous distance between reality and the marble statue with its uniform white surface! it could never deceive us and as an imitation it would certainly be a failure. is it different with a painting? here the color may be quite similar to the original, but unlike the marble it has lost its depth and shows us nature on a flat surface. again we could never be deceived, and it is not the painter's ambition to make us believe for a moment that reality is before us. moreover neither the sculptor nor the painter gives us less valuable work when they offer us a bust or a painted head only instead of the whole figure; and yet we have never seen in reality a human body ending at the chest. we admire a fine etching hardly less than a painting. here we have neither the plastic effect of the sculpture nor the color of the painting. the essential features of the real model are left out. as an imitation it would fail disastrously. what is imitated in a lyric poem? through more than two thousand years we have appreciated the works of the great dramatists who had their personages speak in the rhythms of metrical language. every iambic verse is a deviation from reality. if they had tried to imitate nature antigone and hamlet would have spoken the prose of daily life. does a beautiful arch or dome or tower of a building imitate any part of reality? is its architectural value dependent upon the similarity to nature? or does the melody or harmony in music offer an imitation of the surrounding world? wherever we examine without prejudice the mental effects of true works of art in literature or music, in painting or sculpture, in decorative arts or architecture, we find that the central esthetic value is directly opposed to the spirit of imitation. a work of art may and must start from something which awakens in us the interests of reality and which contains traits of reality, and to that extent it cannot avoid some imitation. but _it becomes art just in so far as it overcomes reality, stops imitating and leaves the imitated reality behind it_. it is artistic just in so far as it does not imitate reality but changes the world, selects from it special features for new purposes, remodels the world and is through this truly creative. to imitate the world is a mechanical process; to transform the world so that it becomes a thing of beauty is the purpose of art. the highest art may be furthest removed from reality. we have not even the right to say that this process of selection from reality means that we keep the beautiful elements of it and simply omit and eliminate the ugly ones. this again is not in the least characteristic of art, however often the popular mind may couple this superficial idea with that other one, that art consists of imitation. it is not true that the esthetic value depends upon the beauty of the selected material. the men and women whom rembrandt painted were not beautiful persons. the ugliest woman may be the subject of a most beautiful painting. the so-called beautiful landscape may, of course, be material for a beautiful landscape painting, but the chances are great that such a pretty vista will attract the dilettante and not the real artist who knows that the true value of his painting is independent of the prettiness of the model. he knows that a muddy country road or a dirty city street or a trivial little pond may be the material for immortal pictures. he who writes literature does not select scenes of life which are beautiful in themselves, scenes which we would have liked to live through, full of radiant happiness and joy; he does not eliminate from his picture of life that which is disturbing to the peace of the soul, repellant and ugly and immoral. on the contrary, all the great works of literature have shown us dark shades of life beside the light ones. they have spoken of unhappiness and pain as often as of joy. we have suffered with our poets, and in so far as the musical composer expresses the emotions of life the great symphonies have been full of pathos and tragedy. true art has always been selection, but never selection of the beautiful elements in outer reality. but if the esthetic value is independent of the imitative approach to reality and independent of the elimination of unpleasant elements or of the collection and addition of pleasant traits, what does the artist really select and combine in his creation? how does he shape the world? how does nature look when it has been remolded by the artistic temperament and imagination? what is left of the real landscape when the engraver's needle has sketched it? what is left of the tragic events in real life when the lyric poet has reshaped them in a few rhymed stanzas? perhaps we may bring the characteristic features of the process most easily to recognition if we contrast them with another kind of reshaping process. the same landscape which the artist sketches, the same historic event which the lyric poet interprets in his verses, may be grasped by the human mind in a wholly different way. we need only think of the scientific work of the scholar. he too may have the greatest interest in the landscape which the engraver has rendered: the tree on the edge of the rock, torn by the storm, and at the foot of the cliff the sea with its whitecapped waves. he too is absorbed by the tragic death of a lincoln. but what is the scholar's attitude? is it his aim to reproduce the landscape or the historic event? certainly not. the meaning of science and scholarship and of knowledge in general would be completely misunderstood if their aim were thought to be simply the repeating of the special facts in reality. the scientist tries to explain the facts, and even his description is meant to serve his explanation. he turns to that tree on the cliff with the interest of studying its anatomical structure. he examines with a microscope the cells of those tissues in the branches and leaves in order that he may explain the growth of the tree and its development from the germ. the storm which whips its branches is to him a physical process for which he seeks the causes, far removed. the sea is to him a substance which he resolves in his laboratory into its chemical elements and which he explains by tracing the geological changes on the surface of the earth. in short, the scientist is not interested in that particular object only, but in its connections with the total universe. he explains the event by a reference to general laws which are effective everywhere. every single growth and movement is linked by him with the endless chain of causes and effects. he surely reshapes the experience in connecting every single impression with the totality of events, in finding the general in the particular, in transforming the given facts into the scientific scheme of an atomistic universe. it is not different from the historical event. to the scholarly historian the death of lincoln is meaningless if it is not seen in its relation to and connection with the whole history of the civil war and if this again is not understood as the result of the total development of the united states. and who can understand the growth of the united states, unless the whole of modern history is seen as a background and unless the ideas of state philosophy which have built up the american democracy are grasped in their connection with the whole story of european political thought in preceding centuries? the scholar may turn to natural or to social events, to waves or trees or men: every process and action in the world gains interest for him only by being connected with other things and events. every point which he marks is the nodal point for numberless relations. to grasp a fact in the sense of scholarly knowledge means to see it in all its connections, and the work of the scholar is not simply to hold the fact as he becomes aware of it but to trace the connections and to supplement them by his thought until a completed system of interrelated facts in science or in history is established. now we are better prepared to recognize the characteristic function of the artist. he is doing exactly the opposite of what the scholar is aiming at. both are changing and remolding the given thing or event in the interest of their ideal aims. but the ideal aim of beauty and art is in complete contrast to the ideal aim of scholarly knowledge. the scholar, we see, establishes connections by which the special thing loses all character of separateness. he binds it to all the remainder of the physical and social universe. the artist, on the contrary, cuts off every possible connection. he puts his landscape into a frame so that every possible link with the surrounding world is severed. he places his statue on a pedestal so that it cannot possibly step into the room around it. he makes his persons speak in verse so that they cannot possibly be connected with the intercourse of the day. he tells his story so that nothing can happen after the last chapter. _the work of art shows us the things and events perfectly complete in themselves, freed from all connections which lead beyond their own limits, that is, in perfect isolation._ both the truth which the scholar discovers and the beauty which the artist creates are valuable; but it is now clear that the value in both cases lies not in the mere repetition of the offerings of reality. there is no reason whatever for appreciating a mere imitation or repetition of that which exists in the world. neither the scholar nor the artist could do better than nature or history. the value in both cases lies just in the deviation from reality in the service of human desires and ideals. the desire and ideal of the scholar is to give us an interconnected world in which we understand everything by its being linked with everything else; and the desire and ideal of the artist in every possible art is to give us things which are freed from the connection of the world and which stand before us complete in themselves. the things of the outer world have thousandfold ties with nature and history. an object becomes beautiful when it is delivered from these ties, and in order to secure this result we must take it away from the background of reality and reproduce it in such a form that it is unmistakably different from the real things which are enchained by the causes and effects of nature. why does this satisfy us? why is it valuable to have a part of nature or life liberated from all connection with the world? why does it make us happy to see anything in its perfect isolation, an isolation which real life seldom offers and which only art can give in complete perfection? the motives which lead us to value the product of the scholar are easily recognized. he aims toward connection. he reshapes the world until it appears connected, because that helps us to foresee the effects of every event and teaches us to master nature so that we can use it for our practical achievements. but why do we appreciate no less the opposite work which the artist is doing? might we not answer that this enjoyment of the artistic work results from the fact that only in contact with an isolated experience can we feel perfectly happy? whatever we meet in life or nature awakes in us desires, impulses to action, suggestions and questions which must be answered. life is a continuous striving. nothing is an end in itself and therefore nothing is a source of complete rest. everything is a stimulus to new wishes, a source of new uneasiness which longs for new satisfaction in the next and again the next thing. life pushes us forward. yet sometimes a touch of nature comes to us; we are stirred by a thrill of life which awakens plenty of impulses but which offers satisfaction to all these impulses in itself. it does not lead beyond itself but contains in its own midst everything which answers the questions, which brings the desires to rest. wherever we meet such an offering of nature, we call it beautiful. we speak of the beautiful landscape, of the beautiful face. and wherever we meet it in life, we speak of love, of friendship, of peace, of harmony. the word harmony may even cover both nature and life. wherever it happens that every line and every curve and every color and every movement in the landscape is so harmonious with all the others that every suggestion which one stirs up is satisfied by another, there it is perfect and we are completely happy in it. in the life relations of love and friendship and peace, there is again this complete harmony of thought and feeling and will, in which every desire is satisfied. if our own mind is in such flawless harmony, we feel the true happiness which crowns our life. such harmony, in which every part is the complete fulfillment of that which the other parts demand, when nothing is suggested which is not fulfilled in the midst of the same experience, where nothing points beyond and everything is complete in the offering itself, must be a source of inexhaustible happiness. to remold nature and life so that it offers such complete harmony in itself that it does not point beyond its own limits but is an ultimate unity through the harmony of its parts: this is the aim of the isolation which the artist alone achieves. that restful happiness which the beautiful landscape or the harmonious life relation can furnish us in blessed instants of our struggling life is secured as a joy forever when the painter or the sculptor, the dramatist or the poet, the composer or the photoplaywright, recomposes nature and life and shows us a unity which does not lead beyond itself but is in itself perfectly harmonious. chapter viii the means of the various arts we have sought the aim which underlies all artistic creation and were led in this search to paths which seem far away from our special problem, the art of the photoplay. yet we have steadily come nearer to it. we had to go the longer way because there can be no other method to reach a decision concerning the esthetic value and significance of the photoplay. we must clearly see what art in general aims at if we want to recognize the relative standing of the film art and the art of the theater. if we superficially accept the popular idea that the value of the photoplay is to be measured by the nearness with which it approaches the standards of the real theater and that the task of the theater is to imitate life as closely as possible, the esthetic condemnation of the photoplay is necessary. the pictures on the screen then stand far behind the actual playing on the stage in every respect. but if we find that the aim of art, including the dramatic art, is not to imitate life but to reset it in a way which is totally different from reality, then an entirely new perspective is opened. the dramatic way may then be only one of the artistic possibilities. the kinematoscopic way may be another, which may have entirely different methods and yet may be just as valuable and esthetically pure as the art of the theater. the drama and the photoplay may serve the purpose of art with equal sincerity and perfection and may reach the same goal with sharply contrasting means. our next step, which brings us directly to the threshold of the photoplayhouse, is, accordingly, to study the difference of the various methods which the different arts use for their common purpose. what characterizes a particular art as such? when we have recognized the special traits of the traditional arts we shall be better prepared to ask whether the methods of the photoplay do not characterize this film creation also as a full-fledged art, coördinated with the older forms of beauty. we saw that the aim of every art is to isolate some object of experience in nature or social life in such a way that it becomes complete in itself, and satisfies by itself every demand which it awakens. if every desire which it stimulates is completely fulfilled by its own parts, that is, if it is a complete harmony, we, the spectators, the listeners, the readers, are perfectly satisfied, and this complete satisfaction is the characteristic esthetic joy. the first demand which is involved in this characterization of art is that the offering of the artist shall really awaken interests, as only a constant stirring up of desires together with their constant fulfillment keeps the flame of esthetic enjoyment alive. when nothing stirs us, when nothing interests us, we are in a state of indifference outside the realm of art. this also separates the esthetic pleasure from the ordinary selfish pleasures of life. they are based on the satisfaction of desires, too, but a kind of satisfaction through which the desire itself disappears. the pleasure in a meal, to be sure, can have its esthetic side, as often the harmony of the tastes and odors and sights of a rich feast may be brought to a certain artistic perfection. but mere pleasure in eating has no esthetic value, as the object is destroyed by the partaking and not only the cake disappears but also our desire for the cake when the desire is fulfilled and we are satiated. the work of art aims to keep both the demand and its fulfillment forever awake. but then this stirring up of interests demands more than anything else a careful selection of those features in reality which ought to be admitted into the work of art. a thousand traits of the landscape are trivial and insignificant and most of what happens in the social life around us, even where a great action is going on, is in itself commonplace and dull and without consequences for the event which stirs us. the very first requirement for the artistic creation is therefore the elimination of the indifferent, the selection of those features of the complex offering of nature or social life which tell the real story, which express the true emotional values and which suggest the interest for everything which is involved in this particular episode of the world. but this leads on to the natural consequence, that the artist must not only select the important traits, but must artificially heighten their power and increase their strength. we spoke of the landscape with the tree on the rock and the roaring surf, and we saw how the scientist studies its smallest elements, the cells of the tree, the molecules of the seawater and of the rock. how differently does the artist proceed! he does not care even for the single leaves which the photographer might reproduce. if a painter renders such a landscape with his masterly brush, he gives us only the leading movements of those branches which the storm tears, and the great swing in the curve of the wave. but those forceful lines of the billows, those sharp contours of the rock, contain everything which expresses their spirit. it is not different with the author who writes a historical novel or drama. every man's life is crowded with the trivialities of the day. the scholarly historian may have to look into them; the artist selects those events in his hero's life which truly express his personality and which are fit to sustain the significant plot. the more he brings those few elements out of the many into sharp relief, the more he stimulates our interest and makes us really feel with the persons of his novel or drama. the sculptor even selects one single position. he cannot, like the painter, give us any background, he cannot make his hero move as on the theater stage. the marble statue makes the one position of the hero everlasting, but this is so selected that all the chance aspects and fleeting gestures of the real man appear insignificant compared with the one most expressive and most characteristic position which is chosen. however far this selection of the essential traits removes the artistic creation from the mere imitative reproduction of the world, a much greater distance from reality results from a second need if the work is to fulfill the purposes of art. we saw that we have art only when the work is isolated, that is, when it fulfills every demand in itself and does not point beyond itself. this can be done only if it is sharply set off from the sphere of our practical interests. whatever enters into our practical sphere links itself with our impulses to real action and the action would involve a change, an intrusion, an influence from without. as long as we have the desire to change anything, the work is not complete in itself. the relation of the work to us as persons must not enter into our awareness of it at all. as soon as it does, that complete restfulness of the esthetic enjoyment is lost. then the object becomes simply a part of our practical surroundings. the fundamental condition of art, therefore, is that we shall be distinctly conscious of the unreality of the artistic production, and that means that it must be absolutely separated from the real things and men, that it must be isolated and kept in its own sphere. as soon as a work of art tempts us to take it as a piece of reality, it has been dragged into the sphere of our practical action, which means our desire to put ourselves into connection with it. its completeness in itself is lost and its value for our esthetic enjoyment has faded away. now we understand why it is necessary that each art should have its particular method for fundamentally changing reality. now we recognize that it is by no means a weakness of sculpture that the marble statue has not the colors of life but a whiteness unlike any human being. nor does it appear a deficiency in the painting or the drawing that it can offer two dimensions only and has no means to show us the depth of real nature. now we grasp why the poet expresses his feelings and thoughts in the entirely unnatural language of rhythms and rhymes. now we see why every work of art has its frame or its base or its stage. everything serves that central purpose, the separation of the offered experience from the background of our real life. when we have a painted garden before us, we do not want to pick the flowers from the beds and break the fruit from the branches. the flatness of the picture tells us that this is no reality, in spite of the fact that the size of the painting may not be different from that of the windowpane through which we see a real garden. we have no thought of bringing a chair or a warm coat for the woman in marble. the work which the sculptor created stands before us in a space into which we cannot enter, and because it is entirely removed from the reality toward which our actions are directed we become esthetic spectators only. the smile of the marble girl wins us as if it came from a living one, but we do not respond to her welcome. just as she appears in her marble form she is complete in herself without any relation to us or to anyone else. the very difference from reality has given her that self-sustained perfect life. if we read in a police report about burglaries, we may lock our house more securely; if we read about a flood, we may send our mite; if we read about an elopement, we may try to find out what happened later. but if we read about all these in a short story, we have esthetic enjoyment only if the author somehow makes it perfectly clear to us by the form of the description that this burglary and flood and elopement do not belong to our real surroundings and exist only in the world of imagination. the extreme case comes to us in the theater performance. we see there real human beings a few feet from us; we see in the melodrama how the villain approaches his victim from behind with a dagger; we feel indignation and anger: and yet we have not the slightest desire to jump up on the stage and stay his arm. the artificial setting of the stage, the lighted proscenium before the dark house, have removed the whole action from the world which is connected with our own deeds. the consciousness of unreality, which the theater has forced on us, is the condition for our dramatic interest in the events presented. if we were really deceived and only for a moment took the stage quarrel and stage crime to be real, we would at once be removed from the height of esthetic joy to the level of common experience. we must take one step more. we need not only the complete separation from reality by the changed forms of experience, but we must demand also that this unreal thing or event shall be complete in itself. the artist, therefore, must do whatever is needed to satisfy the demands which any part awakens. if one line in the painting suggests a certain mood and movement, the other lines must take it up and the colors must sympathize with it and they all must agree with the pictured content. the tension which one scene in the drama awakens must be relieved by another. nothing must remain unexplained and nothing unfinished. we do not want to know what is going on behind the hills of the landscape painting or what the couple in the comedy will do after the engagement in the last act. on the other hand, if the artist adds elements which are in harmony with the demands of the other parts, they are esthetically valuable, however much they may differ from the actual happenings in the outer world. in the painting the mermaid may have her tail and the sculptured child may have his angel wings and fairies may appear on the stage. in short, every demand which is made by the purpose of true art removes us from reality and is contrary to the superficial claim that art ought to rest on skillful imitation. the true victory of art lies in the overcoming of the real appearance and every art is genuine which fulfills this esthetic desire for history or for nature, in its own way. the number of ways cannot be determined beforehand. by the study of painting and etching and drawing merely, we could not foresee that there is also possible an art like sculpture, and by studying epic and lyric poetry we could not construct beforehand the forms of the drama. the genius of mankind had to discover ever new forms in which the interest in reality is conserved and yet the things and events are so completely changed that they are separated from all possible reality, isolated from all connections and made complete in themselves. we have not yet spoken about the one art which gives us this perfect satisfaction in the isolated material, satisfies every demand which it awakens, and yet which is further removed from the reality we know than any other artistic creation, music. those tones with which the composer builds up his melodies and harmonies are not parts of the world in which we live at all. none of our actions in practical life is related to tones from musical instruments, and yet the tones of a symphony may arouse in us the deepest emotions, the most solemn feelings and the most joyful ones. they are symbols of our world which bring with them its sadness and its happiness. we feel the rhythm of the tones, fugitive, light and joyful, or quiet, heavy and sustained, and they impress us as energies which awaken our own impulses, our own tensions and relaxations. we enter into the play of those tones which with their intervals and their instrumental tone color appear like a wonderful mosaic of agreements and disagreements. yet each disagreement resolves itself into a new agreement. those tones seek one another. they have a life of their own, complete in itself. we do not want to change it. our mind simply echoes their desires and their satisfaction. we feel with them and are happy in their ultimate agreement without which no musical melody would be beautiful. bound by the inner law which is proclaimed by the first tones every coming tone is prepared. the whole tone movement points toward the next one. it is a world of inner self-agreement like that of the colors in a painting, of the curves in a work of sculpture, like the rhythms and rhymes in a stanza. but beyond the mere self-agreement of the tones and rhythms as such, the musical piece as a whole unveils to us a world of emotion. music does not depict the physical nature which fine arts bring to us, nor the social world which literature embraces, but the inner world with its abundance of feelings and excitements. it isolates our inner experience and within its limits brings it to that perfect self-agreement which is the characteristic of every art. we might easily trace further the various means by which each particular art overcomes the chaos of the world and renders a part of it in a perfectly isolated form in which all elements are in mutual agreement. we might develop out of this fundamental demand of art all the special forms which are characteristic in its various fields. we might also turn to the applied arts, to architecture, to arts and crafts, and so on and see how new rules must arise from the combination of purely artistic demands and those of practical utility. but this would lead us too far into esthetic theory, while our aim is to push forward toward the problem of the photoplay. of painting, of drama, and of music we had to speak because with them the photoplay does share certain important conditions and accordingly certain essential forms of rendering the world. each element of the photoplay is a picture, flat like that which the painter creates, and the pictorial character is fundamental for the art of the film. but surely the photoplay shares many conditions with the drama on the stage. the presentation of conflicting action among men in dramatic scenes is the content, on the stage as on the screen. our chief claim, however, was that we falsify the meaning of the photoplay if we simply subordinate it to the esthetic conditions of the drama. it is different from mere pictures and it is different from the drama, too, however much relation it has to both. but we come nearer to the understanding of its true position in the esthetic world, if we think at the same time of that other art upon which we touched, the art of the musical tones. they have overcome the outer world and the social world entirely, they unfold our inner life, our mental play, with its feelings and emotions, its memories and fancies, in a material which seems exempt from the laws of the world of substance and material, tones which are fluttering and fleeting like our own mental states. of course, a photoplay is not a piece of music. its material is not sound but light. but the photoplay is not music in the same sense in which it is not drama and not pictures. it shares something with all of them. it stands somewhere among and apart from them and just for this reason it is an art of a particular type which must be understood through its own conditions and for which its own esthetic rules must be traced instead of drawing them simply from the rules of the theater. chapter ix the means of the photoplay we have now reached the point at which we can knot together all our threads, the psychological and the esthetic ones. if we do so, we come to the true thesis of this whole book. our esthetic discussion showed us that it is the aim of art to isolate a significant part of our experience in such a way that it is separate from our practical life and is in complete agreement within itself. our esthetic satisfaction results from this inner agreement and harmony, but in order that we may feel such agreement of the parts we must enter with our own impulses into the will of every element, into the meaning of every line and color and form, every word and tone and note. only if everything is full of such inner movement can we really enjoy the harmonious coöperation of the parts. the means of the various arts, we saw, are the forms and methods by which this aim is fulfilled. they must be different for every material. moreover the same material may allow very different methods of isolation and elimination of the insignificant and reënforcement of that which contributes to the harmony. if we ask now what are the characteristic means by which the photoplay succeeds in overcoming reality, in isolating a significant dramatic story and in presenting it so that we enter into it and yet keep it away from our practical life and enjoy the harmony of the parts, we must remember all the results to which our psychological discussion in the first part of the book has led us. we recognized there that the photoplay, incomparable in this respect with the drama, gave us a view of dramatic events which was completely shaped by the inner movements of the mind. to be sure, the events in the photoplay happen in the real space with its depth. but the spectator feels that they are not presented in the three dimensions of the outer world, that they are flat pictures which only the mind molds into plastic things. again the events are seen in continuous movement; and yet the pictures break up the movement into a rapid succession of instantaneous impressions. we do not see the objective reality, but a product of our own mind which binds the pictures together. but much stronger differences came to light when we turned to the processes of attention, of memory, of imagination, of suggestion, of division of interest and of emotion. the attention turns to detailed points in the outer world and ignores everything else: the photoplay is doing exactly this when in the close-up a detail is enlarged and everything else disappears. memory breaks into present events by bringing up pictures of the past: the photoplay is doing this by its frequent cut-backs, when pictures of events long past flit between those of the present. the imagination anticipates the future or overcomes reality by fancies and dreams; the photoplay is doing all this more richly than any chance imagination would succeed in doing. but chiefly, through our division of interest our mind is drawn hither and thither. we think of events which run parallel in different places. the photoplay can show in intertwined scenes everything which our mind embraces. events in three or four or five regions of the world can be woven together into one complex action. finally, we saw that every shade of feeling and emotion which fills the spectator's mind can mold the scenes in the photoplay until they appear the embodiment of our feelings. in every one of these aspects the photoplay succeeds in doing what the drama of the theater does not attempt. if this is the outcome of esthetic analysis on the one side, of psychological research on the other, we need only combine the results of both into a unified principle: _the photoplay tells us the human story by overcoming the forms of the outer world, namely, space, time, and causality, and by adjusting the events to the forms of the inner world, namely, attention, memory, imagination, and emotion._ we shall gain our orientation most directly if once more, under this point of view, we compare the photoplay with the performance on the theater stage. we shall not enter into a discussion of the character of the regular theater and its drama. we take this for granted. everybody knows that highest art form which the greeks created and which from greece has spread over asia, europe, and america. in tragedy and in comedy from ancient times to ibsen, rostand, hauptmann, and shaw we recognize one common purpose and one common form for which no further commentary is needed. how does the photoplay differ from a theater performance? we insisted that every work of art must be somehow separated from our sphere of practical interests. the theater is no exception. the structure of the theater itself, the framelike form of the stage, the difference of light between stage and house, the stage setting and costuming, all inhibit in the audience the possibility of taking the action on the stage to be real life. stage managers have sometimes tried the experiment of reducing those differences, for instance, keeping the audience also in a fully lighted hall, and they always had to discover how much the dramatic effect was reduced because the feeling of distance from reality was weakened. the photoplay and the theater in this respect are evidently alike. the screen too suggests from the very start the complete unreality of the events. but each further step leads us to remarkable differences between the stage play and the film play. in every respect the film play is further away from the physical reality than the drama and in every respect this greater distance from the physical world brings it nearer to the mental world. the stage shows us living men. it is not the real romeo and not the real juliet; and yet the actor and the actress have the ringing voices of true people, breathe like them, have living colors like them, and fill physical space like them. what is left in the photoplay? the voice has been stilled: the photoplay is a dumb show. yet we must not forget that this alone is a step away from reality which has often been taken in the midst of the dramatic world. whoever knows the history of the theater is aware of the tremendous rôle which the pantomime has played in the development of mankind. from the old half-religious pantomimic and suggestive dances out of which the beginnings of the real drama grew to the fully religious pantomimes of medieval ages and, further on, to many silent mimic elements in modern performances, we find a continuity of conventions which make the pantomime almost the real background of all dramatic development. we know how popular the pantomimes were among the greeks, and how they stood in the foreground in the imperial period of rome. old rome cherished the mimic clowns, but still more the tragic pantomimics. "their very nod speaks, their hands talk and their fingers have a voice." after the fall of the roman empire the church used the pantomime for the portrayal of sacred history, and later centuries enjoyed very unsacred histories in the pantomimes of their ballets. even complex artistic tragedies without words have triumphed on our present-day stage. "l'enfant prodigue" which came from paris, "sumurun" which came from berlin, "petroushka" which came from petrograd, conquered the american stage; and surely the loss of speech, while it increased the remoteness from reality, by no means destroyed the continuous consciousness of the bodily existence of the actors. moreover the student of a modern pantomime cannot overlook a characteristic difference between the speechless performance on the stage and that of the actors of a photoplay. the expression of the inner states, the whole system of gestures, is decidedly different: and here we might say that the photoplay stands nearer to life than the pantomime. of course, the photoplayer must somewhat exaggerate the natural expression. the whole rhythm and intensity of his gestures must be more marked than it would be with actors who accompany their movements by spoken words and who express the meaning of their thoughts and feelings by the content of what they say. nevertheless the photoplayer uses the regular channels of mental discharge. he acts simply as a very emotional person might act. but the actor who plays in a pantomime cannot be satisfied with that. he is expected to add something which is entirely unnatural, namely a kind of artificial demonstration of his emotions. he must not only behave like an angry man, but he must behave like a man who is consciously interested in his anger and wants to demonstrate it to others. he exhibits his emotions for the spectators. he really acts theatrically for the benefit of the bystanders. if he did not try to do so, his means of conveying a rich story and a real conflict of human passions would be too meager. the photoplayer, with the rapid changes of scenes, has other possibilities of conveying his intentions. he must not yield to the temptation to play a pantomime on the screen, or he will seriously injure the artistic quality of the reel. the really decisive distance from bodily reality, however, is created by the substitution of the actor's picture for the actor himself. lights and shades replace the manifoldness of color effects and mere perspective must furnish the suggestion of depth. we traced it when we discussed the psychology of kinematoscopic perception. but we must not put the emphasis on the wrong point. the natural tendency might be to lay the chief stress on the fact that those people in the photoplay do not stand before us in flesh and blood. the essential point is rather that we are conscious of the flatness of the picture. if we were to see the actors of the stage in a mirror, it would also be a reflected image which we perceive. we should not really have the actors themselves in our straight line of vision; and yet this image would appear to us equivalent to the actors themselves, because it would contain all the depth of the real stage. the film picture is such a reflected rendering of the actors. the process which leads from the living men to the screen is more complex than a mere reflection in a mirror, but in spite of the complexity in the transmission we do, after all, see the real actor in the picture. the photograph is absolutely different from those pictures which a clever draughtsman has sketched. in the photoplay we see the actors themselves and the decisive factor which makes the impression different from seeing real men is not that we see the living persons through the medium of photographic reproduction but that this reproduction shows them in a flat form. the bodily space has been eliminated. we said once before that stereoscopic arrangements could reproduce somewhat this plastic form also. yet this would seriously interfere with the character of the photoplay. we need there this overcoming of the depth, we want to have it as a picture only and yet as a picture which strongly suggests to us the actual depth of the real world. we want to keep the interest in the plastic world and want to be aware of the depth in which the persons move, but our direct object of perception must be without the depth. that idea of space which forces on us most strongly the idea of heaviness, solidity and substantiality must be replaced by the light flitting immateriality. but the photoplay sacrifices not only the space values of the real theater; it disregards no less its order of time. the theater presents its plot in the time order of reality. it may interrupt the continuous flow of time without neglecting the conditions of the dramatic art. there may be twenty years between the third and the fourth act, inasmuch as the dramatic writer must select those elements spread over space and time which are significant for the development of his story. but he is bound by the fundamental principle of real time, that it can move only forward and not backward. whatever the theater shows us now must come later in the story than that which it showed us in any previous moment. the strict classical demand for complete unity of time does not fit every drama, but a drama would give up its mission if it told us in the third act something which happened before the second act. of course, there may be a play within a play, and the players on the stage which is set on the stage may play events of old roman history before the king of france. but this is an enclosure of the past in the present, which corresponds exactly to the actual order of events. the photoplay, on the other hand, does not and must not respect this temporal structure of the physical universe. at any point the photoplay interrupts the series and brings us back to the past. we studied this unique feature of the film art when we spoke of the psychology of memory and imagination. with the full freedom of our fancy, with the whole mobility of our association of ideas, pictures of the past flit through the scenes of the present. time is left behind. man becomes boy; today is interwoven with the day before yesterday. the freedom of the mind has triumphed over the unalterable law of the outer world. it is interesting to watch how playwrights nowadays try to steal the thunder of the photoplay and experiment with time reversals on the legitimate stage. we are esthetically on the borderland when a grandfather tells his grandchild the story of his own youth as a warning, and instead of the spoken words the events of his early years come before our eyes. this is, after all, quite similar to a play within a play. a very different experiment is tried in "under cover." the third act, which plays on the second floor of the house, ends with an explosion. the fourth act, which plays downstairs, begins a quarter of an hour before the explosion. here we have a real denial of a fundamental condition of the theater. or if we stick to recent products of the american stage, we may think of "on trial," a play which perhaps comes nearest to a dramatic usurpation of the rights of the photoplay. we see the court scene and as one witness after another begins to give his testimony the courtroom is replaced by the scenes of the actions about which the witness is to report. another clever play, "between the lines," ends the first act with a postman bringing three letters from the three children of the house. the second, third, and fourth acts lead us to the three different homes from which the letters came and the action in the three places not only precedes the writing of the letters; but goes on at the same time. the last act, finally, begins with the arrival of the letters which tell the ending of those events in the three homes. such experiments are very suggestive but they are not any longer pure dramatic art. it is always possible to mix arts. an italian painter produces very striking effects by putting pieces of glass and stone and rope into his paintings, but they are no longer pure paintings. the drama in which the later event comes before the earlier is an esthetic barbarism which is entertaining as a clever trick in a graceful superficial play, but intolerable in ambitious dramatic art. it is not only tolerable but perfectly natural in any photoplay. the pictorial reflection of the world is not bound by the rigid mechanism of time. our mind is here and there, our mind turns to the present and then to the past: the photoplay can equal it in its freedom from the bondage of the material world. but the theater is bound not only by space and time. whatever it shows is controlled by the same laws of causality which govern nature. this involves a complete continuity of the physical events: no cause without following effect, no effect without preceding cause. this whole natural course is left behind in the play on the screen. the deviation from reality begins with that resolution of the continuous movement which we studied in our psychological discussions. we saw that the impression of movement results from an activity of the mind which binds the separate pictures together. what we actually see is a composite; it is like the movement of a fountain in which every jet is resolved into numberless drops. we feel the play of those drops in their sparkling haste as one continuous stream of water, and yet are conscious of the myriads of drops, each one separate from the others. this fountainlike spray of pictures has completely overcome the causal world. in an entirely different form this triumph over causality appears in the interruption of the events by pictures which belong to another series. we find this whenever the scene suddenly changes. the processes are not carried to their natural consequences. a movement is started, but before the cause brings its results another scene has taken its place. what this new scene brings may be an effect for which we saw no causes. but not only the processes are interrupted. the intertwining of the scenes which we have traced in detail is itself such a contrast to causality. it is as if different objects could fill the same space at the same time. it is as if the resistance of the material world had disappeared and the substances could penetrate one another. in the interlacing of our ideas we experience this superiority to all physical laws. the theater would not have even the technical means to give us such impressions, but if it had, it would have no right to make use of them, as it would destroy the basis on which the drama is built. we have only another case of the same type in those series of pictures which aim to force a suggestion on our mind. we have spoken of them. a certain effect is prepared by a chain of causes and yet when the causal result is to appear the film is cut off. we have the causes without the effect. the villain thrusts with his dagger--but a miracle has snatched away his victim. _while the moving pictures are lifted above the world of space and time and causality and are freed from its bounds, they are certainly not without law._ we said before that the freedom with which the pictures replace one another is to a large degree comparable to the sparkling and streaming of the musical tones. the yielding to the play of the mental energies, to the attention and emotion, which is felt in the film pictures, is still more complete in the musical melodies and harmonies in which the tones themselves are merely the expressions of the ideas and feelings and will impulses of the mind. their harmonies and disharmonies, their fusing and blending, is not controlled by any outer necessity, but by the inner agreement and disagreement of our free impulses. and yet in this world of musical freedom, everything is completely controlled by esthetic necessities. no sphere of practical life stands under such rigid rules as the realm of the composer. however bold the musical genius may be he cannot emancipate himself from the iron rule that his work must show complete unity in itself. all the separate prescriptions which the musical student has to learn are ultimately only the consequences of this central demand which music, the freest of the arts, shares with all the others. in the case of the film, too, the freedom from the physical forms of space, time, and causality does not mean any liberation from this esthetic bondage either. on the contrary, just as music is surrounded by more technical rules than literature, the photoplay must be held together by the esthetic demands still more firmly than is the drama. the arts which are subordinated to the conditions of space, time, and causality find a certain firmness of structure in these material forms which contain an element of outer connectedness. but where these forms are given up and where the freedom of mental play replaces their outer necessity, everything would fall asunder if the esthetic unity were disregarded. this unity is, first of all, the unity of action. the demand for it is the same which we know from the drama. the temptation to neglect it is nowhere greater than in the photoplay where outside matter can so easily be introduced or independent interests developed. it is certainly true for the photoplay, as for every work of art, that nothing has the right to existence in its midst which is not internally needed for the unfolding of the unified action. wherever two plots are given to us, we receive less by far than if we had only one plot. we leave the sphere of valuable art entirely when a unified action is ruined by mixing it with declamation, and propaganda which is not organically interwoven with the action itself. it may be still fresh in memory what an esthetically intolerable helter-skelter performance was offered to the public in "the battlecry of peace." nothing can be more injurious to the esthetic cultivation of the people than such performances which hold the attention of the spectators by ambitious detail and yet destroy their esthetic sensibility by a complete disregard of the fundamental principle of art, the demand for unity. but we recognized also that this unity involves complete isolation. we annihilate beauty when we link the artistic creation with practical interests and transform the spectator into a selfishly interested bystander. the scenic background of the play is not presented in order that we decide whether we want to spend our next vacation there. the interior decoration of the rooms is not exhibited as a display for a department store. the men and women who carry out the action of the plot must not be people whom we may meet tomorrow on the street. all the threads of the play must be knotted together in the play itself and none should be connected with our outside interests. a good photoplay must be isolated and complete in itself like a beautiful melody. it is not an advertisement for the newest fashions. this unity of action involves unity of characters. it has too often been maintained by those who theorize on the photoplay that the development of character is the special task of the drama, while the photoplay, which lacks words, must be satisfied with types. probably this is only a reflection of the crude state which most photoplays of today have not outgrown. internally, there is no reason why the means of the photoplay should not allow a rather subtle depicting of complex character. but the chief demand is that the characters remain consistent, that the action be developed according to inner necessity and that the characters themselves be in harmony with the central idea of the plot. however, as soon as we insist on unity we have no right to think only of the action which gives the content of the play. we cannot make light of the form. as in music the melody and rhythms belong together, as in painting not every color combination suits every subject, and as in poetry not every stanza would agree with every idea, so the photoplay must bring action and pictorial expression into perfect harmony. but this demand repeats itself in every single picture. we take it for granted that the painter balances perfectly the forms in his painting, groups them so that an internal symmetry can be felt and that the lines and curves and colors blend into a unity. every single picture of the sixteen thousand which are shown to us in one reel ought to be treated with this respect of the pictorial artist for the unity of the forms. _the photoplay shows us a significant conflict of human actions in moving pictures which, freed from the physical forms of space, time, and causality, are adjusted to the free play of our mental experiences and which reach complete isolation from the practical world through the perfect unity of plot and pictorial appearance._ chapter x the demands of the photoplay we have found the general formula for the new art of the photoplay. we may turn our attention to some consequences which are involved in this general principle and to some esthetic demands which result from it. naturally the greatest of all of them is the one for which no specific prescription can be given, namely the imaginative talent of the scenario writer and the producer. the new art is in that respect not different from all the old arts. a beethoven writes immortal symphonies; a thousand conductors are writing symphonies after the same pattern and after the same technical rules and yet not one survives the next day. what the great painter or sculptor, composer or poet, novelist or dramatist, gives from the depth of his artistic personality is interesting and significant; and the unity of form and content is natural and perfect. what untalented amateurs produce is trivial and flat; the relation of form and content is forced; the unity of the whole is incomplete. between these two extremes any possible degree of approach to the ideal is shown in the history of human arts. it cannot be otherwise with the art of the film. even the clearest recognition of the specific demands of the photoplay cannot be sufficient to replace original talent or genius. the most slavish obedience to esthetic demands cannot make a tiresome plot interesting and a trivial action significant. if there is anything which introduces a characteristic element into the creation of the photoplay as against all other arts, it may be found in the undeniable fact that the photoplay always demands the coöperation of two inventive personalities, the scenario writer and the producer. some collaboration exists in other arts too. the opera demands the poet and the composer; and yet the text of the opera is a work of literature independent and complete in itself, and the music of the opera has its own life. again, every musical work demands the performer. the orchestra must play the symphonies, the pianist or the singer must make the melodies living, the actors must play the drama. but the music is a perfect work of art even before it is sung or played on an instrument, just as a drama is complete as a work of literature even if it never reaches the stage. moreover it is evident that the realization by actors is needed for the photoplay too. but we may disregard that. what we have in mind is that the work which the scenario writer creates is in itself still entirely imperfect and becomes a complete work of art only through the action of the producer. he plays a rôle entirely different from that of the mere stage manager in the drama. the stage manager carries out what the writer of the drama prescribes, however much his own skill and visual imagination and insight into the demands of the characters may add to the embodiment of the dramatic action. but the producer of the photoplay really must show himself a creative artist, inasmuch as he is the one who actually transforms the plays into pictures. the emphasis in the drama lies on the spoken word, to which the stage manager does not add anything. it is all contained in the lines. in the photoplay the whole emphasis lies on the picture and its composition is left entirely to the producing artist. but the scenario writer must not only have talent for dramatic invention and construction; he must be wide awake to the uniqueness of his task, that is, he must feel at every moment that he is writing for the screen and not for the stage or for a book. and this brings us back to our central argument. he must understand that the photoplay is not a photographed drama, but that it is controlled by psychological conditions of its own. as soon as it is grasped that the film play is not simply a mechanical reproduction of another art but is an art of a special kind, it follows that talents of a special kind must be devoted to it and that nobody ought to feel it beneath his artistic dignity to write scenarios in the service of this new art. no doubt the moving picture performances today still stand on a low artistic level. nine tenths of the plays are cheap melodramas or vulgar farces. the question is not how much larger a percentage of really valuable dramas can be found in our theaters. many of their plays are just as much an appeal to the lowest instincts. but at least the theater is not forced to be satisfied with such degrading comedies and pseudotragedies. the world literature of the stage contains an abundance of works of eternal value. it is a purely social and not an esthetic question, why the theaters around the "white way" yield to the vulgar taste instead of using the truly beautiful drama for the raising of the public mind. the moving picture theaters face an entirely different situation. their managers may have the best intentions to give better plays; and yet they are unable to do so because the scenario literature has so far nothing which can be compared with the master works of the drama; and nothing of this higher type can be expected or hoped for until the creation of photoplays is recognized as worthy of the highest ideal endeavor. nobody denies that the photoplay shares the characteristic features of the drama. both depend upon the conflict of interests and of acts. these conflicts, tragic or comic, demand a similar development and solution on the stage and on the screen. a mere showing of human activity without will conflict might give very pleasant moving pictures of idyllic or romantic character or perhaps of practical interest. the result would be a kind of lyric or epic poem on the screen, or a travelogue or what not, but it would never shape itself into a photoplay as long as that conflict of human interests which the drama demands was lacking. yet, as this conflict of will is expressed in the one case by living speaking men, in the other by moving pictures, the difference in the artistic conception must surely be as great as the similarity. hence one of the supreme demands must be for an original literature of real power and significance, in which every thought is generated by the idea of the screen. as long as the photoplays are fed by the literature of the stage, the new art can never come to its own and can never reach its real goal. it is surely no fault of shakespeare that hamlet and king lear are very poor photoplays. if ever a shakespeare arises for the screen, his work would be equally unsatisfactory if it were dragged to the stage. peer gynt is no longer ibsen's if the actors are dumb. the novel, in certain respects, fares still worse, but in other respects some degrees better. it is true that in the superficial literature written for the hour the demarcation line between dramatic and narrative works is often ignored. the best sellers of the novel counter are often warmed over into successful theater plays, and no society play with a long run on broadway escapes its transformation into a serial novel for the newspapers. but where literature is at its height, the deep difference can be felt distinctly. the epic art, including the novel, traces the experiences and the development of a character, while the drama is dependent upon the conflict of character. mere adventures of a personality are never sufficient for a good drama and are not less unsatisfactory for the plot of a photoplay. in the novel the opposing characters are only a part of the social background which is needed to show the life story of the hero or heroine. they have not the independent significance which is essential for the dramatic conflict. the novel on the screen, if it is a true novel and not the novelistic rendering of what is really a dramatic plot, must be lifeless and uninspiring. but on the other hand the photoplay much more than the drama emphasizes the background of human action, and it shares this trait with the novel. both the social and the natural backgrounds are the real setting for the development of the chief character in the story. these features can easily be transferred to the photoplay and for this reason some picturized novels have had the advantage over the photoplay cut from the drama. the only true conclusion must remain, however, that neither drama nor novel is sufficient for the film scenarios. the photopoet must turn to life itself and must remodel life in the artistic forms which are characteristic of his particular art. if he has truly grasped the fundamental meaning of the screen world, his imagination will guide him more safely than his reminiscences of dramas which he has seen on the stage and of novels which he has read. if we turn to a few special demands which are contained in such a general postulate for a new artistic method, we naturally think at once of the rôle of words. the drama and novel live by words. how much of this noblest vehicle of thought can the photoplay conserve in its domain? we all know what a large part of the photoplay today is told us by the medium of words and phrases. how little would we know what those people are talking about if we saw them only acting and had not beforehand the information which the "leader" supplies. the technique differs with different companies. some experiment with projecting the spoken words into the picture itself, bringing the phrase in glaring white letters near the head of the person who is speaking, in a way similar to the methods of the newspaper cartoonists. but mostly the series of the pictures is interrupted and the decisive word taken directly from the lips of the hero, or an explanatory statement which gives meaning to the whole is thrown on the screen. sometimes this may be a concession to the mentally less trained members of the audience, but usually these printed comments are indispensable for understanding the plot, and even the most intelligent spectator would feel helpless without these frequent guideposts. but this habit of the picture houses today is certainly not an esthetic argument. they are obliged to yield to the scheme simply because the scenario writers are still untrained and clumsy in using the technique of the new art. some religious painters of medieval times put in the picture itself phrases which the persons were supposed to speak, as if the words were leaving their mouths. but we could not imagine raphael and michelangelo making use of a method of communication which is so entirely foreign to the real spirit of painting. every art grows slowly to the point where the artist relies on its characteristic and genuine forms of expression. elements which do not belong to it are at first mingled in it and must be slowly eliminated. the photoplay of the day after tomorrow will surely be freed from all elements which are not really pictures. the beginning of the photoplay as a mere imitation of the theater is nowhere so evident as in this inorganic combination with bits of dialogue or explanatory phrases. the art of words and the art of pictures are there forcibly yoked together. whoever writes his scenarios so that the pictures cannot be understood without these linguistic crutches is an esthetic failure in the new art. the next step toward the emancipation of the photoplay decidedly must be the creation of plays which speak the language of pictures only. two apparent exceptions seem justified. it is not contrary to the internal demands of the film art if a complete scene has a title. a leader like "the next morning" or "after three years" or "in south africa" or "the first step" or "the awakening" or "among friends" has the same character as the title of a painting in a picture gallery. if we read in our catalogue of paintings that a picture is called "landscape" or "portrait" we feel the words to be superfluous. if we read that its title is "london bridge in mist" or "portrait of the pope" we receive a valuable suggestion which is surely not without influence on our appreciation of the picture, and yet it is not an organic part of the painting itself. in this sense a leader as title for a scene or still better for a whole reel may be applied without any esthetic objection. the other case which is not only possible but perfectly justified is the introduction of letters, telegrams, posters, newspaper clippings, and similar printed or written communications in a pictorial close-up the enlargement of which makes every word readable. this scheme is more and more introduced into the plays today and the movement is in a proper direction. the words of the telegram or of the signboard and even of the cutting from the newspaper are parts of the reality which the pictures are to show us and their meaning does not stand outside but within the pictorial story. the true artist will make sparing use of this method in order that the spectator may not change his attitude. he must remain in an inner adjustment to pictorial forms and must not switch over into an adaptation to sentences. but if its use is not exaggerated, the method is legitimate, in striking contrast to the inartistic use of the same words as leaders between the pictures. the condemnation of guiding words, in the interest of the purity of the picture play as such, also leads to earnest objection to phonographic accompaniments. those who, like edison, had a technical, scientific, and social interest but not a genuine esthetic point of view in the development of the moving pictures naturally asked themselves whether this optical imitation of the drama might not be improved by an acoustical imitation too. then the idea would be to connect the kinematoscope with the phonograph and to synchronize them so completely that with every visible movement of the lips the audible sound of the words would leave the diaphragm of the apparatus. all who devoted themselves to this problem had considerable difficulties and when their ventures proved practical failures with the theater audiences, they were inclined to blame their inability to solve the technical problem perfectly. they were not aware that the real difficulty was an esthetic and internal one. even if the voices were heard with ideal perfection and exactly in time with the movements on the screen, the effect on an esthetically conscientious audience would have been disappointing. a photoplay cannot gain but only lose if its visual purity is destroyed. if we see and hear at the same time, we do indeed come nearer to the real theater, but this is desirable only if it is our goal to imitate the stage. yet if that were the goal, even the best imitation would remain far inferior to an actual theater performance. as soon as we have clearly understood that the photoplay is an art in itself, the conservation of the spoken word is as disturbing as color would be on the clothing of a marble statue. it is quite different with accompanying music. even if the music in the overwhelming majority of cases were not so pitifully bad as it is in most of the picture theaters of today, no one would consider it an organic part of the photoplay itself, like the singing in the opera. yet the need of such a more or less melodious and even more or less harmonious accompaniment has always been felt, and even the poorest substitute for decent music has been tolerated, as seeing long reels in a darkened house without any tonal accompaniment fatigues and ultimately irritates an average audience. the music relieves the tension and keeps the attention awake. it must be entirely subordinated and it is a fact that most people are hardly aware of the special pieces which are played, while they would feel uncomfortable without them. but it is not at all necessary for the music to be limited to such harmonious smoothing of the mind by rhythmical tones. the music can and ought to be adjusted to the play on the screen. the more ambitious picture corporations have clearly recognized this demand and show their new plays with exact suggestions for the choice of musical pieces to be played as accompaniment. the music does not tell a part of the plot and does not replace the picture as words would do, but simply reënforces the emotional setting. it is quite probable, when the photoplay art has found its esthetic recognition, that composers will begin to write the musical score for a beautiful photoplay with the same enthusiasm with which they write in other musical forms. just between the intolerable accompaniment by printed or spoken words on the one side and the perfectly welcome rendering of emotionally fitting music on the other, we find the noises with which the photoplay managers like to accompany their performances. when the horses gallop, we must hear the hoofbeats, if rain or hail is falling, if the lightning flashes, we hear the splashing or the thunderstorm. we hear the firing of a gun, the whistling of a locomotive, ships' bells, or the ambulance gong, or the barking dog, or the noise when charlie chaplin falls downstairs. they even have a complicated machine, the "allefex," which can produce over fifty distinctive noises, fit for any photoplay emergency. it will probably take longer to rid the photoplay of these appeals to the imagination than the explanations of the leaders, but ultimately they will have to disappear too. they have no right to existence in a work of art which is composed of pictures. in so far as they are simply heightening the emotional tension, they may enter into the music itself, but in so far as they tell a part of the story, they ought to be ruled out as intrusions from another sphere. we might just as well improve the painting of a rose garden by bathing it in rose perfume in order that the spectators might get the odor of the roses together with the sight of them. the limitations of an art are in reality its strength and to overstep its boundaries means to weaken it. it may be more open to discussion whether this same negative attitude ought to be taken toward color in the photoplay. it is well-known what wonderful technical progress has been secured by those who wanted to catch the color hues and tints of nature in their moving pictures. to be sure, many of the prettiest effects in color are even today produced by artificial stencil methods. photographs are simply printed in three colors like any ordinary color print. the task of cutting those many stencils for the thousands of pictures on a reel is tremendous, and yet these difficulties have been overcome. any desired color effect can be obtained by this method and the beauty of the best specimens is unsurpassed. but the difficulty is so great that it can hardly become a popular method. the direct photographing of the colors themselves will be much simpler as soon as the method is completely perfected. it can hardly be said that this ideal has been reached today. the successive photographing through three red, green, and violet screens and the later projection of the pictures through screens of these colors seemed scientifically the best approach. yet it needed a multiplication of pictures per second which offered extreme difficulty, besides an extraordinary increase of expense. the practical advance seems more secure along the line of the so-called "kinemacolor." its effects are secured by the use of two screens only, not quite satisfactory, as true blue impressions have to suffer and the reddish and greenish ones are emphasized. moreover the eye is sometimes disturbed by big flashes of red or green light. yet the beginnings are so excellent that the perfect solution of the technical problem may be expected in the near future. would it be at the same time a solution of the esthetic problem? it has been claimed by friends of color photography that at the present stage of development natural color photography is unsatisfactory for a rendering of outer events because any scientific or historical happening which is reproduced demands exactly the same colors which reality shows. but on the other hand the process seems perfectly sufficient for the photoplay because there no objective colors are expected and it makes no difference whether the gowns of the women or the rugs on the floor show the red and green too vividly and the blue too faintly. from an esthetic point of view we ought to come to exactly the opposite verdict. for the historical events even the present technical methods are on the whole satisfactory. the famous british coronation pictures were superb and they gained immensely by the rich color effects. they gave much more than a mere photograph in black and white, and the splendor and glory of those radiant colors suffered little from the suppression of the bluish tones. they were not shown in order to match the colors in a ribbon store. for the news pictures of the day the "kinemacolor" and similar schemes are excellent. but when we come to photoplays the question is no longer one of technique; first of all we stand before the problem: how far does the coloring subordinate itself to the aim of the photoplay? no doubt the effect of the individual picture would be heightened by the beauty of the colors. but would it heighten the beauty of the photoplay? would not this color be again an addition which oversteps the essential limits of this particular art? we do not want to paint the cheeks of the venus of milo: neither do we want to see the coloring of mary pickford or anita stewart. we became aware that the unique task of the photoplay art can be fulfilled only by a far-reaching disregard of reality. the real human persons and the real landscapes must be left behind and, as we saw, must be transformed into pictorial suggestions only. we must be strongly conscious of their pictorial unreality in order that that wonderful play of our inner experiences may be realized on the screen. this consciousness of unreality must seriously suffer from the addition of color. we are once more brought too near to the world which really surrounds us with the richness of its colors, and the more we approach it the less we gain that inner freedom, that victory of the mind over nature, which remains the ideal of the photoplay. the colors are almost as detrimental as the voices. on the other hand the producer must be careful to keep sufficiently in contact with reality, as otherwise the emotional interests upon which the whole play depends would be destroyed. we must not take the people to be real, but we must link with them all the feelings and associations which we would connect with real men. this is possible only if in their flat, colorless, pictorial setting they share the real features of men. for this reason it is important to suggest to the spectator the impression of natural size. the demand of the imagination for the normal size of the persons and things in the picture is so strong that it easily and constantly overcomes great enlargements or reductions. we see at first a man in his normal size and then by a close-up an excessive enlargement of his head. yet we do not feel it as if the person himself were enlarged. by a characteristic psychical substitution we feel rather that we have come nearer to him and that the size of the visual image was increased by the decreasing of the distance. if the whole picture is so much enlarged that the persons are continually given much above normal size, by a psychical inhibition we deceive ourselves about the distance and believe that we are much nearer to the screen than we actually are. thus we instinctively remain under the impression of normal appearances. but this spell can easily be broken and the esthetic effect is then greatly diminished. in the large picture houses in which the projecting camera is often very far from the screen, the dimensions of the persons in the pictures may be three or four times larger than human beings. the illusion is nevertheless perfect, because the spectator misjudges the distances as long as he does not see anything in the neighborhood of the screen. but if the eye falls upon a woman playing the piano directly below the picture, the illusion is destroyed. he sees on the screen enormous giants whose hands are as large as half the piano player, and the normal reactions which are the spring for the enjoyment of the play are suppressed. the further we go into details, the more we might add such special psychological demands which result from the fundamental principles of the new art. but it would be misleading if we were also to raise demands concerning a point which has often played the chief rôle in the discussion, namely, the selection of suitable topics. writers who have the unlimited possibilities of trick pictures and film illusions in mind have proclaimed that the fairy tale with its magic wonders ought to be its chief domain, as no theater stage could enter into rivalry. how many have enjoyed "neptune's daughter"--the mermaids in the surf and the sudden change of the witch into the octopus on the shore and the joyful play of the watersprites! how many have been bewitched by princess nicotina when she trips from the little cigar box along the table! no theater could dare to imitate such raptures of imagination. other writers have insisted on the superb chances for gorgeous processions and the surging splendor of multitudes. we see thousands in sherman's march to the sea. how hopeless would be any attempt to imitate it on the stage! when the toreador fights the bull and the crowds in the spanish arena enter into enthusiastic frenzy, who would compare it with those painted people in the arena when the opera "carmen" is sung. again others emphasize the opportunity for historical plays or especially for plays with unusual scenic setting where the beauties of the tropics or of the mountains, of the ocean or of the jungle, are brought into living contact with the spectator. biblical dramas with pictures of real palestine, classical plots with real greece or rome as a background, have stirred millions all over the globe. yet the majority of authors claim that the true field for the photoplay is the practical life which surrounds us, as no artistic means of literature or drama can render the details of life with such convincing sincerity and with such realistic power. these are the slums, not seen through the spectacles of a littérateur or the fancy of an outsider but in their whole abhorrent nakedness. these are the dark corners of the metropolis where crime is hidden and where vice is growing rankly. they all are right; and at the same time they all are wrong when they praise one at the expense of another. realistic and idealistic, practical and romantic, historical and modern topics are fit material for the art of the photoplay. its world is as unlimited as that of literature, and the same is true of the style of treatment. the humorous, if it is true humor, the tragic, if it is true tragedy, the gay and the solemn, the merry and the pathetic, the half-reel and the five-reel play, all can fulfill the demands of the new art. chapter xi the function of the photoplay enthusiasts claim that in the united states ten million people daily are attending picture houses. sceptics believe that "only" two or three millions form the daily attendance. but in any case "the movies" have become the most popular entertainment of the country, nay, of the world, and their influence is one of the strongest social energies of our time. signs indicate that this popularity and this influence are increasing from day to day. what are the causes, and what are the effects of this movement which was undreamed of only a short time ago? the economists are certainly right when they see the chief reason for this crowding of picture houses in the low price of admission. for five or ten cents long hours of thrilling entertainment in the best seats of the house: this is the magnet which must be more powerful than any theater or concert. yet the rush to the moving pictures is steadily increasing, while the prices climb up. the dime became a quarter, and in the last two seasons ambitious plays were given before audiences who paid the full theater rates. the character of the audiences, too, suggests that inexpensiveness alone cannot be decisive. six years ago a keen sociological observer characterized the patrons of the picture palaces as "the lower middle class and the massive public, youths and shopgirls between adolescence and maturity, small dealers, pedlars, laborers, charwomen, besides the small quota of children." this would be hardly a correct description today. this "lower middle class" has long been joined by the upper middle class. to be sure, our observer of that long forgotten past added meekly: "then there emerges a superior person or two like yourself attracted by mere curiosity and kept in his seat by interest until the very end of the performance; this type sneers aloud to proclaim its superiority and preserve its self-respect, but it never leaves the theater until it must." today you and i are seen there quite often, and we find that our friends have been there, that they have given up the sneering pose and talk about the new photoplay as a matter of course. above all, even those who are drawn by the cheapness of the performance would hardly push their dimes under the little window so often if they did not really enjoy the plays and were not stirred by a pleasure which holds them for hours. after all, it must be the content of the performances which is decisive of the incomparable triumph. we have no right to conclude from this that only the merits and excellences are the true causes of their success. a caustic critic would probably suggest that just the opposite traits are responsible. he would say that the average american is a mixture of business, ragtime, and sentimentality. he satisfies his business instinct by getting so much for his nickel, he enjoys his ragtime in the slapstick humor, and gratifies his sentimentality with the preposterous melodramas which fill the program. this is quite true, and yet it is not true at all. success has crowned every effort to improve the photostage; the better the plays are the more the audience approves them. the most ambitious companies are the most flourishing ones. there must be inner values which make the photoplay so extremely attractive and even fascinating. to a certain degree the mere technical cleverness of the pictures even today holds the interest spellbound as in those early days when nothing but this technical skill could claim the attention. we are still startled by every original effect, even if the mere showing of movement has today lost its impressiveness. moreover we are captivated by the undeniable beauty of many settings. the melodrama may be cheap; yet it does not disturb the cultured mind as grossly as a similar tragic vulgarity would on the real stage, because it may have the snowfields of alaska or the palm trees of florida as radiant background. an intellectual interest, too, finds its satisfaction. we get an insight into spheres which were strange to us. where outlying regions of human interest are shown on the theater stage, we must usually be satisfied with some standardized suggestion. here in the moving pictures the play may really bring us to mills and factories, to farms and mines, to courtrooms and hospitals, to castles and palaces in any land on earth. yet a stronger power of the photoplay probably lies in its own dramatic qualities. the rhythm of the play is marked by unnatural rapidity. as the words are absent which, in the drama as in life, fill the gaps between the actions, the gestures and deeds themselves can follow one another much more quickly. happenings which would fill an hour on the stage can hardly fill more than twenty minutes on the screen. this heightens the feeling of vitality in the spectator. he feels as if he were passing through life with a sharper accent which stirs his personal energies. the usual make-up of the photoplay must strengthen this effect inasmuch as the wordlessness of the picture drama favors a certain simplification of the social conflicts. the subtler shades of the motives naturally demand speech. the later plays of ibsen could hardly be transformed into photoplays. where words are missing the characters tend to become stereotyped and the motives to be deprived of their complexity. the plot of the photoplay is usually based on the fundamental emotions which are common to all and which are understood by everybody. love and hate, gratitude and envy, hope and fear, pity and jealousy, repentance and sinfulness, and all the similar crude emotions have been sufficient for the construction of most scenarios. the more mature development of the photoplay will certainly overcome this primitive character, as, while such an effort to reduce human life to simple instincts is very convenient for the photoplay, it is not at all necessary. in any case where this tendency prevails it must help greatly to excite and to intensify the personal feeling of life and to stir the depths of the human mind. but the richest source of the unique satisfaction in the photoplay is probably that esthetic feeling which is significant for the new art and which we have understood from its psychological conditions. _the massive outer world has lost its weight, it has been freed from space, time, and causality, and it has been clothed in the forms of our own consciousness. the mind has triumphed over matter and the pictures roll on with the ease of musical tones. it is a superb enjoyment which no other art can furnish us._ no wonder that temples for the new goddess are built in every little hamlet. the intensity with which the plays take hold of the audience cannot remain without strong social effects. it has even been reported that sensory hallucinations and illusions have crept in; neurasthenic persons are especially inclined to experience touch or temperature or smell or sound impressions from what they see on the screen. the associations become as vivid as realities, because the mind is so completely given up to the moving pictures. the applause into which the audiences, especially of rural communities, break out at a happy turn of the melodramatic pictures is another symptom of the strange fascination. but it is evident that such a penetrating influence must be fraught with dangers. the more vividly the impressions force themselves on the mind, the more easily must they become starting points for imitation and other motor responses. the sight of crime and of vice may force itself on the consciousness with disastrous results. the normal resistance breaks down and the moral balance, which would have been kept under the habitual stimuli of the narrow routine life, may be lost under the pressure of the realistic suggestions. at the same time the subtle sensitiveness of the young mind may suffer from the rude contrasts between the farces and the passionate romances which follow with benumbing speed in the darkened house. the possibilities of psychical infection and destruction cannot be overlooked. those may have been exceptional cases only when grave crimes have been traced directly back to the impulses from unwholesome photoplays, but no psychologist can determine exactly how much the general spirit of righteousness, of honesty, of sexual cleanliness and modesty, may be weakened by the unbridled influence of plays of low moral standard. all countries seem to have been awakened to this social danger. the time when unsavory french comedies poisoned youth lies behind us. a strong reaction has set in and the leading companies among the photoplay producers fight everywhere in the first rank for suppression of the unclean. some companies even welcome censorship provided that it is high-minded and liberal and does not confuse artistic freedom with moral licentiousness. most, to be sure, seem doubtful whether the new movement toward federal censorship is in harmony with american ideas on the freedom of public expression. but while the sources of danger cannot be overlooked, the social reformer ought to focus his interest still more on the tremendous influences for good which may be exerted by the moving pictures. the fact that millions are daily under the spell of the performances on the screen is established. the high degree of their suggestibility during those hours in the dark house may be taken for granted. hence any wholesome influence emanating from the photoplay must have an incomparable power for the remolding and upbuilding of the national soul. from this point of view the boundary lines between the photoplay and the merely instructive moving pictures with the news of the day or the magazine articles on the screen become effaced. the intellectual, the moral, the social, and the esthetic culture of the community may be served by all of them. leading educators have joined in endorsing the foundation of a universal culture lyceum. the plan is to make and circulate moving pictures for the education of the youth of the land, picture studies in science, history, religion, literature, geography, biography, art, architecture, social science, economics and industry. from this lyceum "schools, churches and colleges will be furnished with motion pictures giving the latest results and activities in every sphere capable of being pictured." but, however much may be achieved by such conscious efforts toward education, the far larger contribution must be made by the regular picture houses which the public seeks without being conscious of the educational significance. the teaching of the moving pictures must not be forced on a more or less indifferent audience, but ought to be absorbed by those who seek entertainment and enjoyment from the films and are ready to make their little economic sacrifice. the purely intellectual part of this uplift is the easiest. not only the news pictures and the scientific demonstrations but also the photoplays can lead young and old to ever new regions of knowledge. the curiosity and the imagination of the spectators will follow gladly. yet even in the intellectual sphere the dangers must not be overlooked. they are not positive. it is not as in the moral sphere where the healthy moral impulse is checked by the sight of crimes which stir up antisocial desires. the danger is not that the pictures open insight into facts which ought not to be known. it is not the dangerous knowledge which must be avoided, but it is the trivializing influence of a steady contact with things which are not worth knowing. the larger part of the film literature of today is certainly harmful in this sense. the intellectual background of most photoplays is insipid. by telling the plot without the subtle motivation which the spoken word of the drama may bring, not only do the characters lose color but all the scenes and situations are simplified to a degree which adjusts them to a thoughtless public and soon becomes intolerable to an intellectually trained spectator. they force on the cultivated mind that feeling which musical persons experience in the musical comedies of the day. we hear the melodies constantly with the feeling of having heard them ever so often before. this lack of originality and inspiration is not necessary; it does not lie in the art form. offenbach and strauss and others have written musical comedies which are classical. neither does it lie in the form of the photoplay that the story must be told in that insipid, flat, uninspired fashion. nor is it necessary in order to reach the millions. to appeal to the intelligence does not mean to presuppose college education. moreover the differentiation has already begun. just as the plays of shaw or ibsen address a different audience from that reached by the "old homestead" or "ben hur," we have already photoplays adapted to different types, and there is not the slightest reason to connect with the art of the screen an intellectual flabbiness. it would be no gain for intellectual culture if all the reasoning were confined to the so-called instructive pictures and the photoplays were served without any intellectual salt. on the contrary, the appeal of those strictly educational lessons may be less deep than the producers hope, because the untrained minds, especially of youth and of the uneducated audiences, have considerable difficulty in following the rapid flight of events when they occur in unfamiliar surroundings. the child grasps very little in seeing the happenings in a factory. the psychological and economic lesson may be rather wasted because the power of observation is not sufficiently developed and the assimilation proceeds too slowly. but it is quite different when a human interest stands behind it and connects the events in the photoplay. the difficulties in the way of the right moral influence are still greater than in the intellectual field. certainly it is not enough to have the villain punished in the last few pictures of the reel. if scenes of vice or crime are shown with all their lure and glamour the moral devastation of such a suggestive show is not undone by the appended social reaction. the misguided boys or girls feel sure that they would be successful enough not to be trapped. the mind through a mechanism which has been understood better and better by the psychologists in recent years suppresses the ideas which are contrary to the secret wishes and makes those ideas flourish by which those "subconscious" impulses are fulfilled. it is probably a strong exaggeration when a prominent criminologist recently claimed that "eighty-five per cent. of the juvenile crime which has been investigated has been found traceable either directly or indirectly to motion pictures which have shown on the screen how crimes could be committed." but certainly, as far as these demonstrations have worked havoc, their influence would not have been annihilated by a picturesque court scene in which the burglar is unsuccessful in misleading the jury. the true moral influence must come from the positive spirit of the play itself. even the photodramatic lessons in temperance and piety will not rebuild a frivolous or corrupt or perverse community. the truly upbuilding play is not a dramatized sermon on morality and religion. there must be a moral wholesomeness in the whole setting, a moral atmosphere which is taken as a matter of course like fresh air and sunlight. an enthusiasm for the noble and uplifting, a belief in duty and discipline of the mind, a faith in ideals and eternal values must permeate the world of the screen. if it does, there is no crime and no heinous deed which the photoplay may not tell with frankness and sincerity. it is not necessary to deny evil and sin in order to strengthen the consciousness of eternal justice. but the greatest mission which the photoplay may have in our community is that of esthetic cultivation. no art reaches a larger audience daily, no esthetic influence finds spectators in a more receptive frame of mind. on the other hand no training demands a more persistent and planful arousing of the mind than the esthetic training, and never is progress more difficult than when the teacher adjusts himself to the mere liking of the pupils. the country today would still be without any symphony concerts and operas if it had only received what the audiences believed at the moment that they liked best. the esthetically commonplace will always triumph over the significant unless systematic efforts are made to reënforce the work of true beauty. communities at first always prefer sousa to beethoven. the moving picture audience could only by slow steps be brought from the tasteless and vulgar eccentricities of the first period to the best plays of today, and the best plays of today can be nothing but the beginning of the great upward movement which we hope for in the photoplay. hardly any teaching can mean more for our community than the teaching of beauty where it reaches the masses. the moral impulse and the desire for knowledge are, after all, deeply implanted in the american crowd, but the longing for beauty is rudimentary; and yet it means harmony, unity, true satisfaction, and happiness in life. the people still has to learn the great difference between true enjoyment and fleeting pleasure, between real beauty and the mere tickling of the senses. of course, there are those, and they may be legion today, who would deride every plan to make the moving pictures the vehicle of esthetic education. how can we teach the spirit of true art by a medium which is in itself the opposite of art? how can we implant the idea of harmony by that which is in itself a parody on art? we hear the contempt for "canned drama" and the machine-made theater. nobody stops to think whether other arts despise the help of technique. the printed book of lyric poems is also machine-made; the marble bust has also "preserved" for two thousand years the beauty of the living woman who was the model for the greek sculptor. they tell us that the actor on the stage gives the human beings as they are in reality, but the moving pictures are unreal and therefore of incomparably inferior value. they do not consider that the roses of the summer which we enjoy in the stanzas of the poet do not exist in reality in the forms of iambic verse and of rhymes; they live in color and odor, but their color and odor fade away, while the roses in the stanzas live on forever. they fancy that the value of an art depends upon its nearness to the reality of physical nature. it has been the chief task of our whole discussion to prove the shallowness of such arguments and objections. we recognized that art is a way to overcome nature and to create out of the chaotic material of the world something entirely new, entirely unreal, which embodies perfect unity and harmony. the different arts are different ways of abstracting from reality; and when we began to analyze the psychology of the moving pictures we soon became aware that the photoplay has a way to perform this task of art with entire originality, independent of the art of the theater, as much as poetry is independent of music or sculpture of painting. it is an art in itself. only the future can teach us whether it will become a great art, whether a leonardo, a shakespeare, a mozart, will ever be born for it. nobody can foresee the directions which the new art may take. mere esthetic insight into the principles can never foreshadow the development in the unfolding of civilization. who would have been bold enough four centuries ago to foresee the musical means and effects of the modern orchestra? just the history of music shows how the inventive genius has always had to blaze the path in which the routine work of the art followed. tone combinations which appeared intolerable dissonances to one generation were again and again assimilated and welcomed and finally accepted as a matter of course by later times. nobody can foresee the ways which the new art of the photoplay will open, but everybody ought to recognize even today that it is worth while to help this advance and to make the art of the film a medium for an original creative expression of our time and to mold by it the esthetic instincts of the millions. yes, it is a new art--and this is why it has such fascination for the psychologist who in a world of ready-made arts, each with a history of many centuries, suddenly finds a new form still undeveloped and hardly understood. for the first time the psychologist can observe the starting of an entirely new esthetic development, a new form of true beauty in the turmoil of a technical age, created by its very technique and yet more than any other art destined to overcome outer nature by the free and joyful play of the mind. * * * * * books by hugo mÜnsterberg psychology and life pp. , boston, grundzüge der psychologie pp. , leipzig, american traits pp. , boston, die amerikaner pp. and , berlin, (rev, ) principles of art education pp. , new york, the eternal life pp. , boston, science and idealism pp. , boston, philosophie der werte pp. , leipzig, on the witness stand pp. , new york, aus deutsch-amerika pp. , berlin, the eternal values pp. , boston, psychotherapy pp. , new york, psychology and the teacher pp. , new york, american problems pp. , new york, psychologie und wirtschaftsleben pp. , leipzig, vocation and learning pp. , st. louis, psychology and industrial efficiency pp. , boston, american patriotism pp. , new york, grundzüge der psychotechnik pp. , leipzig, psychology and social sanity pp. , new york, psychology, general and applied pp. , new york, the war and america pp. , new york, the peace and america pp. , new york, the photoplay new york, the moving picture boys on the war front or the hunt for the stolen army films by victor appleton author of "the moving picture boys," "the moving picture boys under the sea," "tom swift and his motor-cycle," "tom swift and his aerial warship," etc. _illustrated_ new york grosset & dunlap publishers copyright, , by grosset & dunlap _the moving picture boys on the war front_ [illustration: it took all the nerve of the three lads to stand at their posts and see men killed.] =contents= chapter page i a call to battle ii the accident iii monsieur secor iv all aboard v anxious days vi a queer conference vii "periscope ahoy!" viii beaten off ix suspicions x the flashlight xi the depth charge xii in england xiii under suspicion xiv in custody xv the front at last xvi the firing line xvii bowled over xviii trench life xix gassed xx "gone!" xxi across no man's land xxii captured xxiii the airship raid xxiv buried alive xxv the end of labenstein =the moving picture boys on the war front= chapter i a call to battle "come on now, ready with those smoke bombs! where's the confederate army, anyhow? and you unionists, don't look as though you were going to rob an apple orchard! suffering snakes, you're going into battle and you're going to lick the boots off the johnnie rebs! look the part! look the part! now, then, what about the cannon? got plenty of powder in 'em so there'll be lots of smoke?" a stout man, with perspiration running down his face, one drop trickling from his nose, was hurrying up and down the field. on one side of him was a small army composed of what seemed to be civil war union soldiers. a little farther back was a motley array of confederates. farther off was an apple orchard, and close beside that stood a ramshackle farmhouse which was soon to be the center of a desperate moving-picture battle in the course of which the house would be the refuge of the confederates. "the old man is sort of on his ear this morning, isn't he, blake?" asked joe duncan of his chum and camera partner, blake stewart. "i haven't heard him rage like this since the time c. c. dodged the custard pie he was supposed to take broadside on." "yes, he's a bit nervous, joe; but----" "nervous isn't the word for it, blake. he's boiling over! what's it all about, anyhow? is he mad because i was a bit late getting here with the extra reels of film?" "no, he didn't say a word about that. it's just that he can't get this battle scene to suit him. we've rehearsed it and rehearsed it again and again, but each time it seems to go worse. the extras don't seem to know how to fight." "that's queer, considering all the war preparations that have been going on here since we got in the game against germany," observed joe duncan, as he made some adjustments to his camera, one of several which he and blake would use in filming part of a big serial, a number of scenes of which were to center around the battle in the apple orchard. "with all the volunteering and drafting that's been going on, soldiers quartered all over and as thick as bees around the cities, you'd think these extra fellows would know something about the game, wouldn't you?" "you'd think so; but they seem to be afraid of the guns, even though they are loaded with blanks. here comes mr. hadley again, and he's got fire in his eyes!" mr. hadley, producer of the consolidated film company, approached jacob ringold, a theatrical manager who was in charge of the company taking the parts in "the dividing line," which was the name of the civil war play. "look here, jake!" exclaimed mr. hadley, "is this supposed to be a desperate, bloody battle, or a game of tennis?" "why, a battle scene, of course, mr. hadley!" "well, i'm glad to know it! from the way most of your people just rehearsed it, i thought i might be in the wrong box, and looking at a college football game. but no, i wrong the college game! that would be more strenuous than this battle scene, at least as far as i've watched it. can't you get a little more life into your people?" "i'll try, mr. hadley," answered the manager, as the producer walked over to the two boys who stood near their cameras waiting for the word to be given, when they would begin grinding out the long reels of celluloid film. "this is positively the worst production i've ever been in!" complained mr. hadley to blake. "did you ever see such a farce as when the confederates were hidden in the orchard and the unionists stormed over the stone wall? you'd think they were a lot of boys going after apples. bah! it makes me weary!" "it isn't very realistic," admitted blake. "mr. ringold's talking to them now like a dutch uncle," observed joe, as he idly swung the crank of his camera, the machine not being in gear. "well, i hope it does some good," observed the producer. "if it isn't better pretty soon, i'll let all these extra men go and hire others myself. i want that battle scene to look halfway real, at least." "it'll be a failure, i know it will," observed a melancholy-looking man who strolled up at this juncture. "i saw a black cat as i came from my room this morning, and that's always a sign of bad luck." "oh, leave it to you to find something wrong!" exploded mr. hadley. "can't you look on the cheerful side once in a while, c. c.?" he asked, forgetting that he, himself, had been prophetic of failure but a few moments before. "humph!" murmured c. c., otherwise christopher cutler piper, a comedian by profession and a gloom-producer by choice, "you might have known those fellows couldn't act after you'd had one look at 'em," and he motioned to the mobs of extra men, part of whom formed the confederate and the other half the union armies. "there isn't a man among them who has ever played macbeth." "if they had, and they let it affect them as it does you, i'd fire them on the spot!" laughed mr. hadley; and at this, his first sign of mirth that day, blake, joe and some of the others smiled. "i don't want actors for this," went on the producer. "i want just plain fighters--men who can imagine they have something to gain or lose, even if they are shooting only blank cartridges. well, i see jake has finished telling them where they get off. now we'll try a rehearsal once more, and then i'm going to film it whether it's right or not. i've got other fish to fry, and i can't waste all my time on 'the dividing line.' by the way," he went on to joe and blake, "don't you two young gentlemen make any long-time engagements for the next week." "why?" asked blake. "well, i may have a proposition to submit to you, if all goes well. i'll talk about it when i get this battle scene off my mind. now, then, jake, how about you?" "i think it will be all right, mr. hadley. i have talked to my extra actors, and they promise to put more verve and spirit into their work." "verve and spirit!" cried the producer. "what i want is _action_!" "well, that's the same thing," said the manager. "i've told them they must really get into the spirit of the fight. i think if you try them again----" "i will! now, then, men--you who are acting as the confederates--you take your places in and around the farmhouse. you're supposed to have taken refuge there after escaping from a party of unionists. you fortify the place, post your sentries and are having a merry time of it--comparatively merry, that is, for you're eating after being without food for a long time. "the farmhouse is the property of a union sympathizer, and you eat all the more heartily on that account. he has two daughters--they are birdie lee and miss shay," he added in an aside to the moving picture boys. "two members of your company--yes, i'm speaking to you confederates, so pay attention--two members of your company make love to the two daughters, much to their dislike. in the midst of the merry-making and the love scenes the union soldiers are reported to be coming. you johnnie rebs get out and the fight begins. "and let me tell you if it isn't a better fight this time than any you've put up before, you can pack your duds and get back to new york. you've missed your vocation, take it from me, if you don't do better than you have! now, then, union soldiers, what i said to the enemy applies to you. fight as though you meant it. now, one more rehearsal and i'm going to start you on the real thing." under the direction of the assistants of mr. ringold, while mr. hadley looked on critically, the confederates took their positions in and about the old house. they rehearsed the merry-making scenes and miss lee and miss shay took the parts of the daughters of the union sympathizer. the two girls, being actresses of some experience, did very well, and the extra people evidently improved, for mr. hadley nodded as if satisfied. "now, then, unionists, move up!" he called. "march along the road as if you didn't care whether you met stonewall jackson and his men or not. get a reckless air about you! that's better. now, then, some action! lively, boys!" this part, too, went better; and after a little more rehearsal the producer called to blake and joe. "go to it, boys! get the best results you can from this mimic battle. maybe you'll soon be where it's hotter than this!" "what does he mean?" asked joe, as he picked up his camera and took his position where he could film the scenes at the farmhouse. "i don't know," answered blake, who was to take pictures of the marching unionists. "maybe there are more stunts for us to do in earthquake land." "if there are i'm not going! i'd rather do undersea stuff than be around volcanoes." "so would i. but we'll talk about that later. say, that looks better!" and he motioned to the so-styled confederates, who did seem to be putting more life into their work. "yes," agreed joe. "i guess when it comes to shooting, and all that, there'll be action enough even for mr. hadley." a little later the mimic battle scene was in full swing. hundreds of blank cartridges were fired, smoke bombs filled the air with their dense vapor, and in the distance bursting shells tore up the earth, far enough removed from the positions of the men to preclude any danger. the unionists closed in around the farmhouse. close-up scenes were made, showing birdie lee and miss shay fighting off their confederate admirers. then came the turn in the battle where the southern force had to give way. "burn the house, boys!" cried their officer; and this would be flashed on the screen later as a lead. the dwelling, which had been purchased with the right to burn it, was set afire, and then began a scene that satisfied even the exacting producer. great clouds of smoke rolled out, most of it coming from specially prepared bombs, and amid them and the red fire, which simulated flames, could be seen the union leader carrying out his sweetheart, birdie lee. blake and joe ground away at their cameras, faithfully recording the scenes for the thrill and delight of those who would afterward see them in comfortable theaters, all unaware of the hard work necessary to produce them. the confederates made a last stand at the barn. they were fired upon by the unionists and finally driven off down the road--such as were left of them--while the victorious northern fighters put out the fire in the house and the scene ended in the reuniting of long-separated lovers. "well, i'm glad that's over!" remarked mr. hadley, as he came up to blake and joe where they were taking their cameras apart in readiness for carrying them back to the studio. "it didn't go so badly, do you think?" "i think it'll be a fine picture!" declared joe. "the last stand of the confederates was particularly good," observed blake. "good!" cried the producer. "that's a fine line for a leader--'the last stand.' i must make a note of it before i forget it. and now you boys can go back to new york. have the films developed the first thing and let me know how they have come out." "they'll probably be spoiled," put in the gloomy voice of c. c. mr. hadley looked around far something to throw at him, but having nothing but his note book, which was too valuable for that, contented himself with a sharp look at the gloomy comedian. "when will you want us again, mr. hadley?" asked blake, as he and joe made ready to go back in the automobile to new york, the "southern" battle scene having taken place in a location outside of fort lee on the new jersey bank of the hudson river, where many large moving picture studios are located. "oh, that's so! i did want to talk to you about something new i have in mind," said mr. hadley. "blake--and you, too, joe--are you game for some dangerous work?" "do you mean such as we had in earthquake land?" asked blake. "or under the sea?" inquired his partner. "this is a call to battle," replied mr. hadley. "and it's real battle, too! none of this smoke-bomb stuff! boys, are you game for some actual fighting?" chapter ii the accident not at all to the discredit of the moving picture boys is it to be considered when it is recorded that, following this question on the part of mr. hadley, they looked sharply at one another. "a call to battle!" murmured joe. "actual fighting?" added his chum wonderingly. "perhaps i'd better explain a bit," went on the film producer. "most unexpectedly there has come to me an opportunity to get some exceptional pictures. i need resourceful, nervy operators to act as camera men, and it is only paying you two a deserved compliment when i say i at once thought of you." "thank you," murmured blake. "no thanks necessary," responded mr. hadley. "so now i am ready to put my offer into words. in brief, it is----" at that moment back of the farmhouse (which was partly in ruins, for the fire had been a real one) a loud explosion sounded. this was followed by shouts and yells. "somebody's hurt!" cried mr. hadley, and he set off on a run toward the scene, followed by blake and joe. and while they are investigating what had happened, advantage will be taken of the opportunity to tell new readers something of the former books in this series, so they may feel better acquainted with the two young men who are to pose as "heroes," as it is conventionally termed, though, in truth, joe and blake would resent that word. "the moving picture boys" is the title of the first volume of the series, and in that the readers were introduced to blake stewart and joe duncan while they were working on adjoining farms. a moving picture company came to the fields to make certain scenes and, eventually, the two young men made the acquaintance of the manager, mr. hadley. blake and joe were eager to get into the film business, and their wish was gratified. they went to new york, learned the ins and outs of the making of "shifting scenes," as the scotchman called them, and they had many adventures. the boys became favorites with the picture players, among whom were the gloomy c. c., miss shay, miss lee, harris levinberg and henry robertson. others were added from time to time, sometimes many extra men and women being engaged, in, for instance, scenes like these of "the dividing line." following their adventures in new york, which were varied and strenuous, the moving picture boys went out west, taking scenes among the cowboys and indians. later they moved on, with the theatrical company, to the coast, where they filmed a realistic picture of a wreck. in the jungle was where we next met blake and joe, and they were in dire peril more than once, photographing wild animals, though the dangers there were surpassed when they went to earthquake land, as they called it. the details of their happenings there will be found in the fifth volume of the series. perilous days on the mississippi followed, when blake and joe took pictures of the flood, and later they were sent to panama to make views of the digging of the big canal. mr. hadley was a producer who was always eager for new thrills and effects. and when he thought he had exhausted those to be secured on the earth, he took to the ocean. and in "the moving picture boys under the sea," the book that immediately precedes the present volume, will be found set down what happened to blake and joe when, in a submarine, they took views beneath the surface. they had not long been home from their experiences with the perils of the deep when they were engaged to make views for "the dividing line," with its battle pictures, more or less real. "what's the matter? what happened? is any one hurt?" cried mr. hadley, as he ran toward the scene of the explosion, followed by blake and joe. they could see, by a large cloud of smoke, that something extraordinary had occurred. the figures of several men could be noted running about. "is anybody hurt?" demanded the producer again, as he and the two boys reached the place. "i'll send the ambulance, if there is." for when a film battle takes place men are often wounded by accident, and it is necessary to maintain a real hospital on the scene. "i don't believe any one's hurt," remarked mr. robertson, who did juvenile leads. "unless it might be c. c.," remarked mr. levinberg, who was usually cast as a villain. "and small loss if he was laid up for a week or so. we'd be more cheerful if he were." "is c. c. hurt?" asked joe. "no; but i guess he's pretty badly scared," answered mr. robertson. "after this i guess he'll have more respect for a smoke bomb." "was that what exploded?" asked mr. hadley. "yes," replied the "villain." he pointed to mr. c. c. piper walking along in the midst of a group of soldiers. "it happened this way: we were talking about the battle scene, and c. c. kept saying it would be a failure when projected because the smoke bombs were not timed right. he said they should explode closer to the firing line, and some of the men who handled them said they held them as long as they dared before throwing them. "old c. c. sneered at this, and said he could hold a smoke bomb until the fuse was burned down out of sight, and then throw it and get better results. so they dared him to try it." "well?" asked mr. hadley, as the actor paused. "well, c. c. did it. he held the smoke bomb, all right, but he didn't throw it soon enough, and, as a result, it exploded almost in his face. lucky it's only made of heavy paper and not very powerful powder, so he was only knocked down and scorched a little. but i guess he'll have more respect for smoke bombs after this." "foolish fellow!" remarked mr. hadley. "he never will listen to reason. i hope he isn't badly hurt." "it's only his feelings, mostly," declared the juvenile actor. mr. piper, otherwise called c. c., came limping along toward the producer and the moving picture boys. "mr. hadley, you may have my resignation, effective at once!" cried the tragedian. "oh, don't say that, mr. piper. you're not hurt----" "well, it isn't any thanks to one of your men that i'm not. i offered to show them how to throw a smoke bomb, and they gave me one with an extra short fuse. it went off almost in my face. if my looks aren't ruined my nerves are, and----" "no danger of your _nerve_ being gone," murmured blake, nudging his chum. "i should say not!" "anyhow, i resign!" declared c.c. savagely. but, as he did this on the average of twice a week, it had become so now that no one paid any attention to him. mr. hadley, seeing that he was in no danger and hardly even painfully scorched, no longer worried about the gloomy comedian. "and now to get back to what we were talking about before that interruption came," said mr. hadley to the moving picture boys. "do you think you'd like to tackle the job?" "what is it?" asked blake. "give us an idea," added his chum. "well, it isn't going to be any easy work," went on the producer. "and i might as well tell you, first as last, that it will be positively dangerous on all sides." "like anything we've done before?" blake wanted to know. "not exactly. earthquake land is as near like it as anything that occurs to me. in short, how would you like to go to europe?" "to the war?" cried joe. "yes; but to take films, not prisoners!" "great!" cried blake. "that suits me, all right!" "the same here!" agreed joe instantly. "tell us more about it!" "i will in a few days," promised the producer. "i have several details to arrange. meanwhile, i have a little commission for you along the same line, but it's right around here--or, rather, down in wrightstown, new jersey, at one of the army camps. "i can tell you this much: if you go to europe, it will be as special agents of uncle sam, making films for the use of the army. you will be commissioned, if my plans work out, though you will be non-combatants. the war department wants reliable films, and they asked me to get some for them. i at once thought of you two as the best camera men i could pick out. i also have a contract for getting some films here of army encampment scenes, and you can do these while i'm waiting to perfect my other arrangements, if you like." "down at wrightstown, is it?" cried joe. "well, i guess we can take that in. how about it, blake?" "sure we can. that is, if you're through with us on this serial." "yes. the most important scenes of that are made now, and some of my other camera men will do for what is left. so if you want to go to the jersey camp i'll get your papers ready." "we'll go," decided blake. two days later, during which they wondered at and discussed the possibilities of making films on the battle fronts of europe, the two youths were in wrightstown. one incident occurred while they were at work there that had a considerable bearing on what afterward happened to them. this was after joe and blake had finished making a fine set of films, showing the drilling of uncle sam's new soldiers, the views to be used to encourage enlistments about the country. "these are some of the best views we've taken yet in this particular line," observed joe to blake, as they sent the boxed reels to new york by one of their helpers to be developed. "yes, i think so myself. of course, they're peaceful, compared to what we may take in france, but----" he was interrupted by the unexpected return of charles anderson, nicknamed "macaroni," their chief helper, who hurriedly entered the tent assigned to the two boys. "what's the trouble, mac?" asked joe, that being the shortened form of the nickname. "you look worried." "and so would you, joe, if you'd had an accident like mine!" "an accident?" cried blake, in some alarm. "yes! at least, he _said_ it was an accident!" "who said so?" "that frenchman!" "what accident was it?" "why, he ran into me with his auto, and the army films are all spoiled--light-struck!" "whew!" whistled blake, and joe despairingly banged his fist against his camera. chapter iii monsieur secor macaroni sank down on a chair. blake said, afterward, their young assistant gave a very fair imitation, as far as regarded the look on his face, of c.c. piper. "ruined! just plumb ruined!" murmured charles anderson. "but what happened? tell us about it!" begged joe. "you say some one ran into you?" "yes. i was in the small auto taking the films you gave me to the station, and i had just about time to catch the express when i saw this fellow turning out of one of the side streets of the camp." "what fellow?" asked blake. "i don't know his name," answered macaroni. "but he's a frenchman sent here, i've heard, to help instruct our men. he's some sort of officer." "and his machine ran into yours?" asked blake. "smack into me!" answered his helper. "knocked the box of films out on the road, and one wheel went over it. cracked the box clean open, and, of course, as the film wasn't developed, it's light-struck now, and you'll have to take all those marching scenes over again!" "that's bad!" murmured joe. "very bad!" "did you say it was an _accident_?" asked blake pointedly. "that's what _he_ said," replied charlie. "he made all sorts of apologies, admitted it was all his fault, and all that. and it was, too!" burst out macaroni. "i guess i know how to be careful of undeveloped films! great hopping hippodromes, if i couldn't drive a car any better than that frenchman, i'd get out of the army! how he has any license to buy gasolene, i can't imagine! this is how it was," and he went into further details of the occurrence. "i brought the films back, covering 'em with a black cloth as soon as i could," went on charles; "but i guess it's too late." "let's have a look," suggested blake. "it may not be so bad as you think." but it was--every bit, and joe and blake found they would have to make the whole series over, requiring the marching of thousands of men and consequent delay in getting the completed films to the various recruiting centers. "well, if it has to be done, it has to be," said joe, with a philosophic sigh. "and making retakes may delay us in getting to europe." "that's right!" agreed blake. "but who is this fellow, anyhow, charlie? and what made him so careless? an accident like this means a lot to us and to the government." "i should say it did!" agreed macaroni. "and it was the funniest accident i ever saw!" "how so?" asked joe. "well, a little while before you finished these films this same french officer was talking to me, asking if there were to be any duplicates of them, and questions like that." "and you told him?" "yes. i didn't see any reason for keeping it secret. he isn't a german. if he had been i'd have kept quiet. but he's an accredited representative from the french government, and is supposed to be quite a fighter. i thought he knew how to run an auto, but he backed and filled, came up on the wrong side of the road, and then plunged into me. then he said his steering gear went back on him. "mighty funny if it did, for it was all right just before and right after the accident. he was all kinds of ways sorry about it, offered to pay for the damage, and all that. i told him that wouldn't take the pictures over again." "and it won't," agreed blake. "that's the worst of it! did you say you had seen this frenchman before, mac?" "yes; he's been around camp quite a while. you must have seen him too, you and joe; but i guess you were so busy you didn't notice. he wears a light blue uniform, with a little gold braid on it, and he has one of those leather straps from his shoulder." "you mean a bandolier," suggested joe. "maybe that's it," admitted macaroni. "anyhow, he's a regular swell, and he goes around a lot with the other camp officers. they seem to think he knows a heap about war. but, believe me, he doesn't know much about running an auto--or else he knows too much." "well, seeing that he's the guest of this camp, and probably of uncle sam, we can't make too much of a row," observed blake. "i'll go and tell the commandant about the accident, and have him arrange for taking a new series of views. it's too bad, but it can't be helped." "it could have been helped if anybody with common sense had been running that auto, instead of a frog-eating, parlevooing frenchman!" cried macaroni, who was much excited over the affair. "that's no way to talk about one of our allies," cautioned joe. "humph!" was all charles answered, as he looked at the wrecked box of film. "i s'pose he'll claim it was partly my fault." "well, we know it wasn't," returned blake consolingly. "come on, we'll get ready to do it over again; but, from the way mr. hadley wrote in his last letter, he'll be sorry about the delay." "is he eager for you to get over on the other side?" asked the helper. "yes. and i understand he asked if you wanted to go along as our assistant, mac." "he did? first i wasn't going, but now i believe i will. i don't want to stay on the same side of the pond with that frenchman! he may run into me again." "don't be a c. c.," laughed joe. "cheer up!" "i would if i saw anything to laugh at," was the response. "but it sure is tough!" the moving picture boys felt also that the incident was unfortunate, but they were used to hard luck, and could accept it more easily than could their helper. the commanding officer at the camp was quite exercised over the matter of the spoiled films. "well," he said to blake when told about it, "i suppose it can't be helped. it may delay matters a bit, and we counted on the films as an aid in the recruiting. there have been a good many stories circulated, by german and other enemies of uncle sam, to the effect that the boys in camp are having a most miserable time. "of course you know and i know that this isn't so. but we can't reach every one to tell them that. nor can the newspapers, helpful as they have been, reach every one. that is why we decided on moving pictures. they have a wider appeal than anything else. "so we army men felt that if we could show pictures of life as it actually is in camp, it would not only help enlistments, but would make the fathers and mothers feel that their sons were going to a place that was good for them." "so they are; and our pictures will show it, too!" exclaimed blake. "on account of the accident we'll be a bit delayed, and if that frenchman runs his auto----" "well, perhaps the less said about it the better," cautioned the officer. "he is our guest, you know, and if he was a bit awkward we must overlook it." "and yet, after all, i wonder, with mac, if it was a pure accident," mused blake, as he walked off to join joe and arrange for the retaking of the films that were spoiled. "i wonder if it was an accident," he repeated. in the days that followed the destruction of the army films and while the arrangements for taking new pictures were being made, joe and blake heard several times from mr. hadley. the producer said he was going to send macaroni abroad with the two boys, if the wiry little helper would consent to go; and to this charles assented. he would be very useful to joe and blake, they felt, knowing their ways as he did, and being able to work a camera almost as well as they themselves. "did the boss tell you just what we were to do?" asked blake of joe one day, when they were perfecting the details for taking the new pictures. "no. but he said he would write us in plenty of time. all i know is that we're to go to belgium, or flanders, or somewhere on the western front, and make films. what we are to get mostly are pictures of our own boys." "most of them are in france." "well, then we'll go to france. we're to get scenes of life in the camps there, as well as in the trenches. they're for official army records, some of them, i believe." "and i hope that crazy frenchman doesn't follow us over and spoil any more films," added charles, who was loading a camera. "not much danger of that," was joe's opinion. "come, don't nurse a grudge," advised blake. it was about a week after this that the two boys were ready to take the first of the camp pictures over again. "better make 'em double, so there won't be another accident," advised charles. "oh, don't worry! we'll take care of them this time," said blake. the long lines of khaki-clad soldiers marched and countermarched. they "hiked," went into camp, cooked, rushed into the trenches, had bayonet drill, and some went up in aeroplanes. all of this was faithfully recorded by the films. blake and joe were standing together, waiting for the army officer to plan some new movements, when a voice behind the two lads asked: "pardon me! but are these the new official films?" joe and blake turned quickly before replying. they saw regarding them a slim young fellow with a tiny moustache. his face was browned, as if from exposure to sun and air, and he wore a well-fitting and attractive blue uniform with a leather belt about his waist and another over his shoulder. "yes, these are the official films," answered blake. "and are you the official artists?" "camera men--just plain camera men," corrected joe. "ah, i am interested!" the man spoke with a slight, and not unpleasing, accent. "can you tell me something about your work?" he asked. "i am very much interested. i would like to know----" at that moment macaroni slid up to blake with a roll of new film, and hoarsely whispered: "that's the guy that knocked into me and spilled the beans!" the frenchman, for it was he, caught the words and smiled. "pardon," he murmured. "allow me to introduce myself. i am monsieur secor, and i believe i did have the misfortune to spoil some films for you. a thousand pardons!" and monsieur secor, with a quick glance at the two boys, bowed low. chapter iv all aboard blake was about to make a sharp reply to the polite frenchman, when he happened to remember what the commanding officer had said. that was that this man was, in reality, a guest of the nation. that he had come over instructed to give as much help as he could in getting the new soldiers in readiness to go "over the top." "and so i guess i'd better not say what i was going to," mused blake. then, to monsieur secor he replied: "i'm sorry, but we're not supposed to talk about our work without the permission of the commanding officer. you see----" "ah, i comprehend!" exclaimed the frenchman, with another bow--a bow altogether too elaborate, joe thought. "that is as it should be! always obey orders. i asked, casually, as i am much interested in this motion picture work, and i have observed some of it in my country. so it was your films that i had the misfortune to spoil? i greatly regret it. i suppose it made much extra work for you." "it did, monsieur secor," replied joe rather shortly. "that is the work we are doing now." "and if you will excuse us," went on blake, "we shall have to leave this place and go to the other side of the parade ground. i'm sorry we cannot tell you more of our work, but you will have to get an order from----" "non! non!" and the blue-uniformed officer broke into a torrent of rapid french. "it does not matter in the least," he began to translate. "i asked more out of idle curiosity than anything else. i will watch as much of your work as is permissible for me to see. later i shall observe the finished films, i hope." "if you don't bust 'em again!" murmured macaroni, when out of the officer's hearing. "i wouldn't trust you any too much," he added, as he and the two chums moved away to get views of the soldiers from a different angle. "what's wrong between you and monsieur secor?" asked joe. "i mean, aside from his having run into you, which he claims was an accident?" "well, maybe it was an accident, and maybe it wasn't," said charles. "but that isn't all. i know you, mac. what else do you mean?" demanded blake, as joe began to set up the camera in the new location. "well, i don't want to make any accusations, especially against a french officer, for i know they're on our side. but i heard that sim and schloss are pretty sore because you fellows got this work." "sim and schloss!" repeated blake. "that jew firm which tried to cut under us in the contract for making views of animals in bronx park?" "that's the firm," answered macaroni. "but they're even more german than they're jews. but that's the firm i mean. one of their camera men was telling me the other day they thought they had this army work all to themselves, and they threw a fit when they heard that hadley had it and had turned it over to you." "it goes to show that duncan and stewart are making a name for themselves in the moving picture world," said blake, with a smile. "it goes to show that you've got to look out for yourselves," declared charlie anderson. "those fellows will do you if they can, and i wouldn't be surprised to hear that this frog-eating chap was in with them, and maybe he spoiled your films on purpose, by running into me." "nonsense!" cried blake, speaking confidently, though at heart a little doubtful. "in the first place. monsieur secor wouldn't do anything to aid a german firm. that's positive! again he would have no object in spoiling our films." "he would if he's in with sim and schloss," suggested joe, taking sides with their helper. "if he could throw discredit on us, and make it appear that we were careless in doing our work, our rivals could go to the war department and, in effect, say: 'i told you so!' then they could offer to relieve us of the contract." "well, i suppose that's true," admitted blake. "and we haven't any reason to like sim and schloss either. but i don't believe they could plot so far as to get a french officer to help them as against us. "no, charlie," he went on, having half convinced himself by his reasoning, "i can't quite agree with you. i think it was an accident on the part of monsieur secor. by the way, what's his army title?" "he's a lieutenant, i believe," answered joe. "anyhow, he wears that insignia. he's mighty polite, that's sure." "too polite," said macaroni, with a grim smile. "if he hadn't waited for me to pass him the other day he might not have rammed me. well, it's all in the day's work, i reckon. here they come, boys! shoot!" blake and joe began grinding away at the camera cranks, with their helper to assist them. charles anderson was more than a paid employee of the moving picture boys. he was a friend as well, and had been with the "firm" some time. he was devoted and faithful, and a good camera man himself, having helped film many large productions. in spite of what he had said, blake stewart was somewhat impressed by what charles had told him. and for the next few days, during which he was busily engaged on retaking the films, he kept as close a watch as he could on lieutenant secor. however, the attitude and conduct of the frenchman seemed to be above suspicion. he did not carry out his intention, if he really had it, of seeking permission from the commanding officer to observe more closely the work of blake and joe. and for a few days before the last of the new films had been taken the blue-uniformed officer was not seen around the camp. blake and joe were too busy to ask what had become of him. then, too, other matters engaged their attention. for a letter came from mr. hadley, telling them and charles to hold themselves in readiness to leave for england at any time. "it's all settled," wrote the producer. "i have signed the contracts to take moving picture films of our boys in the french trenches, and wherever else they go on the western front. you will get detailed instructions, passes, and so on when you arrive on the other side." "when do we sail?" asked joe, after blake had read him this letter, and when they were preparing to go back to new york, having finished their army camp work. "the exact date isn't settled," answered his partner. "they keep it quiet until the last minute, you know, because some word might be flashed to germany, and the submarines be on the watch for us." "that's so!" exclaimed joe. "say, wouldn't it be great if we could get one?" "one what?" asked blake, who was reading over again certain parts of mr. hadley's letter. "a submarine. i mean film one as it sent a torpedo to blow us out of the water. wouldn't it be great if we could get that?" "it would if the torpedo didn't get us first!" grimly replied blake. "i guess i wouldn't try that if i were you." "i'm going to, if i get a chance," joe declared. "it would make a great film, even a few feet of it. we could sell it to one of the motion weeklies for a big sum." "it's hardly worth the risk," said blake, "and we're going to have plenty of risks on the other side, i guess." "does mr. hadley say how we are to go?" asked joe. "from new york to halifax, of course, and from there over to england. they search the ship for contraband at halifax, i believe, or put her through some official form. "from england we'll go to france and then be taken to the front. just what will happen when we get on the other side nobody knows, i guess. we're to report at general pershing's headquarters, and somebody there, who has this stunt in hand, will take charge of us. after that it's up to you and charles and me, joe." "yes, i suppose it is. well, we'll do our best!" "sure thing!" assented blake. "we will if some ninny of a frog-skinning frenchman doesn't try to ram us with an airship!" growled macaroni. he had never gotten over the accident. "i believe you are growing childish, mac!" snapped blake, in unusual ill-humor. the last of the army camp films had been made and sent in safety to the studios in new york, where the negatives would be developed, the positives, printed by electricity, cut and pasted to make an artistic piece of work, and then they would be ready for display throughout the united states, gaining recruits for uncle sam, it was hoped. blake and joe said good-bye to the friends they had made at the wrightstown camp, and, with macaroni, proceeded to manhattan. there they were met by mr. hadley, who gave them their final instructions and helped them to get their outfits ready. "we'll take the regular cameras," said blake, as he and joe talked it over together, "and also the two small ones that we can strap on our backs." "better take the midget, too," suggested joe. "that's too small," objected the lanky helper. "it really is intended for aeroplane work." "well, we may get some of that," went on joe. "i'm game to go up if they want me to." "that's right!" chimed in blake. "i didn't think about that. we may have to make views from up near the clouds. well, we did it once, and we can do it again. pack the midget, charlie." so the small camera went into the outfit that was being made ready for the steamer. as blake had said, he and his partner had, on one occasion, gone up in a military airship from governor's island, to make some views of the harbor. the experience had been a novel one, but the machine was so big, and they flew so low, that there was no discomfort or danger. "but if we have to go over the german lines, in one of those little machines that only hold two, well, i'll hold my breath--that's all!" declared joe. finally the last of the flank films and the cameras had been packed, the boys had been given their outfits, letters of introduction, passports, and whatever else it was thought they would need. they had bidden farewell to the members of the theatrical film company; and some of the young actresses did not try to conceal their moist eyes, for blake and joe were general favorites. "well, do the best you can," said c. c. piper to them, as he and some others accompanied the boys to the pier "somewhere in new york." "we will," promised blake. "and if we don't meet again in this world," went on the tragic comedian, "i'll hope to meet you in another--if there is one." "cheerful chap, you are!" said blake. "don't you think we'll come back?" christopher cutler piper shook his head. "you'll probably be blown up if a shell doesn't get you," he said. "the mortality on the western front is simply frightful, and the percentage is increasing every day." "say, cut it out!" advised charlie anderson. "taking moving pictures over there isn't any more dangerous than filming a fake battle here when some chump of an actor lets off a smoke bomb with a short fuse!" at this reference to the rather risky trick c. c. had once tried, there was a general laugh, and amid it came the cry: "all aboard! all ashore that's going ashore!" the warning bells rang, passengers gathered up the last of their belongings, friends and relatives said tearful or cheerful good-byes, and the french liner, which was to bear the moving picture boys to halifax, and then to england, was slowly moved away from her berth by pushing, fussing, steaming tugs. "well, we're off!" observed blake. "that's so," agreed joe. "and i'm glad we've started." "you aren't the only ones who have done that," said macaroni. "somebody else has started with you!" "who?" for answer the lanky helper pointed across the deck. there, leaning up against a lifeboat, was lieutenant secor, smoking a cigarette and seemingly unconscious of the presence of the moving picture boys. chapter v anxious days for a moment even blake, cool as he usually was, seemed to lose his head. he started in the direction of the frenchman, against whom their suspicions were directed, thinking to speak to him, when joe sprang from his chair. "i'll show him!" exclaimed blake's chum and partner, and this served to make blake himself aware of the danger of acting too hastily. quickly blake put out his hand and held joe back. "what's the matter?" came the sharp demand. "i want to go and ask that fellow what he means by following us!" "i wouldn't," advised blake, and now he had control of his own feelings. "why not?" "because," answered blake slowly, as he smiled at his chum, "he might, with perfect truth and considerable reason, say it was none of your business." "none of my business? none of our business that he follows us aboard this ship when we're going over to get official war films? well, blake stewart, i did think you had some spunk, but----" "easy now," cautioned macaroni. "he's looking over here to see what the row's about. there! he's looking right at us." the frenchman did, indeed, seem to observe for the first time the presence of the boys so close to him. he looked over, bowed and smiled, but did not leave his place near the rail. he appeared to be occupied in looking at the docks and the shipping of new york harbor, glancing now at the tall buildings of new york, and again over at the jersey shore and the statue of liberty. "come on back here--behind the deckhouse," advised blake to his chum and macaroni. "we can talk then and he can't see us." and when they were thus out of sight, and the vessel was gathering way under her own power, joe burst out with: "say, what does all this mean? why didn't you let me go over and ask him what he meant by following us on board this vessel?" "i told you," answered blake, "that he'd probably tell you it was none of your business." "why isn't it?" "because this is a public vessel--that is, public in as much as all properly accredited persons who desire may go to england on her. lieutenant secor must have his passport, or he wouldn't be here. and, as this is a public place, he has as much right here as we have. "and of course if you had asked him, joe, especially with the show of indignation you're wearing now, he would have told you, and with perfect right, that he had as much business here as you have. he didn't follow us here; i think he was on board ahead of us. but if he did follow us, he did no more than some of these other passengers did, who came up the gangplank after us. this is a public boat." joe looked at his chum a moment, and then a smile replaced the frown on his face. "well, i guess you're right," he announced. "i forgot that anybody might come aboard as well as ourselves. but it does look queer--his coming here so soon after he spoiled our films; whether intentionally or not doesn't matter." "well, i agree with you there--that it does look funny," said blake stewart. "but we mustn't let that fact get the better of our judgment. if there's anything wrong here, we've got to find it out, and we can't do it by going off half cocked." "well, there's something wrong, all right," said charlie anderson, smiling at his apparently contradictory statement. "and we'll find out what it is, too! but i guess you're right, blake. we've got to go slow. i'm going below to see if our stuff is safe." "oh, i don't imagine anything can have happened to it--so soon," said blake. "at the same time, we will be careful. now we must remember that we may be altogether wrong in thinking this frenchman is working against us in the interests of our rivals, sim and schloss. in fact, i don't believe that firm cares much about the contract we have, though they have tried to cut in under us on other matters. so we must meet lieutenant secor halfway if he makes any advances. it isn't fair to misjudge him." "i suppose so," agreed joe. "yet we must be on our guard against him. i'm not going to give him any information about what we are going across to do." "that's right," assented blake. "don't talk too much to anybody--especially strangers. we'll be decent to this chap, but he is no longer a guest of our nation, and we don't have to go out of our way to be polite. just be decent, that's all--and on the watch." "i'm with you," said joe, as macaroni came back to say that all was well in their cabin where they had left most of their personal possessions. the cameras and the reels of unexposed film were in the hold with their heavy baggage, but they had kept with them a small camera and some film for use in emergencies. "for we might sight a submarine," joe had said. "and if i get a chance, i'm going to film a torpedo." by this time the vessel was down in the narrows, with the frowning forts on either side, and as they passed these harbor defenses lieutenant secor crossed the deck and nodded to the boys. "i did not know we were to be traveling companions," he said, with a smile. "nor did we," added blake. "you are going back to france, then?" the lieutenant shrugged his shoulders in characteristic fashion. "who knows?" he asked. "i am in the service of my beloved country. i go where i am sent. i am under orders, messieurs, and until i report in paris i know not what duty i am to perform. but i am charmed to see you again, and rest assured i shall not repeat my lamentable blunder." "no, i'll take good care you don't run into me," muttered macaroni. "and you, my friends of the movies--you camera men, as you call yourselves--you are going to france also?" "we don't know where we are going, any more than you do," said blake. "ah, then you are in the duty, too? you are under orders?" "in a way, yes," said blake. "we are, if you will excuse me for saying so, on a sort of mission----" "ah, i understand, monsieur! a thousand pardons. it is a secret mission, is it not? tut! tut! i must not ask! you, too, are soldiers in a way. i must not talk about it. forget that i have asked you. i am as silent as the graveyard. what is that delightful slang you have--remember it no more? ah, i have blundered! forget it! now i have it! i shall forget it!" and, with a gay laugh, he smiled at the boys, and then, nodding, strolled about the deck. "he's jolly enough, anyhow," remarked joe. "yes, and perhaps we have wronged him," said blake. "the best way is not to talk too much to him. we might let something slip out without knowing it. let him jabber as much as he likes. we'll just saw wood." "i suppose he'd call that some more of our delightful slang, and translate it 'render into small pieces portions of the forest trees for the morning fire,'" laughed joe. "well, blake, i guess you're right. we've got to keep things under our hats!" "and watch our cameras and films," added charlie. "no more accidental-purpose collisions for mine!" in the novelty and excitement of getting fairly under way the moving picture boys forgot, for the time being, the presence of one who might be not only an enemy of theirs but of their country also. it was not the first time blake and joe had undertaken a long voyage, but this was under auspices different from any other. the united states was at war with a powerful and unscrupulous nation. there were daily attacks on merchantmen, as well as on war vessels, by the deadly submarine, and there was no telling, once they reached the danger zone, what their own fate might be. so even the start of the voyage was different from one that might have been taken under more favorable skies. soon after they had passed into the lower bay word was passed that the passengers would be assigned to "watches," or squads, for lifeboat drill, in anticipation of reaching the dangerous submarine zone. and then followed anxious days, not that there was any particular danger as yet from hostile craft, but every one anticipated there would be, and there was a grim earnestness about the lifeboat drills. "i have been through it all before--when i came over," said lieutenant secor to the boys; "but it has not lost its terrible charm. it is a part of this great war!" and as the ship plowed her way on toward her destination the anxious days became more anxious, and there were strained looks on the faces of all. chapter vi a queer conference halifax was safely reached, nothing more exciting having occurred between that port and new york than a severe thunder storm, and, after the usual inspection by the english authorities, the ship bearing the moving picture boys was once more on her way. the lifeboat drills were rigorously kept up, and now, as the real voyage had begun, with each day bringing nearer the dreaded submarine peril, orders were given in regard to the display of lights after dark. the passengers were ordered to be in readiness, to keep life preservers at hand, and were told that as soon as the actual danger zone was reached it would be advisable for all to keep their clothing on at night as well as during the day. "but the destroyers will convoy us, won't they?" asked charlie anderson. "oh, yes! they'll be on hand to greet us when the time comes," answered blake. "uncle sam's as well as king george's. but, for all that, a submarine may slip in between them and send a torpedo to welcome us." "then's when i'm going to get busy with the small camera," declared joe. "a heap of good it'll do you to get some pictures of it, if the ship is blown up," remarked his chum. "oh, well, i'm going to take a chance. every ship that's torpedoed doesn't sink, and we may be one of the lucky ones. and if i should happen to get some views of a destroyer sinking a submarine--why, i'd have something that any camera man in the world would be proud of!" "that's right!" agreed blake. "but don't take any chances." joe promised to heed this advice, and he was really enthusiastic about his chance of getting a view of an oncoming torpedo. that he might get views of a warship or a destroyer sinking one of the hun undersea boats was what he dreamed about night and day. it was the day before they were actually to enter the danger zone--the zone marked off in her arrogance by germany--that something occurred which made even cautious blake think that perhaps they were justified in their suspicions of the frenchman. the usual lifeboat drills had been held, and the passengers were standing about in small groups, talking of what was best to be done in case the torpedo or submarine alarm should be given, when macaroni, who had been down in the cabin, came up and crossed the deck to where blake and joe were talking to two young ladies, to whom they had been introduced by the captain. by one of the many signs in use among moving picture camera men, which take the place of words when they are busy at the films, macaroni gave the two chums to understand he wanted to speak to them privately and at once. the two partners remained a little longer in conversation, and then, making their excuses, followed their helper to a secluded spot. "what's up?" demanded joe. "have you made some views of a torpedo?" "or seen a periscope?" asked blake. "neither one," charlie answered. "but if you want to see something that will open your eyes come below." his manner was so earnest and strange, and he seemed so moved by what he had evidently seen, that blake and joe, asking no further questions, followed him. "what is it?" joe demanded, as they were about to enter their cabin, one occupied by the three of them. "look there!" whispered the helper, as he pointed to a mirror on their wall. blake and joe saw something which made them open their eyes. it was the reflection of a strange conference taking place in the stateroom across the passageway from them, a conference of which a view was possible because of open transoms in both staterooms and mirrors so arranged that what took place in the one across the corridor was visible to the boys, yet they remained hidden themselves. blake and joe saw two men with heads close together over a small table in the center of the opposite stateroom. the tilted mirror transferred the view into their own looking-glass. the men appeared to be examining a map, or, at any rate, some paper, and their manner was secretive, alone though they were. but it was not so much the manner of the men as it was the identity of one that aroused the curiosity and fear of the moving picture boys--curiosity as to what might be the subject of the queer conference, and fear as to the result of it. for one of the men was lieutenant secor, the frenchman, and the other was a passenger who, though claiming to be a wealthy hebrew with american citizenship, was, so the boys believed, thoroughly german. he was down on the passenger list as levi labenstein, and he did bear some resemblance to a jew, but his talk had the unmistakable german accent. not that there are not german jews, but their tongue has not the knack of the pure, guttural german of prussia. and this man's voice had none of the nasal, throaty tones of yiddish. "whew!" whistled joe, as he and blake looked into the tell-tale mirror. "that looks bad!" "hush!" cautioned blake. "the transoms are open and he may hear you." but a look into the reflecting glasses showed that the two men--the frenchman and the german--had not looked up from their eager poring over the map, or whatever paper was between them. "how long have they been this way?" asked blake, in a whisper, of charlie. "i don't know," macaroni answered. "i happened to see them when i came down to get something, and after i'd watched them a while i went to tell you." "i'm glad you did," went on blake; "though i don't know what it means--if it means anything." "it means something, all right," declared joe, and he, like the others, was careful to keep his voice low-pitched. "it means treason, if i'm any judge!" "treason?" repeated blake. "yes; wouldn't you call it that if you saw one of our army officers having a secret talk with a german enemy?" "i suppose so," assented blake. "and yet lieutenant secor isn't one of our officers." "no, but he's been in our camps, and he's been a guest of uncle sam. he's been in a position to spy out some of the army secrets, and now we see him talking to this german." "but this man may _not_ be a subject of the kaiser," said blake. "sure he is!" declared charlie. "he's no more a real jew than i am! he's a teuton! germany has no love for the jews, and they don't have any use for the huns. take my word for it, fellows, there's something wrong going on here." "it may be," admitted blake; "but does it concern us?" "of course it does!" declared joe. "this frenchman may be betraying some of uncle sam's secrets to the enemy--not only our enemy, but the enemy of his own country." "yes, i suppose there are traitorous frenchmen," said blake slowly, "but they are mighty few." "but this means something!" declared macaroni. and blake, slow as he was sometimes in forming an opinion, could not but agree with him. in silence the boys watched the two men at their queer conference. the tilted mirrors--one in each stateroom--gave a perfect view of what went on between the frenchman and the german, as the boys preferred to think labenstein, but the watchers themselves were not observed. this they could make sure of, for several times one or the other of the men across the corridor looked up, and full into the mirror on their own wall, but they gave no indication of observing anything out of the ordinary. the mirrors were fastened in a tilted position to prevent them from swinging as the ship rolled, and as they did not sway there was an unchanged view to be had. "i wonder what they're saying," observed blake. they could only guess, however, for though the men talked rapidly and eagerly, as evidenced by their gestures, what they said was not audible. though both transoms were open, no sound came from the room opposite where the boys were gathered. the men spoke too low for that. "i guess they know it's dangerous to be found out," said joe. "but we ought to find out what it's about!" declared macaroni. "yes, i think we ought," assented blake. "this frenchman has been in our country, going about from camp to camp according to his own story, and he must have picked up a lot of information." "and he knows about our pictures, too!" "well, i don't imagine what we have taken, so far, will be of any great value to germany, assuming that lieutenant secor is a spy and has told about them," blake said. "we've got to find out something about this, though, haven't we?" asked joe. "i think we ought to try," agreed his chum. "perhaps we should tell captain merceau. he's a frenchman, and will know how to deal with secor." "good idea!" exclaimed joe. "if we could only get him down here to see what we've seen, it would clinch matters. i wonder----" but joe ceased talking at a motion from blake, who silently pointed at the mirror. in that way they saw the reflection of the men in the other cabin. they arose from their seats at the table, and the map or whatever papers they had been looking at, were put away quietly in the frenchman's pocket. he and the german, as the boys decided to call labenstein, spoke in whispers once more, and then shook hands, as if to seal some pact. then, as the boys watched, lieutenant secor opened the door of the stateroom, which had been locked. he stepped out into the corridor, and was now lost to view. the next moment, to the surprise of blake and his two friends, there came a knock on their own door, and a voice asked: "are you within, young gentlemen of the cameras? i am lieutenant secor!" chapter vii "periscope ahoy!" sudden and unexpected was the knocking, and it found the boys unready to answer it. they had no idea that the conspirators--either or both of them--would come directly from their conference to the room where a watch had been kept on them. "do you think he saw us?" asked joe, in a whisper. "s'posing he did?" demanded charlie. "we have the goods on him, all right." blake held up a hand to enjoin silence, though the remarks of his friends had been made in the lowest of tones. the knock was given again, and the voice of the frenchman asked: "are you within, my friends of the camera? i wish to speak with you!" "one moment!" called blake, in a tone he tried to make pleasant. then he motioned to joe and charlie to seem to be busy over the midget camera, which was kept ready for instant use. at the same moment blake threw a black focusing cloth over the mirror, for he thought the frenchman might notice that it was in a position to reflect whatever took place in the opposite room. "act natural--as if you were getting ready to make some pictures," blake whispered in joe's ear, and then opened the door. "pardon me for disturbing you," began lieutenant secor, "but i have just come down from on deck. they are having a special lifeboat drill, and i thought perhaps you might like to get some views of it. also, i have a favor to ask of you." "come in," said blake, as he opened the door wider. at the same time he noticed that the door of the stateroom across the corridor was shut. "just came down from deck, did he?" mused joe, as he took note of the frenchman's false statement. "well, he must have run up and run down again in jig fashion to be able to do that. i wonder what he wants to ask us?" joe and charlie pretended to be adjusting the small camera, and blake smiled a welcome he did not feel. black suspicion was in his heart against the frenchman. an open enemy blake could understand, but not a spy or a traitor. "i thought perhaps you might like to get some of the views from on deck," went on lieutenant secor, smiling his white-toothed smile. "they are even lowering boats into the water--a realistic drill!" blake looked at joe as much as to ask if it would be advisable to get some views. at the same time blake made a sign which joe interpreted to mean: "go up on deck and see what's going on--you and charlie. i'll take care of him down here." "come on!" joe remarked to their helper, as he gathered up the small camera. "we'll take this in." "i thought you might like it," said the frenchman. "that's why i hurried down to tell you." "now i wonder," thought blake to himself, as joe made ready to leave, "why he thinks it worth his while to tell that untruth? what is his game?" at the same time an uneasy thought came to joe. "if we go up and leave blake alone with this fellow, may not something happen? perhaps he'll attack blake!" but that thought no sooner came than it was dismissed, for, joe reasoned, what harm could happen to his chum, who was well able to take care of himself? true, the frenchman might be armed, but so was blake. then, too, there could be no object in attacking blake. he had little of value on his person, and the films and cameras were not in the stateroom. and there were no films of any value as yet, either. "guess i'm doing too much imagining," said joe to himself. "this fellow may be a plotter and a spy in german pay--and i haven't any doubt but what he is--but i reckon blake can look after himself. anyhow, he wants me to leave secor to him, and i'll do it. but not too long!" so joe and charlie, taking the small camera with them, went up on deck. there they did find an unusual lifeboat drill going on. the danger zone was now so close that captain merceau and his officers of the ship were taking no chances. they wanted to be prepared for the worst, and so they had the men passengers practise getting into the boats, which were lowered into the water and rowed a short distance away from the ship. the women and children, of whom there were a few on board, watched from the decks, taking note of how to get into the boats, and how best to act once they were in their places. "going to film this?" asked charlie of joe. "no, i think not," was the answer. "it's interesting, but there have been lots of drills like it. if it were the real thing, now, i'd shoot; but i'm going to save the film on the chance of getting a sub or a torpedo. this is a sort of bluff on the part of you and me, anyhow. blake wanted to get us out of the cabin while he tackled secor, i reckon. what _his_ game is i don't know." "i can come pretty near to guessing," said macaroni, as he stretched his lank legs, which had, in part, earned him the nickname. "that fake lieutenant is planning some game with the german spy, that's his game." "maybe," admitted joe. "but i don't see how we figure in it." "perhaps we will after we've gotten some reels of valuable film," suggested charlie. "don't crow until you've ground out the last bit of footage." "no, that's right. look, that boat's going to spill if i'm any judge!" excited shouts and a confusion of orders drew the attention of the boys and many others to a lifeboat where, amidships on the port side, it was being lowered away as part of the drill. there were a number of sailors in it--part of the crew--and, as joe and charlie watched, one of the falls became jammed with the result that the stern of the boat was suddenly lowered while the bow was held in place. as might have been expected, the sudden tilting of the boat at an acute angle threw the occupants all into one end. there were yells and shouts, and then came splashes, as one after another fell into the ocean. women and children screamed and men hoarsely called to one another. for a moment it looked as though the safety drill would result in a tragedy, and then shrill laughter from the men who had fallen into the water, as well as cries of merriment from those who still clung to the boat, showed that, if not intended as a joke, the happening had been turned into one. the sailors were all good swimmers, the day was sunny and the water warm, and in a short time another boat had been rowed to the scene of the upset, and those who went overboard were picked up, still laughing. "i might have taken that if i had known they were going to pull a stunt like that," said joe, a bit regretfully. "however, i guess we'll get all the excitement we want when we get to the war front." "i believe you!" exclaimed charlie. "there's our german spy," he added, pointing to the dark-complexioned and bearded man who had been seen, through the mirrors' reflections, talking to the frenchman. he had evidently hurried up on deck to ascertain the cause of the confusion, for he was without collar or tie. the boat was righted, the wet sailors went laughing below to change into dry garments, and the passengers resumed their usual occupations which, in the main, consisted of nervously watching the heaving waves for a sight of a periscope, or a wake of bubbles that might tell of an on-speeding torpedo. mr. labenstein, to credit him with the name on the passenger list, gave a look around, and, seeing that there was no danger, at once went below again. "wonder how blake's making out?" asked charlie of joe, as they walked the deck. "do you think we'd better go down?" "not until we get some word from him. hello! here he is now!" and joe pointed to their friend coming toward them. "well?" asked joe significantly. "nothing much," answered blake. "he was as nice and affable as he always is. just talked about the war in general terms. said the allies and uncle sam were sure to win." "did he want anything?" asked charlie. "he said he was going to ask a favor, you know." "well, he hinted for information as to what we were going to do on the other side, but i didn't give him any satisfaction. then he wanted to know whether we would consider an offer from the french government." "what'd you say to that?" "i didn't give him a direct answer. said i'd think about it. i thought it best to string him along. no telling what may be behind it all." "you're right," agreed joe. "lieutenant secor will bear watching. did he have any idea we were observing him?" "i think not. if he did, he didn't let on. but i thought sure, when he came across the corridor and knocked, that he'd discovered us." "so did i, and i was all ready to bluff him out. but we'll have to be on the watch, and especially on the other side." "what do you mean?" asked blake. "well, i have an idea he's after our films, the same as he was before, either to spoil them or get them for some purpose of his own. just now we aren't taking any, and he hasn't any desire, i suppose, to get possession of the unexposed reels. but when we begin to make pictures of our boys in the trenches, and perhaps of some engagements, we'll have to see that the reels are well guarded." "we will," agreed blake. "what was going on up here? we heard a racket, and labenstein rushed up half dressed." "lifeboat spilled--no harm done," explained charlie. "well, i might as well take this camera below if we're not going to use it." "come on, blake," urged joe. "they're going to have gun drill. let's watch." the vessel carried four quick-firing guns for use against submarines, one each in the bow and stern, and one on either beam. the gunners were from uncle sam's navy and were expert marksmen, as had been evidenced in practice. "are we in the danger zone yet?" asked one of the two young women whose acquaintance blake and joe had made through the courtesy of captain merceau. "oh, yes," blake answered. "we have been for some time." "but i thought when we got there we would be protected by warships or torpedo-boat destroyers," said miss hanson. "we're supposed to be," replied joe. "i've been looking for a sight of one. they may be along any minute. look, there comes a messenger from the wireless room. he's going to the bridge where the captain is. maybe that's word from a destroyer now." interestedly they watched the messenger make his way to the bridge with a slip of paper in his hand. and then, before he could reach it, there came a hail from the lookout in the crow's nest high above the deck. he called in french, but joe and blake knew what he said. it was: "periscope ahoy! two points off on the port bow! periscope ahoy!" chapter viii beaten off decks that, a moment, before, had exhibited scenes of quietness, though there was a nervous tenseness on all sides, at once assumed feverish activity. officers on duty, hearing the cry of the lookout, called to him to repeat his message, which he did, with the added information that the submarine, as evidenced by the appearance of the periscope cutting the water, was approaching nearer, and with great swiftness. "here she comes, blake!" cried joe, as the two boys stood together at the spot from which they had been watching the wireless messenger a moment before. "here she comes! now for a chance at a picture!" "you're not going below, are you?" cried blake. "why not?" asked joe, pausing on his way to the companionway. "why, we may be blown up at any moment! we may be hit by a torpedo! i don't see why they haven't loosed one at us before this, as their periscope is in sight. you shouldn't go below now! stay on deck, where you'll have a chance to get in the boat you're assigned to!" "i've got to go below to get the small camera," answered joe. "i ought to have kept it on deck. i'm going to, after this, to have it ready." "but, joe, the torpedo may be on its way now--under water!" "that's just what i want to get a picture of! i guess if we're going to be blown up, being below deck or on deck doesn't make much difference. i want to get that picture!" and, seeing that his chum was very much in earnest, blake, not to let joe do it alone, went below with him to get the camera. but on the way they met charlie coming up with it. "she's all loaded, boys, ready for action!" cried the lanky macaroni. "i started down for it as soon as i heard the lookout yell! i didn't know what he was jabbering about, seeing i don't understand much french, but i guessed it was a submarine. am i right?" "yes!" shouted joe. "good work, mac! now for a picture!" and while joe and his two friends were thus making ready, in the face of imminent disaster, to get pictures of the torpedo that might be on its way to sink the ship, many other matters were being undertaken. passengers were being called to take the places previously assigned to them in the lifeboats. captain merceau and his officers, after a hasty consultation, were gathered on the bridge, looking for the first sight of the submarine, or, what was more vital, for the ripples that would disclose the presence of the torpedo. but perhaps the most eager of all, and certainly among the most active, were the members of the gun crews. on both sides of the vessel, and at bow and stern, the call to quarters had been answered promptly, and with strained but eager eyes the young men, under their lieutenants, were watching for the first fair sight of something at which to loose the missiles of the quick-firing guns. "give it to her, lads! give it to her! all you can pump in!" yelled the commander of the squad on the port side, for it was off that bow that the lookout had sighted the periscope. and while the hurried preparations went on for getting the passengers into the lifeboats, at the falls of which the members of the crew stood ready to lower away, there came from the port gun a rattle and barking of fire. the periscope had disappeared for a moment after the lookout had sighted it, but a slight disturbance in the water, a ripple that was different from the line of foam caused by the breaking waves, showed where it had been. and by the time joe and blake, with the help of charlie, had set up their small camera, the tell-tale indicator of an undersea boat was again in view, coming straight for the steamer. "there she is!" cried blake. "i see her!" answered joe, as he focussed the lens of the machine on the object "i'll get her as soon as she breaks!" the mewing picture boys, as well as charlie, had forgotten all about the need of taking their places at the stations assigned to them, to be in readiness to get into a boat. they were sharply reminded of this by one of the junior officers. "take your places! take your places!" he cried. "not yet!" answered joe. "we want to get a shot at her first!" "but, young gentlemen, you must not shoot with that. it will be ineffectual! let the gunners do their work, i beg of you. take your places at the boats!" "that's all right!" exclaimed blake "we're only going to shoot some moving pictures." "ah, what brave rashness!" murmured the french officer, as he hurried away. blake and joe, with charlie to steady the machine, for the steamer was now zigzagging at high speed in an effort to escape the expected torpedo, were taking pictures of the approach of the submarine. the underwater craft was still coming on, her periscope in the midst of a hail of fire from the steamer's guns. for, now that the vessel was making turns, it was possible for two gun crews, alternately, to fire at the german boat. "there goes the periscope!" yelled charlie, as a burst of shots, concentrated on the brass tube, seemed to dispose of it. but he had spoken too soon. the submarine had merely drawn the periscope within herself, it being of the telescope variety, and the next moment, with a movement of the water as if some monster leviathan were breaking from the ocean depths, the steel-plated and rivet-studded back of the submarine rose, glistening in the sun and in full view of those on deck, not two hundred yards away. "there she blows!" cried charlie, as an old salt might announce the presence of a whale. "there she blows! film her, boys!" and blake and joe were doing just that. meanwhile even wilder excitement, if possible, prevailed on deck. there was a rush for the boats that nearly overwhelmed the crews stationed to lower them from the sides, and the officers had all they could do to preserve order. "the torpedo! the torpedo at the stern!" cried the lookout, who, notwithstanding his position of almost certain death should the ship be struck, had not deserted his elevated post. "they have loosed a torpedo at the stern!" blake and joe, who were well aft, looked for a moment away from the submarine, and saw a line of bubbles approaching the stern and a ripple that indicated the presence of that dread engine of war--an air-driven torpedo. and as if the ship herself knew what doom awaited her should the torpedo so much as touch her, she increased her speed, and to such good purpose that the mass of gun-cotton, contained in the steel cylinder that had been launched from the submarine, passed under the stern. but only a few feet from the rudder did it pass. by such a little margin was the ship saved. and then, having a broader mark at which to aim, the gunners sent a perfect hail of lead and shells at the underwater boat, and with such effect that some hits were made. whether or not they were vital ones it was impossible to learn, for there was a sudden motion to the submarine, which had been quietly resting on the surface for a moment, and then she slipped beneath the waves again. "driven off!" cried blake, as he and joe got the final pictures of this drama--a drama that had come so near being a tragedy. "they've beaten her off!" "but we're not safe yet!" cried charlie. "she may shoot another torpedo at us from under water--she can do that, all right! look out, boys!" there was need of this, yet it was impossible to do more toward saving one's life than to take to the boats. and even that, under the inhuman and ruthless system of the huns, was no guarantee that one would be saved. lifeboats had, more than once, been shelled by germans. the appearance of the submarine had added to the panic caused by the sight of the periscope, and there was a rush for the boats that took all the power and authority of the officers to manage it. there was a period of anxious waiting, but either the submarine had no other torpedoes, or, if she did fire any, they went wide, or, again, the gunfire from the vessel may have disabled her entirely. she did not again show herself above the surface. even the periscope was not observed. having nothing to picture, blake and joe turned away from the camera for a moment. some of the lifeboats had already been filled with their loads when charlie, pointing to something afar off, cried: "here comes another boat!" on the horizon a dense cloud of black smoke showed. chapter ix suspicions for a moment there was more terror and excitement aboard the _jeanne_, if it were possible, after it became certain that another craft, the nature of which none knew, was headed toward the french steamer. then an officer gifted with sound common-sense, cried out in english, so that the majority could understand: "it is a destroyer! it is a destroyer belonging to the stars and stripes coming to our rescue. three cheers!" nobody gave the three cheers, but it heartened every one to hear them called for, and the real meaning of the smoke was borne to all. "of course it can't be a submarine!" exclaimed blake. "they don't send out any smoke, and there aren't any other german boats at sea. it's a destroyer!" "one of ours, do you think?" asked charlie. "perhaps. uncle sam has a lot of 'em over here to act as convoys. probably this is our escort coming up a little late to the ball," said joe. "but we did very well by ourselves," observed blake. "it was a narrow squeak, though." and indeed it was a narrow escape. the _jeanne_ had, unaided, driven off the undersea boat, and perhaps had damaged her by the rain of shot and shell poured at her steel sides. they could not feel sure of this, though, for the approach of the destroyer was probably known to the submarine, for they have underwater telephones which tell them, by means of the throbbing of the screws and propellers in the water, just about how far away another ship is, and what speed she is making, as well as the direction from which she is coming. whether the submarine had expended her last torpedo, or whether having missed what she intended for a vital shot she deemed there was not time to launch another and had sunk out of sight, or whether she were disabled, were questions perhaps never to be answered. at any rate, the approach of the destroyer, which came on with amazing speed, served to make the _jeanne_ comparatively safe. the lifeboats were emptied of their passengers, and once more there was a feeling of comparative safety as the passengers again thronged the decks. on came the destroyer. she proved to be one of uncle sam's boats, and the joy with which she was greeted was vociferous and perhaps a little hysterical. she had learned by wireless of the appearance of the french craft in the danger zone, and had come to fulfill her mission. she had been delayed by a slight accident, or she would have been on hand when the submarine first approached. the wireless message that had come just as the german craft appeared had been from the destroyer, to bid those aboard the _jeanne_ have no fear, for help was on the way. and soon after the grim and swift craft from the united states had begun to slide along beside the _jeanne_ two more destroyers, one of them british, made their appearance, coming up with the speed of ocean greyhounds. there was great rejoicing among the passengers, and much credit was given the lookout for his promptness in reporting a sight of the submarine. formal thanks were extended to the gun crews for their efficient work, without which the undersea boat might have accomplished her purpose. nor were the boiler room and engineer forces forgotten, for it was because of the sudden burst of speed on the part of the _jeanne_ that she escaped that one torpedo at least. "now we'll be all right," charlie said, as he helped his friends make a few pictures of the approach and the convoying of the destroyers to add to the views they had of the submarine and her defeat--temporary defeat it might prove, but, none the less, a defeat. "well, hardly all right," remarked blake, as the camera was dismounted. "we're still in the danger zone, and the huns won't let slip any chance to do us harm. but i guess we have more of a chance for our white alley than we had before." though the french ship was now protected by the three convoying vessels, the crews of which kept a sharp watch on all sides for the presence of more submarines, there was still plenty of danger, and this was felt by all. at any moment a submarine, approaching below the surface with only her periscope showing--and this made a mark exceedingly hard to see and hit--might launch a torpedo, not only at the merchant-man but at one of the destroyers. "it's like sleeping over a case of dynamite," observed joe, as he and his chums went below. "i'd rather be on the war front. you can at least see and hear shells coming." "that's right," agreed blake. "well, if nothing happens, we'll soon be there now." "_if_ is a big word these days," observed charlie. "now that we're comparatively safe for the moment, i want to ask you fellows something," said blake, after a pause. "ask ahead," returned joe. "if you want to know whether i was scared, i'll say i was, but i was too busy getting pictures to notice it. if it is something else----" "it is," interrupted blake, and his manner was grave. "come below and i'll tell you. i don't want any one else to hear." wondering somewhat at their friend's manner, joe and charlie went to their stateroom, and there blake closed the door and took the dark cloth down from the mirror. a look into it showed that the transom of the room opposite--the cabin of levi labenstein--had been closed. "so we can't tell whether he's in there or not," said blake. "did you want to talk about him?" asked joe. "yes, him and the lieutenant. did you fellows happen to notice what they were doing when the submarine was attacking us?" "not especially," answered joe. "i did see lieutenant secor looking at us as we worked the camera, but i didn't pay much attention to him." "it wasn't him so much as it was the german," went on blake. "in what way?" "did you see where he was standing when the submarine came out of the water?" neither joe nor charlie had done so, or, if they had, they did not recall the matter when blake questioned them. so that young man resumed: "well, i'll tell you what i saw: labenstein was leaning over the rail on the side where the submarine showed, and he was holding a big white cloth over the side." "a big white cloth?" cried joe. "that's what it was," went on blake. "it looked to me like a signal." "do you mean a signal of surrender?" asked charlie. "a white flag? he wouldn't have any right to display that, anyhow. it would have to come from captain merceau." "maybe he meant that he'd surrender personally," suggested joe, "and didn't want his fellow-murderers to hurt him." "i don't know what his object was," went on blake, "but i saw him take from his pocket a big white cloth and hold it over the side. it could easily have been seen from the submarine, and must have been, for he displayed it just before the underwater boat came up." "a white cloth," mused joe. "from his pocket. was it his handkerchief, blake?" "he wouldn't have one as large as that, even if he suffered from hay fever. i think it was a signal." "a signal for what?" charlie again asked. "to tell the submarine some piece of news, of course--perhaps the port of sailing, something of the nature of our cargo, or perhaps to tell just where to send the torpedo. i understand we are carrying some munitions, and it may be that this german spy directed the commander of the submarine where to aim the torpedo so as to explode them." "but he'd be signaling for his own death warrant!" cried joe. "not necessarily," answered blake. "he may have had some understanding with the submarine that he was to be saved first. perhaps he was going to jump overboard before the torpedo was fired and was to be picked up. anyhow, i saw him draping a white cloth over the side, and i'm sure it was a signal." "well, i guess you're right," said joe. "the next question is, what's to be done? this fellow is a spy and a traitor, and we ought to expose him." "yes," agreed blake. "but we'd better have a little more evidence than just my word. you fellows didn't see what i saw, that's plain, and perhaps no one else did. so it would only make a big fuss and not result in anything if i told the captain." "then what are you going to do?" asked charlie. "just keep watch," blake answered. "what about lieutenant secor?" asked joe. "well, i didn't see him do anything," admitted blake. "though i have my suspicions of him also. he and labenstein weren't talking so earnestly together for nothing. we'll watch that frenchman, too." "and if he tries any more games in spoiling films i'll have my say!" threatened macaroni. the boys talked the situation over at some length as they put away the films they had taken of the submarine attack, and agreed that "watchful waiting" was the best policy to adopt. as blake had said, little could be gained by denouncing labenstein with only the word of one witness to rely on. "if all three of us catch him at his traitorous work, then we'll denounce him," suggested blake. "yes, and the frenchman, too!" added charlie, in a louder voice, so that blake raised a cautioning hand. at that moment came a knock on their door, and a voice said: "i am mr. labenstein!" chapter x the flashlight almost like conspirators themselves, the boys looked at one another as the voice and knock sounded together. blake was the first to recover himself. "come in!" he called, in as welcoming a tone as he could muster under the circumstances. then as the knob of the door was ineffectually tried, he added: "oh, i forgot it was locked! wait a moment!" a moment later he had swung the door open, and the man who, the boys believed, was a german spy confronted them, smiling. "you are locked in as if you feared another submarine," he said. "it is not the best way to do. you should be on deck!" "but not on deck as you were, with a flag to signal to the huns," thought joe; and he wished he dared make the accusation. blake motioned to the caller to seat himself on a stool. "i came to see if i might borrow something," began the caller. "i find that mine is out of order for some reason," and he held out a small, but powerful, electric flash lamp, of the sort sold for the use of soldiers. "have you, by any chance, one that you could spare me?" asked mr. labenstein. "i do not want it, if it is the only one you have, but they are a great convenience in one's berth, for the lights must be kept turned off, now that we are in the danger zone made by those terrible germans. ah, how i hate them!" and his anger seemed very real and earnest. "did you say you wanted to borrow a pocket electric flash lamp?" asked blake, wishing to make the caller repeat his request. as he asked this question blake looked at his chums, as though to ask them to take particular note of the reply. "i should like to, yes, if you have one to spare. there are three of you, and, i presume, like most travelers, you each have one. i am alone in a single stateroom, and i may have need of a light. i will return it to you at the end of the voyage, or buy it of you at a good price. you see, i have a little jew in me. i will make a bargain with you. and i will pay you well, something a jew proverbially does not like to do. but i realize the value of what i want, and that the market is not well supplied, so you may take advantage of my situation. my battery is either worn out or the light is broken. it will not flash." he shoved down the little sliding catch, but there was no glow in the tiny tungsten bulb. "you have me at your mercy if you wish to sell me a lamp," he went on, with a smile and a shrug of his shoulders, not unlike that of lieutenant secor. "hasn't your friend a spare light?" asked joe quickly. "my friend?" repeated the german, as though surprised. "you mean----?" "i mean lieutenant secor." "oh, him!" and again came the deprecatory shrug of the shoulders. "he is an acquaintance, not a friend. besides, he has but one lamp, and he needs that. so, also, will you need yours. but as there are three of you together, i thought perhaps----" "we each have a light," said blake, interrupting the rather rapid talk of labenstein. "in fact, i have two, and i'll let you take one." "that is very kind of you. ah, it is like mine!" the visitor was watching blake eagerly as he brought forth one of the flat, three-cell nickel-plated holders of tiny batteries, with the white-backed and tungsten-filamented incandescent light set in a depressed socket. "yes, this is the best type," blake said. "you may have this." "and the price?" asked labenstein, as his hand quickly went into his pocket. "is nothing," answered blake. "it is a gift." "ah, but, my dear sir, that is too much! i could not think of taking it without pay!" insisted mr. labenstein, as he flashed on the light and then slipped the switch back in place again. "i protest that i must pay you." "please don't insist on paying," begged blake, "for i shall only have to refuse to take any money. please consider the light a gift. i have a spare one." "you are very kind, i'm sure," said the other, bowing with some exaggeration, it seemed to the boys. "i appreciate it, i assure you, and i shall look for a chance to repay the favor." "that's all right," said blake, and he tried to make his voice sound hearty. "you are welcome to the light." "a thousand thanks," murmured mr. labenstein, as he bowed himself out. and then, when the door had closed on him and they had taken the precaution of closing their transom, joe burst out in a cautious whisper with: "what in the world did you let him take it for, blake stewart? don't you see what his game is?" "yes," was blake's quiet answer; "i think i do." "well, then----" "what is his game?" asked charlie. "i presume he wants to use the flash lamp to give a signal at night to some german submarine," said blake quietly--very quietly, under the circumstances, it might seem. "and you let him take a light for that?" cried joe. "wait a bit!" advised blake, and he smiled at his chum. "do you know anything about these flashlights, joe?" "a little--yes. i know a powerful one, like that you gave labenstein, can be seen a long way on a dark night." "well, then maybe you know something else about them, or you may have forgotten it. like the proverb which says 'blessings brighten as they vanish,' so the light of these lamps sometimes glows very strong just before the battery goes on the blink and douses the glim." joe looked at his chum for a moment, uncomprehendingly, and then a smile came over his face. "do you mean you gave him a light with a battery in it that was almost played out?" he asked. "exactly," answered blake, with another smile. "this is a light i have had for some time. i noticed, only last night, that it was brighter than usual. just as a fountain pen--at least, the old-fashioned kind--used to flow more freely when there were only a few drops of ink left, so this battery seems to be strongest just before it gives out altogether. "i suspected this was going to happen, but i tested the battery with a galvanometer to-day and i found out it has about ten flashes left. after that the light will be dead." "is that why you gave it to him?" asked charlie. "the very reason. as soon as he asked for a light it occurred to me that he wanted to use it--or might use it--to give a signal at night to some watching submarine commander waiting for a chance to torpedo us. i thought if i let him do it with this failing light he might do the huns more damage than he could us." "how?" asked joe. "by not being able to give the proper signals. he'll need to flash a light for some little time to make sure to attract the attention of the submarine, won't he?" "probably," agreed joe. "well, then, if, while he's in the midst of signaling, his light goes out, the submarine won't know what to make of it, and will come up closer to find out what's wrong. then our own guns, or those of the destroyers, can bang away and catch the germans napping." "say, that's great!" cried charlie, as soon as he understood the plan blake had so quickly evolved. "if it works," conceded joe. "but how are we going to know when that german spy signals the submarine and fails to convey his full meaning, blake?" "we'll have to watch him, of course. catch him in the act, as it were. the defective lamp will help." "so it will!" exclaimed joe. "blake, i take back all i thought of you. i imagined you were making a mistake to let that lamp go out of your possession; but now i see your game. it's a good one! but we've got to be on the watch for this spy!" "oh, yes," agreed his chum. "and not only him but the frenchman as well. i didn't believe it possible that secor could be in with this german, but perhaps he is, and maybe he'll betray his own countrymen. either one may give the signal, but if they do we'll be ready for them. no more moving pictures for us, boys, until we get to the war front. we've got to be on this other job!" "but hadn't we better tell captain merceau?" asked charlie. "yes, i think so," assented blake. "we'll tell him what we think, and what we have done." but they did not get a chance that day, for there was a submarine scare toward evening--a lookout thinking he saw a periscope--and the consequent confusion made it impossible to have a talk with the commander. the boys did not want to report to any subordinate officer, and so concluded to wait until the next day. "but we'll keep watch to-night on our friend across the corridor," blake said. "and on lieutenant secor as well. his stateroom is next to labenstein's, and we can tell when either of them goes out after dark--that is, if we keep watch." "and we'll keep it, all right!" declared joe "now that we know something about what to look out for, we'll do it!" and so, as evening came on and the lights of the ship were darkened and as she sped along in company with her convoy, the three boys prepared to divide the night into watches, that they might be on guard against what they regarded as an attempt at black treachery. for somewhere under or on that waste of waters they believed a deadly submarine was lurking, awaiting the favorable moment to send a torpedo at the ship. chapter xi the depth charge charlie anderson, who had taken the earliest watch, roused blake at the appointed time, and reported: "all quiet so far." "then you haven't seen anything of our friends across the hall?" "not a thing. just as we arranged, i've had my eye at the hole, but their doors have both been closed. maybe you'll have better luck." "i don't think it will be good luck at all to see one of them sneak out to flash a signal to a waiting submarine, or one that may be following us all the while, waiting for a chance to strike. but i will call it exceedingly good luck if we can stop it," said blake. "go to it, old top!" exclaimed macaroni, dropping into what he thought the latest english slang. "i'm going to turn in." the lanky helper of the moving picture boys had spent the hours of his watch with his eye close to a small hole that had been bored in the door of the boys' stateroom. the hole gave a view of the staterooms of lieutenant secor and mr. labenstein, which adjoined. and, as charles had said, he had not observed either man leave his apartment. if what the boys had only guessed at were true--that one or both of the men contemplated giving a signal to the enemy by means of the flashlight--the time for it had not yet come. "well, i'll try my hand," blake said. "you turn in, mac, and if i need any help i'll call you. if i don't see anything up to about one o'clock i'll let joe do his trick. good-night and pleasant dreams." charlie did not answer. he was already in his bunk and asleep, for he was tired, and the last half hour of his watch he had kept himself awake with difficulty. then blake began his turn of duty. he took a position at the door where he could look out through the hole into the dimly lighted corridor. he had a view of the doors of the staterooms of the two men who were under suspicion, and as soon as either or both of them came out he intended to follow and see what was done. for an hour nothing happened, and blake was beginning to feel a bit sleepy, in spite of the fact that he had rested during the early part of the evening, when he was startled by a slight sound. it was like the creaking of a rusty hinge, and at first he thought it but one of the many sounds always more or less audible on a moving ship. then, as he tuned his ears more acutely, he knew that it was the squeaking of a hinge he had heard, and he felt sure it meant the opening of a door near by. through the hole he looked at the door behind which was levi labenstein, whether sleeping or preparing for some act which would put the ship in peril and endanger the lives of all the passengers, could only be guessed. then, as blake watched, he saw the door open and the german come out. labenstein looked around with furtive glances, and they rested for some little time on the door behind which blake was watching. then, as if satisfied that all was quiet, the man stole silently along, the corridor. "something doing," thought blake. "something doing, all right. he has something in his hand--probably my flashlight. much good may it do him!" as labenstein passed the stateroom where lieutenant secor was quartered, that door opened softly, but not until the german was beyond it. and then blake saw the frenchman peer out as though to make sure his fellow-conspirator was fairly on his way. after that the lieutenant himself emerged and softly followed the german. "both of 'em at it," mused blake. "i'd better rouse joe and let him keep track of one, in case they should separate." a touch on joe duncan's shoulder served to arouse him, though he was in a deep sleep. he sat up, demanding: "what is it? are we torpedoed?" "no, but we may be," was blake's low answer. "keep quiet and follow me. secor and labenstein have both gone up on deck, i think. we'd better follow." "shall we tell charlie?" asked joe, as he slid from his berth. neither he nor his chums had taken off their clothes. "yes, i guess we'd better get him up," blake answered. "if you and i have to watch these two fellows, we may need some one to send for help in case anything happens. come on, macaroni," he added, leaning over their helper and whispering in his ear. "wake up!" charles was up in an instant, a bit confused at first, as one often is when emerging from a heavy sleep, but he had his faculties with him almost at once, and was ready for action. "what is it?" he asked, in a whisper. in like low tones blake told him, and then the three boys, after making sure by a cautious observation that neither of the suspected men was in sight, went out into the corridor and to the deck. it was quite dark, for all unnecessary lights were dimmed, but there was a new moon, and the stars were bright, so that objects were fairly clear. on either side could be dimly observed the black shapes of the convoying destroyers. "where are they?" asked joe, in a whisper. "the traitors!" "i don't know--we'll have to look," was blake's answer. they looked along the deck, but saw no one, and were about to turn to the other end of the craft when a figure stepped out from the shadow of a boat and sharply challenged them. "who are you--what do you want?" was asked. it was one of the ship's crew assigned to night-watch. blake knew him slightly, having, at the man's request one day, showed him something of the workings of a moving picture camera. "we came up looking for two gentlemen who have the staterooms opposite ours," blake answered, resolving to "take a chance" in the matter. "lieutenant secor and mr. labenstein," he added. "have you seen them?" "yes; they came up to get a bit of air, they said," answered the sailor. "i saw them a little while ago. you will find them up near the bow. do not show a light, whatever you do, and light no matches. if you wish to smoke you must go below." "thanks, we don't smoke," joe answered, with a low laugh. "but we'll be careful about lights." "all right," answered the sailor. "we have to look out for submarines, you know," he added. "this is the worst part of the danger zone." the boys moved forward like silent shadows, peering here and there for a sight of the two figures who had come up a little while before them, with evil intentions in their hearts they had no doubt. even now there might be flashing across the dark sea, from some hidden vantage point on the ship, a light signal that would mean the launching of the deadly torpedo. "there's no doubt, now, but the frenchman is a traitor," whispered joe to blake. "i have been positive about that german being a spy ever since i've seen him, but i did have some doubts regarding secor. i haven't any now." "it does look bad," admitted blake. "i wish i'd smashed him with my auto, instead of waiting for him to smash me," remarked charlie. "he's a snake, that's what he is!" "hush!" cautioned blake. "they may be around here--any place--and hear you. i wish we could see them." they moved along silently, looking on every side for a sight of the two conspirators, but there were so many shadows, and so many places where the men might lurk, that it was difficult to place them. the sailor, evidently, had had no suspicions, thinking that blake and his chums had merely come up to be with the two men. "what are you going to do when you do see them?" asked joe of his chum. "i don't know," was the whispered answer. "first, we've got to see them, then we can tell what to do. but where in the world are they?" somewhat at a loss what to do, the boys paused in the shadow of a deckhouse. they were about to emerge from its dim protection when charlie plucked at blake's sleeve. "well?" asked the moving picture boy, in a low voice. "what is it?" "look right straight into the bow, as far as you can see," directed macaroni. "notice those two moving shadows?" "yes," answered blake. "i think that's our men," went on charlie. "yes, there they are," added joe. it was evident, after a moment's glance, that the two men who had so silently stolen from their rooms were together in the bow of the steamer, or as far up in the bow as they could get. the deck was open at this point, and, leaning over the side, it would be easy to flash a signal on either beam. the lookout on the bridge was probably too much occupied in sweeping the sea ahead and to either side of the ship to direct his attention to the vessel itself. "come on," whispered blake to the other two. "we want to hear what they are saying if we can, and see what they're doing." silently the boys stole forward until they could make out the dim figures more clearly. there was no doubt that they were those of secor and labenstein. and then, as the boys paused, fearing to get so close as to court discovery, they saw a little light flash. three times up and down on the port side of the bows went a little flash of light, and then it suddenly went out. "my electric light," whispered blake in joe's ear. "but i thought you said it would burn out!" "i hope it has. i think----" from one of the figures in the bow came a guttural exclamation: "the infernal light has gone out!" "so?" came from the other. "yes. it must be broken. let me have yours, herr lieutenant. i have not given the signal in completeness, and----" "i left my light in the stateroom. i'll go and----" but the lieutenant never finished that sentence. across the dark and silent ocean came a dull report--an explosion that seemed to make the _jeanne_ tremble. and then the sky and the water was lighted by the flashing beams of powerful lights. "what was that?" gasped joe, while from the crouching figures in the bow came exclamations of dismay. "are we torpedoed?" "i fancy not," answered blake. "sounded more like one of the destroyers made a hit herself. i think they set off a depth charge against a submarine. we'll soon know! look at the lights now!" the sea was agleam with brilliant radiance. chapter xii in england from the bridge came commands to the lookouts stationed in various parts of the french steamer. orders flashed to the engine room, and the vessel lost way and floated under her momentum. as yet she was shrouded in darkness, the only lights glowing being those actually required to enable persons to see their way about. below, of course, as long as the incandescents were shaded, they could be turned on, and many passengers, awakened by the concussion and the following sounds, illuminated their staterooms. the lights that gleamed across the billows came from the convoying destroyers, and signals flashed from one to the other, though the meaning of them the moving picture boys could only guess at. immediately following the explosion, which seemed to come from the side of the _jeanne_ where labenstein had flashed his signal, the german and the frenchman had subsided into silence. each one had given voice to an exclamation in his own tongue and then had hurried away. and so occupied were blake and his chums with what had gone on out there on the ocean--trying to guess what had happened--that they did not notice the departure of the two men. "what's that you said it was?" asked joe of his partner. "i mean the explosion." "i think it was a depth charge," answered blake. "one of the destroyers must have sighted a submarine and let go a bomb, with a heavy charge of explosive, which didn't go off until after it got to a certain depth below the surface. that's the new way of dealing with submarines, you know." "i only hope they got this one, with a depth charge or any other way," remarked charles anderson. "look, we're lighting up! i guess the danger must be over." lights were flashing on the deck of the _jeanne_, and signals came from the destroyers. it was evident that messages were being sent to and fro. and then, as passengers crowded up from their staterooms, some in a state of panic fearing a torpedo had been launched at the ship, another muffled explosion was heard, and in the glare of the searchlights from one of the convoying ships a column of water could be seen spurting up between the french steamer and the war vessel. "that's caused by a depth charge," blake announced. "they must be making sure of the submarine." "if they haven't, we're a good target for her now," said joe, as he noted the lights agleam on their steamer. "they're taking an awful chance, it seems to me." "i guess the captain knows what he's doing," stated blake. "he must have been signaled from the destroyers. we'll try to find out." an officer went about among the passengers, calming them and telling them there was no danger now. "but what happened?" asked blake, and he and his chums waited eagerly for an answer. "it was a submarine," was the officer's reply. "she came to attack us, trying to slip around or between our convoying ships. but one of the lookouts sighted her and depth charges were fired. the submarine came up, disabled, it seemed, but to make sure another charge was exploded beneath the surface. and that was the end of the hun!" he cried. "good!" exclaimed blake, and his chums also rejoiced. there was rejoicing, too, among the other passengers, for they had escaped death by almost as narrow a margin as before. only the sharp lookout kept had saved them--that and the depth charge. "but how does that depth charge work?" asked charlie anderson, when the chums were back in their cabin again, discussing what they had better do in reference to telling the captain of the conduct of labenstein and secor. "it works on the principle that water is incompressible in any and all directions," answered blake. "that is, pressure exerted on a body of water is transmitted in all directions by the water. thus, if you push suddenly on top of a column of water the water rises. "and if you set off an explosive below the surface of water the force goes up, down sidewise and in all directions. in fact, if you explode gun-cotton near a vessel below the surface it does more damage than if set off nearer to her but on the surface. the water transmits the power. "a depth charge is a bomb timed to go off at a certain depth. if it explodes anywhere near a submarine, it blows in her plates and she is done for. that's what happened this time, i imagine." and that is exactly what had happened, as nearly as could be told by the observers on the destroyer. the submarine had risen, only to sink disabled with all on board. a few pieces of wreckage and a quantity of oil floated to the surface but that was all. once more the _jeanne_ resumed her way in the midst of the protecting convoys, the value of which had been amply demonstrated. and when all was once more quiet on board, blake and his chums resumed their talk about what was best to do regarding what they had observed just before the setting off of the depth charge. "i think we ought to tell the captain," said charlie. "so do i," added joe. "and i agree with the majority," said blake. "captain merceau shall be informed." the commander was greatly astonished when told what the boys had seen. he questioned them at length, and made sure there could have been no mistake. "and they gave a signal," mused the captain. "it hardly seems possible!" "it was labenstein who actually flashed the light," said blake. "do you know anything about him, captain merceau?" "nothing more than that his papers, passport, and so on are in proper shape. he is a citizen of your own country, and appeared to be all right, or he would not have been permitted to take passage with us. i am astounded!" "what about the frenchman?" asked joe. "him i know," declared the captain. "not well, but enough to say that i would have ventured everything on his honor. it does not seem possible that he can be a traitor!" "and yet we saw him with the german while labenstein was signaling the submarine," added blake. "yes, i suppose it must be so. i am sorry! it is a blot on the fair name of france that one of her sons should so act! but we must be careful. it is not absolute proof, yet. they could claim that they were only on deck to smoke, or something like that. to insure punishment, we must have absolute proof. i thank you young gentlemen. from now on these two shall be under strict surveillance, and when we reach england i shall inform the authorities. you have done your duty. i will now be responsible for these men." "that relieves us," said blake. "we shan't stay in england long ourselves, so if you want our testimony you'd better arrange to have it taken soon after we land." "i shall; and thank you! this is terrible!" the boys realized that, as the captain had said, adequate proof would be required to cause the arrest and conviction of the two plotters. while it was morally certain that they had tried to bring about the successful attack on the french steamer, a court would want undisputed evidence to pronounce sentence, whether of death or imprisonment. "i guess we'll have to leave it with the captain," decided blake. "we can tell of his borrowing the light, and that we saw him flash it. of course he can say we saw only his lighted cigarette, or something like that, and where would we be?" "but there was the signal with the white cloth," added joe. "yes, we could tell that, too; but it isn't positive." "and there was secor's running into me and spoiling our other films," said charlie. "that, too, would hardly be enough," went on blake. "what the authorities will have to do will be to search the baggage of these fellows, and see if there is anything incriminating among their papers. we can't do that, so we'll have to wait." and wait they did. in spite of what captain merceau had said, the boys did not relax their vigilance, but though, to their minds, the two men acted suspiciously, there was nothing definite that could be fastened on them. watchful guard was maintained night and day against an attack by submarines, and though there were several alarms, they turned out to be false. and in due season, the vessel arrived at "an english port," as the papers stated. "let's go and see if captain merceau wants us to give any evidence against those fellows," suggested joe; and this seemed a good plan to follow. "ah, yes, my american friends!" the commander murmured, as the boys were shown into his cabin. "what can i do for you?" "we thought we'd see if you wanted us in relation to the arrest of secor and labenstein," answered blake. "ah, yes! the two men who signaled the submarine. i have had them under surveillance ever since you made your most startling disclosures. i sent a wireless to the war authorities here to come and place them under arrest as soon as the vessel docked. i have no doubt they are in custody now. i'll send and see." he dispatched a messenger who, when he returned, held a rapid conversation with the captain in french. it was evident that something unusual had taken place. the captain grew more excited, and finally, turning to the boys, said in english, which he spoke fluently: "i regret to tell you there has been a mistake." "a mistake!" cried blake. "yes. owing to some error, those men were released before the war authorities could apprehend them. they have gone ashore!" chapter xiii under suspicion blake, joe and charles looked at one another. then they glanced at captain merceau. for one wild moment blake had it in mind to suspect the commander; but a look at his face, which showed plainly how deeply chagrined he was at the failure to keep the two under surveillance, told the young moving picture operator that there was no ground for his thought. "they got away!" repeated joe, as though he could hardly believe it. "yes, i regret to say that is what my officer reports to me. it is too bad; but i will at once send out word, and they may be traced and apprehended. i'll at once send word to the authorities." this he did by the same messenger who had brought the intelligence that the frenchman and the german had secretly left. when this had been done, and the boys had got themselves ready to go ashore and report, captain merceau told them how it had happened. he had given orders, following the report made by blake and his chums, that secor and labenstein should be kept under careful watch. and this was to be done without allowing them to become aware of it. "however, i very much doubt if this was the case," the captain frankly admitted. "they are such scoundrels themselves that they would naturally suspect others of suspecting them. so they must have become aware of our plans, and then they made arrangements to elude the guard i set over them." "how did they do that?" asked blake. "by a trick. one of them pretended to be ill and asked that the surgeon be summoned. this was the german. and when the guard hurried away on what he supposed was an errand of mercy, the two rascals slipped away. they were soon lost in the crowd. but we shall have them back, have no fear, young gentlemen." but, all the same, blake and his chums had grave doubts as to the ability of the authorities to capture the two men. not that they had any fears for themselves, for, as joe said, they had nothing to apprehend personally from the men. "unless they are after the new films we take," suggested charles. "why should they want them?" asked blake. "i mean, our films are not likely to give away any vital secrets," he went on. "well, i don't know," answered the lanky helper, "but i have a sort of hunch that they'll do all they can and everything they can to spoil our work for uncle sam on this side of the water, as they did before." "secor spoiled the films before," urged blake. "he didn't know labenstein then, as far as we know." "well, he knows him now," said charles. "i'm going to be on the watch." "i guess the authorities will be as anxious to catch those fellows as we are to have them," resumed blake. "putting a ship in danger of an attack from a submarine, as was undoubtedly done when labenstein waved my flashlight, isn't a matter to be lightly passed over." and the authorities took the same view. soon after captain merceau had sent his report of the occurrence to london to the officials of the english war office, the boys were summoned before one of the officers directing the secret service and were closely questioned. they were asked to tell all they knew of the man calling himself lieutenant secor and the one who was on the passenger list as levi labenstein. this they did, relating everything from charlie's accident with the frenchman to the destruction of the submarine by the depth charge just after labenstein had flashed his signal, assuming that this was what he had done. "very well, young gentlemen, i am exceedingly obliged to you," said the english officer. "the matter will be taken care of promptly and these men may be arrested. in that case, we shall want your evidence, so perhaps you had better let me know a little more about yourselves. i presume you have passports and the regulation papers?" and he smiled; but, as blake said afterward, it was not exactly a trusting smile. "he looked as if he'd like to catch us napping," blake said. however, the papers of the moving picture boys were in proper shape. but they were carefully examined, and during the process, when joe, addressing charles anderson, spoke to him as "macaroni," the officer looked up quickly. "i thought his name was charles," he remarked, as he referred to the papers. "certainly. but we call him 'macaroni' sometimes because he looks like it--especially his legs," joe explained. "his legs macaroni?" questioned the english officer, regarding the three chums over the tops of his glasses. "do you mean--er--that his legs are so easily broken--as macaroni is broken?" "no, not that. it's because they're so thin," joe added. still the officer did not seem to comprehend. "it's a joke," added blake. then the englishman's face lit up. "oh, a joke!" he exclaimed. "why didn't you say so at first? now i comprehend. a joke! oh, that's different! his legs are like macaroni, so you call him spaghetti! i see! very good! very good!" and he laughed in a ponderous way. "at the same time," he went on, "i think i shall make a note of it. i will just jot it down on the margin of his papers, that he is called 'macaroni' as a joke. some other officer might not see the point," he added. "i'm quite fond of a joke myself! this is a very good one. i shall make a note of it." and this he proceeded to do in due form. "well, if that isn't the limit!" murmured joe, when the officer, having returned their papers to them, sent them to another department to get the necessary passes by which they could claim their baggage and make application to go to the front. "it's a good thing this officer had a sense of humor," remarked blake, half sarcastically, "or we might have had to send back for a special passport for one stick of macaroni." if blake and his chums had an idea they would at once be permitted to depart for "somewhere in france" and begin the work of taking moving pictures of uncle sam's boys in training and in the trenches, they were very soon disillusioned. it was one thing to land in england during war times, but it was another matter to get out, especially when they were not english subjects. it is true that mr. hadley had made arrangements for the films to be made, and they were to be taken for and under the auspices of the united states war department. but england has many institutions, and those connected with war are bound up in much red tape, in which they are not unlike our own, in some respects. the applications of blake and his chums to depart for the united states base in france were duly received and attached to the application already made by mr. hadley and approved by the american commanding officer. "and what happens next?" asked blake, when they had filled out a number of forms in the english war office. "i mean, where do we go from here?" "ah, that's one of your songs, isn't it?" asked an english officer, one who looked as though he could understand a joke better than could the one to whom macaroni so appealed. "yes, it's a song, but we don't want to stay here too long singing it," laughed joe. "well, i'll do my best for you," promised the officer, who was a young man. he had been twice wounded at the front and was only awaiting a chance to go back, he said. "i'll do my best, but it will take a little time. we'll have to send the papers to france and wait for their return." "and what are we to do in the meanwhile?" asked blake. "i fancy you'll just have to stay here and--what is it you say--split kindling?" "'saw wood,' i guess you mean," said joe. "well, if we have to, we have to. but please rush it along, will you?" "i'll do my best," promised the young officer. "meanwhile, you had better let me have your address--i mean the name of the hotel where you will be staying--and i'll send you word as soon as i get it myself. i had better tell you, though, that you will not be allowed to take any pictures--moving or other kind--until you have received permission." "we'll obey that ruling," blake promised. he had hoped to get some views of ruins caused by a zeppelin. however, there was no hope of that. on the recommendation of the young officer they took rooms in london at a hotel in a vicinity to enable them to visit the war department easily. and then, having spent some time in these formalities and being again assured that they would be notified when they were wanted, either to be given permission to go to france or to testify against the two suspects, the moving picture boys went to their hotel. it was not the first time they had been in a foreign country, though never before had they visited london, and they were much interested in everything they saw, especially everything which pertained to the war. and evidences of the war were on every side: injured and uninjured soldiers; poster appeals for enlistments, for the saving of food or money to win the war; and many other signs and mute testimonies of the great conflict. the boys found their hotel a modest but satisfactory one, and soon got in the way of living there, planning to stay at least a week. they learned that their food would be limited in accordance with war regulations, but they had expected this. there was something else, though, which they did not expect, and which at first struck them as being decidedly unpleasant. it was the second day of their stay in london that, as they were coming back to their hotel from a visit to a moving picture show, joe remarked: "say, fellows, do you notice that man in a gray suit and a black slouch hat across the street?" "i see him," admitted blake. "have you seen him before?" joe asked. "yes, i have," said blake. "he was in the movies with us, and i saw him when we left the hotel." "so did i," went on joe. "and doesn't it strike you as being peculiar?" "in what way?" asked charles. "i mean he seems to be following us." "what in the world for?" asked the assistant. "well," went on joe slowly, "i rather think we're under suspicion. that's the way it strikes me!" chapter xiv in custody blake and charlie nodded their heads as joe gave voice to his suspicion. then, as they looked across once again at the man in the slouch hat, he seemed aware of their glances and slunk down an alley. "but i think he has his eye on us, all the same," observed blake, as the boys went into their hotel. "what are we going to do about it?" inquired charlie. "shall we put up a kick or a fight?" "neither one," decided blake, after a moment's thought. "why not?" inquired macaroni, with rather a belligerent air, as befitted one in the midst of war's alarms. "why not go and ask this fellow what he means by spying on us?" "in the first place, if we could confront him, which i very much doubt," answered blake, "he would probably deny that he was even so much as looking at us, except casually. those fellows from scotland yard, or whatever the english now call their secret service, are as keen as they make 'em. we wouldn't get any satisfaction by kicking." "then let's fight!" suggested charlie. "we can protest to the officer who told us to wait here for our permits to go to the front. we can say we're united states citizens and we object to being spied on. let's do it!" "yes, we could do that," said blake slowly. "but perhaps we are being kept under surveillance by the orders of that same officer." "what in the world for?" "well, because the authorities may want to find out more about us." "but didn't we have our passports all right? and weren't our papers in proper shape?" asked charlie indignantly. "as far as we ourselves are concerned, yes," said blake. "but you must remember that passports have been forged before, by germans, and----" "i hope they don't take _us_ for germans!" burst out charlie. "well, we don't look like 'em, that's a fact," said blake, with a smile. "but you must remember that the english have been stung a number of times, and they aren't taking any more chances." "just what do you think this fellow's game is?" asked charlie. "well," answered blake slowly, and as if considering all sides of the matter. "i think he has been detailed by the english foreign office, or secret service, or whoever has the matter in charge, to keep an eye on us and see if we are really what we claim to be. that's all. i don't see any particular harm in it; and if we objected, kicked, or made a row, it would look as if we might be guilty. so i say let it go and let that chap do all the spying he likes." "well, i guess you're right," assented joe. "same here," came from their helper. "anyhow, we might as well make the best of it," resumed blake. "if we had a fight with this chap and made him skedaddle, it would only mean another would be put on our trail. just take it easy, and in due time, i think, we'll be given our papers and allowed to go to the front." "it can't come any too soon for me," declared joe. so for the next few days the boys made it a point to take no notice of the very obvious fact that they were under surveillance. it was not always the same man who followed them or who was seen standing outside the hotel when they went out and returned. in fact, they were sure three different individuals had them in charge, so to speak. the boys were used to active work with their cameras and liked to be in action, but they waited with as good grace as possible. in fact, there was nothing else to do. their moving picture apparatus was sealed and kept in the foreign office, and would not be delivered to them until their permits came to go to the front. so, liking it or not, the boys had to submit. they called several times on the young officer who had treated them so kindly, to ask whether there were any developments in their case; but each time they were told, regretfully enough, it seemed, that there was none. "but other permits have been longer than yours in coming," said the officer, with a smile. "you must have a little patience. we are not quite as rapid as you americans." "but we want to get to the war front!" exclaimed joe. "we want to make some pictures, and if we have to wait----" "possess your souls with patience," advised the officer. "the war is going to last a long, long time, longer than any of us have any idea of, i am afraid. you will see plenty of fighting, more's the pity. don't fret about that." but the boys did fret; and as the days passed they called at the permit office not once but twice, and, on one occasion, three times in twenty-four hours. the official was always courteous to them, but had the same answer: "no news yet!" and then, when they had spent two weeks in london--two weeks that were weary ones in spite of the many things to see and hear--the boys were rather surprised on the occasion of their daily visit to the permit office to be told by a subordinate: "just a moment, if you please. captain bedell wishes to speak to you." the captain was the official who had their affair in charge, and who had been so courteous to them. "he wants us to wait!" exclaimed joe, with marked enthusiasm. for the last few days the captain had merely sent out word that there was no news. "maybe he has the papers!" cried macaroni. "i'm sure i hope so," murmured blake. the boys waited in the outer office with manifest impatience until the clerk came to summon them into the presence of captain bedell, saying: "this way, if you please." "sounds almost like a dentist inviting you into his chair," murmured joe to blake. "not as bad as that, i hope. it looks encouraging to be told to wait and come in." they were ushered into the presence of captain bedell, who greeted them, not with a smile, as he had always done before, but with a grave face. instantly each of the boys, as he admitted afterward, thought something was wrong. "there's something out of the way with our passports," was joe's idea. "been a big battle and the british have lost," guessed macaroni. blake's surmise was: "there's a hitch and we can't go to the front." as it happened, all three were wrong, for a moment later, after he had asked them to be seated, captain bedell touched a bell on his desk. an orderly answered and he was told: "these are the young gentlemen." "does that mean we are to get our permits?" asked joe eagerly. "i am sorry to say it does not," was the grave answer. "i am also sorry to inform you that you are in custody." "in custody!" cried the three at once. and blake a moment later added: "on what grounds?" "that i am not at liberty to tell you, exactly," the officer replied. "you are arrested under the defense of the realm act, and the charges will be made known to you in due course of time." "arrested!" cried joe. "are we really arrested?" "not as civil but as military prisoners," went on captain bedell. "there is quite a difference, i assure you. i am sorry, but i have to do my duty. orderly, take the prisoners away. you may send for counsel, of course," he added. "we don't know a soul here, except some moving picture people to whom we have letters of introduction," blake said despondently. "well, communicate with some of them," advised the captain. "they will be able to recommend a solicitor. not that it will do you much good, for you will have to remain in custody for some time, anyhow." "are we suspected of being spies?" asked joe, determined to hazard that question. captain bedell smiled for the first time since the boys had entered his office. it was a rather grim contortion of the face, but it could be construed into a smile. "i am not at liberty to tell you," he said. "orderly, take the prisoners away, and give them the best of care, commensurate, of course, with safe-keeping." chapter xv the front at last well, wouldn't this get your----" "billiard table!" finished joe for his chum blake, who seemed at a loss for a word. "why billiard table?" asked blake. "because they've sort of put the english on us!" and joe laughed at his joke--if it could be called that. "huh!" grunted blake, "i'm glad you feel so about it. but this is fierce! that's what i call it--fierce!" "worse than that!" murmured charlie. "and the worst of it is they won't give us a hint what it's all about." "there _is_ a good deal of mystery about it," chimed in joe. "all but about the fact that we're in a jail, or the next thing to it," added blake, with a look about the place where he and his chums had been taken from the office of captain bedell. they were actually in custody, and while there were no bars to the doors of their prison, which were of plain, but heavy, english oak, there were bars to the windows. aside from that, they might be in some rather ordinary hotel suite, for there were three connecting rooms and what passed for a bath, though this seemed to have been added after the place was built. as a matter of fact, the three boys were held virtually as captives, in a part of the building given over to the secret service work of the war. they had been escorted to the place by the orderly, who had instructions to treat his prisoners with consideration, and he had done that. "this is one of our--er--best--apartments," he said, with an air of hesitation, as though he had been about to call it a cell but had thought better of it. "i hope you will be comfortable here." "we might be if we knew what was going to happen to us and what it's all about," returned blake, with a grim smile. "that is information i could not give you, were i at liberty to do so, sir," answered the orderly. "your solicitor will act for you, i have no doubt." following the advice of captain bedell, the boys had communicated with some of their moving picture friends in london, with the result that a solicitor, or lawyer, as he would be called in the united states, promised to act for the boys. he was soon to call to see them, and, meanwhile, they were waiting in their "apartment." "i wonder how it all happened?" mused joe, as he looked from one of the barred windows at the not very cheerful prospect of roofs and chimneys. "and what is the charge?" asked charlie. "we can't even find that out." "it practically amounts to being charged with being spies," said blake. "that is what i gather from the way we are being treated. we are held as spies!" "and uncle sam is fighting for the allies!" cried joe. "oh, well, it's all a mistake, of course, and we can explain it as soon as we get a chance and have the united states consul give us a certificate of good character," went on blake. "that's what we've got to have our lawyer do when he comes--talk with the united states consul." "well, i wish he'd hurry and come," remarked joe. "it is no fun being detained here. i want to get to the front and see some action. our cameras will get rusty if we don't use them." "that's right," agreed macaroni. it was not until the next day, however, that a solicitor came, explaining that he had been delayed after getting the message from the boys. the lawyer, as blake and his friends called him, proved to be a genial gentleman who sympathized with the boys. he had been in new york, knew something about moving pictures, and, best of all, understood the desire of the american youths to be free and to get into action. "the first thing to be done," said mr. dorp, the solicitor, "is to find out the nature of the charge against you, and who made it. then we will be in a position to act. i'll see captain bedell at once." this he did, with the result that the boys were taken before the officer, who smiled at them, said he was sorry for what had happened, but that he had no choice in the matter. "as for the nature of the charge against you, it is this," he said. "it was reported to us that you came here to get pictures of british defenses to be sold to germany, and that your desire to go to the front, to get views of and for the american army, was only a subterfuge to cover your real purpose." "who made that charge?" asked blake. "it came in a letter to the war department," was the answer, "and from some one who signed himself henry littlefield of new york city. he is in london, and he would appear when wanted, he said." "may i see that letter?" asked the lawyer, and when it was shown to him he passed it over to the boys, asking if they knew the writer or recognized the handwriting. and at this point the case of the prosecution, so to speak, fell through. for blake, with a cry of surprise, drew forth from his pocket another letter, saying: "compare the writing of that with the letter denouncing us! are they not both in the same hand?" "they seem to be," admitted captain bedell, after an inspection. "from whom is your letter?" asked mr. dorp. "from levi labenstein, the man who summoned the submarine to sink the _jeanne_," answered blake. "this letter dropped from his pocket when he came to me to borrow the flashlight. i intended to give it back to him, as it is one he wrote to some friend and evidently forgot to mail. it contains nothing of importance, as far as i can see, though it may be in cipher. but this letter, signed with his name, is in the same hand as the one signed 'henry littlefield,' denouncing us." "then you think it all a plot?" asked captain bedell. "of course!" cried joe. "why didn't you say before, blake, that you had a letter from this fellow?" "i didn't attach any importance to it until i saw the letter accusing us. now the whole thing is clear. he wants us detained here for some reason, and took this means of bringing it about." "if that is the case, you will soon be cleared," said captain bedell. and the boys soon were. there was no doubt but that the two letters were in the same hand. and when it was explained what part the suspected german had played aboard the steamer and cables from america to the united states consul had vouched for the boys, they were set free with apologies. and what pleased them still more was captain bedell's announcement: "i also have the pleasure to inform you that the permits allowing you to go to the front have been received. they came yesterday, but, of course, under the circumstances i could not tell you." "then may we get on the firing line?" asked blake. "as soon as you please. we will do all we can to speed you on your way. it is all we can do to repay for the trouble you have had." "these are war times, and one can't be too particular," responded joe. "we don't mind, now that we can get a real start." "i'd like to get at that fake jew and the frenchman who spoiled the films!" murmured charles. "charlie can forgive everything but those spoiled films," remarked blake, with a chuckle. "we will try to apprehend the two men," promised captain bedell, "but i am afraid it is too late. it may seem strange to you that we held you on the mere evidence of a letter from a man we did not know. but you must remember that the nerves of every one are more or less upset over what has happened. the poison of germany's spy system had permeated all of us, and nothing is normal. a man often suspects his best friend, so though it may have seemed unusual to you to be arrested, or detained, as we call it, still when all is considered it was not so strange. "however, you are at liberty to go now, and we will do all we can to help you. i have instructions to set you on your way to the front as soon as you care to go, and every facility will be given you to take all the pictures of your own troops you wish. i regret exceedingly what has happened." "oh, let it go!" said blake cheerfully. "you treated us decently, and, as you say, these are war times." "which is my only excuse," said the captain, with a smile. "now i am going to see if we can not apprehend that german and his french fellow-conspirator." but, as may be guessed, "henry littlefield" was not to be found, nor lieutenant secor, nor levi labenstein. "labenstein probably wrote that letter accusing us and mailed it just to make trouble because we suspected him and secor," said blake. "well, it's lucky you had that note from him, or you'd never have been able to convince the authorities here that he was a faker," remarked joe. "i guess he didn't count on that." "probably not," agreed blake. "and now, boys, let's get busy!" there was much to do after their release. they went back to their hotel and began getting their baggage in shape for the trip to france. their cameras and reels were released from the custody of the war officials, and with a glad smile macaroni began overhauling them to see that they had not been damaged on the trip. "right as ever!" he remarked, after a test. "now they can begin the _parlez vous française?_ business as soon as they please." two days later the boys embarked for the passage across the channel, and though it was a desperately rough one, they were, by this time, seasoned travelers and did not mind it. the journey through france up to the front was anything but pleasant. the train was slow and the cars uncomfortable, but the boys made the best of it, and finally one afternoon, as the queer little engine and cars rolled slowly up to what served for a station, there came to their ears dull boomings. "thunder?" asked joe, for the day was hot and sultry. "guns at the front," remarked a french officer, who had been detailed to be their guide the last part of the journey. "at the front at last! hurrah!" cried joe. "perhaps you will not feel like cheering when you have been here a week or two," said the french officer. "sure we will!" declared charlie. "we can do something now besides look at london chimney pots. we can get action!" as the boys looked about on the beautiful little french village where they were to be quartered for some time, it was hard to realize that, a few miles away, men were engaged in deadly strife, that guns were booming, killing and maiming, and that soon they might be looking on the tangled barbed-wire defense of no man's land. but the dull booming, now and then rising to a higher note, told them the grim truth. they were at the war front at last! chapter xvi the firing line "hello! where are you fellows from?" it was rather a sharp challenge, yet not unfriendly, that greeted blake, joe and charlie, as they were walking from the house where they had been billeted, through the quaint street of the still more quaint french village. "where are you from?" "new york," answered blake, as he turned to observe a tall, good-natured-looking united states infantryman regarding him and his two chums. "new york, eh? i thought so! i'm from that burg myself, when i'm at home. shake, boys! you're a sight for sore eyes. not that i've got 'em, but some of the fellows have--and worse. from new york! that's mighty good! shake again!" and they did shake hands all around once more. "my name's drew--sam drew," announced the private. "i'm one of the doughboys that came over first with pershing. are you newspaper fellows?" "no. moving picture," answered blake. "you don't say so! that's great! shake again. when are you going to give a show?" "oh, we're not that kind," explained joe. "we're here to take army films." "oh, shucks!" cried private drew. "i thought we were to see something new. the boys here are just aching for something new. there's a picture show here, but the machine's busted and nobody can fix it. we had a few reels run off, but that's all. say, we're 'most dead from what these french fellows call _ong we_, though o-n-g-w-e ain't the way you spell it. if we could go to one show----" "you say there's a projector here?" interrupted joe eagerly. "well, i don't know what you call it, but there's a machine here that showed some pictures until it went on the blink." "maybe i can fix it," went on joe, still eagerly. "let's have a look at it. but where do you get current from? this town hasn't electric lights." "no, but we've got a gasolene engine and a dynamo. the officers' quarters and some of the practice trenches are lighted by electricity. oh, we have some parts of civilization here, even if we are near the trenches!" "if you've got current and that projection machine isn't too badly broken, maybe i can fix her up," said joe. "let's have a look at it." "oh, i'll lead you to it, all right, buddy!" cried private drew. "we'll just eat up some pictures if we can get 'em! come along! this way for the main show!" and he laughed like a boy. among the outfits sent with the troops quartered in this particular sector was a moving picture machine and many reels of film. but, as sam drew had said, the machine was broken. after blake and his chums had reported to the officer to whom they had letters of introduction and had been formally given their official designation as takers of army war films, they went to the old barn which had been turned into a moving picture theater. there was a white cloth screen and a little gallery, made in what had been the hay mow, for the projector machine. joe duncan, as the expert mechanician of the trio, at once examined this, and said it could soon be put in readiness for service. "whoop!" yelled private drew, who seemed to have constituted himself the particular guide and friend of the moving picture boys. "whoop! that's as good as getting a letter from home! go to it, buddy!" and that first night of the boys' stay at that particular part of france was the occasion of a moving picture show. all who could crowded into the barn, and the reels were run over and over again as different relays of officers and men attended. for the officers were as eager as the privates, and the moving picture boys were welcomed with open arms. "you sure did make a hit!" laughed private drew. "yes, a sure-fire hit! now let fritz bang away. we should worry!" but all was not moving pictures for blake, joe and their assistant, nor for the soldier boys, either. there was hard and grim work to do in order to be prepared for the harder and grimmer work to come. the united states troops were going through a period of intensive trench training to be ready to take their share of the fighting with the french and british forces. the village where blake and his chums were quartered was a few miles from the front, but so few that day and night, save when there was a lull, the booming of guns could be heard. "there hasn't been much real fighting, of late," private drew informed the boys the day after their arrival. "it's mostly artillery stuff, and our boys are in that. now and then a party of us goes over the top or on night listening-patrol. fritz does the same, but, as yet, we haven't had what you could call a good fight. and we're just aching for it, too." "that's what we want to get pictures of," said blake. "real fighting at the front trenches!" "oh, you'll get it," prophesied the private. "there's a rumor that we'll have some hot stuff soon. some of our aircraft that have been strafing fritz report that there's something doing back of the lines. shouldn't wonder but they'll try to rush us some morning. that is, if we don't go over the top at 'em first." "i hope we'll be there!" murmured joe. "and i hope we get a good light so we can film the fighting." "they'll be almost light enough from the star-shells, bombs and big guns," said private drew. "say, you ought to see the illumination some nights when the boches start to get busy! coney island is nothing to it, buddy!" before the moving picture boys could get into real action on the front line trenches, there were certain formalities to go through, and they had to undergo a bit of training. captain black, to whom they were responsible and to whom they had to report each day, wanted first some films of life in the small village where the troops were quartered when not in the trenches. this was to show the "boys at home" what sort of life was in prospect for them. aside from the danger ever present in war in any form, life in the quaint little town was pleasant. the boys in khaki were comfortably housed, they had the best of army food, and their pleasures were not few. with the advent of blake and his chums and the putting in operation of the moving picture show, enthusiasm ran high, and nothing was too good for the new arrivals. but they had their work to do, for they were official photographers and were entrusted with certain duties. back of the firing line, of course, there was no danger, unless from air raids. but after the first week, during which they took a number of reels of drilling and recreation scenes, there came a period of preparation. blake, joe and charlie were given gas masks and shown how to use them. they were also each provided with an automatic pistol and were given uniforms. for they had to be on the firing line and on such occasions were not really of the non-combatant class, though they were not supposed to take part in the fighting unless it should be to protect themselves. at the suggestion of captain black the boys had made sheet-iron cases for their cameras and reels of film. "of course, if a shell comes your way that case won't be much protection," said the united states officer. "but shrapnel won't go through it." steel helmets were also given the boys to wear when they went on duty in the firing trenches, and they were told under no circumstances to leave them off. "for even if there isn't any shooting from across no man's land," explained captain black, "a hostile aircraft may drop a bomb that will scatter a lot of steel bullets around. so wear your helmets and keep the cases on your cameras." it was a week after this, during which time there had been several false alarms of a big german attack, that one evening as they were about to turn in after having given a moving picture show an orderly came up to blake. "you and your two friends will report to captain black at four o'clock to-morrow morning," said the orderly. "why that hour?" asked joe curiously. "we're going over the top," was the answer. "you may get some pictures then." charles anderson hastily consulted a small book he took from his pocket. "what you doing?" asked blake. "looking to see what time the sun rises. i want to see if there'll be light enough to make pictures. yes," he went on, as he found what he wanted in the miniature almanac, "we ought to be able to get some shots." the gray wreaths of a fog that had settled down in the night were being dispelled by the advance heralds of dawn in the shape of a few faint streaks of light when blake and his chums, wearing their steel helmets and with the steel-protected cameras, started from the farmhouse where they were quartered to report to captain black. "all ready, boys?" the captain called. "we're going over the top at five-seven--just as soon as the artillery puts down a barrage to clear the way for us. you're to get what pictures you can. i'll leave that part to you. but don't get ahead of the barrage fire--that is, if you want to come back," he added significantly. "all right," answered blake, in a low voice. he and his chums took their places in one of the communicating trenches, waiting for the american and the french soldiers in the front ones to spring up and go "over the top." every minute seemed an hour, and there were frequent consultations of wrist watches. suddenly, at five o'clock exactly, there was a roar that sounded like a hundred bursts of thunder. the artillery had opened the engagement, and the moving picture boys, at last on the firing line, grasped their cameras and reels of film as the soldiers grasped their guns and waited for the word to go. the earth beneath them seemed to rock with the concussion of the big guns. chapter xvii bowled over not a man of the american and french forces that were to attack the germans had yet left the protecting trench. the object of the artillery fire, which always preceded an attack unless it was a surprise one with tanks, was to blow away the barbed-wire entanglements, and, if possible, dispose of some of the enemy guns as well as the fighting men. the barrage was really a "curtain of fire" moving ahead of the attacking troops to protect them. this curtain actually advanced, for the guns belching out the rain of steel and lead were slowly elevated, and with the elevation a longer range was obtained. waiting in a trench slightly behind the troops that were soon to go into action, blake stewart and his chums talked, taking no care to keep down their voices. indeed, they had to yell to be heard. "well, we're here at last," said blake. "yes; and it looks as if there'd be plenty of action," added joe. "if it only gets lighter and the smoke doesn't hang down so," added charlie. "we won't get very good films if it doesn't get lighter. it's fierce now." "well, if the fighting lasts long enough the sun will soon be higher and the light better," responded blake. "and it sounds as if this was going to be a big fight." by this time the german guns seemed to have awakened, and were replying to the fire from the american and french artillery. the shells flew screaming over the heads of those in the trenches, and instinctively blake and his companions ducked. then they realized how futile this was. as a matter of fact, the shells were passing high over them and exploding even back of the line of cannon. for the germans did not yet have the range, some of the allies' guns having been moved up during the night. suddenly, though how the signal was given the moving picture boys did not learn until afterward, there was activity in the trenches before them. with yells that sounded only faintly above the roar of the big guns, the american and french soldiers went "over the top," and rushed toward the german trenches. "come on!" cried blake. "this is our chance!" "it isn't light enough!" complained charlie, as he ran along the communicating trench with the other two lads to the front line ditch. "we can't get good pictures now." "it's getting lighter!" cried blake. "come on!" he and joe were to work the cameras, with charles anderson to stand by with spare reels of film, and to lend a helping hand if need be. along the narrow trench they rushed, carrying their machines which, it was hoped, would catch on the sensitive celluloid the scenes, or some of them, that were taking place in front. mad scenes they were, too--scenes of bursting shells, of geysers of rock and earth being tossed high by some explosion, of men rushing forward to take part in the deadly combat. as blake had said, the scene was lighting up now. the sun rose above the mists and above the smoke of the guns, for though some smokeless powder was used, there was enough of the other variety to produce great clouds of vapor. behind the line of rushing soldiers, who were all firing their rifles rapidly, rushed the moving picture boys. they were looking for a spot on which to set their machines to get good views of the engagement. "this'll do!" yelled blake, as they came to a little hill, caused by the upheaval of dirt in some previous shell explosion. "we can stand here!" "all right!" agreed joe. "i'll go a little to one side so we won't duplicate." the barrage fire had lifted, biting deeper into the ranks and trenches of the germans. but they, on their part, had found the range more accurately, and were pouring an answering bombardment into the artillery stations of the french and americans. and then, as the sun came out clear, the boys had a wonderful view of what was going on. before them the french and uncle sam's boys were fighting with the germans, who had been driven from their trenches. on all sides were rifles belching fire and sending out the leaden messengers of death. and there, in the midst of the fighting but off to one side and out of the line of direct fire, stood blake, joe and charlie, the two former turning the handles of the cameras and taking pictures even as they had stood in the midst of the volcanoes and earthquakes, or in the perils of the deep, making views. the fighting became a mad riot of sound--the sound of big guns and little--the sound of bursting shells from either side--the yells of the men--the shouting of the officers and the shrill cries of the wounded. it took all the nerve of the three lads to stand at their posts and see men killed and maimed before their eyes, but they were under orders, and did not waver. for these scenes, terrible and horrible though they were, were to serve the good purpose of stimulating those at home, in safety across the sea, to a realization of the perils of war and the menace of the huns. the fighting was now at its fiercest. the germans had an accurate idea of the location of the american and french cannon by this time, and the artillery duel was taking place, while between that double line of fire the infantry were at body-grips. hand grenades were being tossed to and fro. men were emptying the magazines of their rifles or small arms fairly into the faces of each other. when a soldier's ammunition gave out, or his gun choked from the hot fire, he swung the rifle as a club or used the bayonet. and then came dreadful scenes--scenes that the moving picture boys did not like to think about afterward. but war is a grim and terrible affair, and they were in the very thick of it. suddenly, as blake and joe were grinding away at their cameras, now and then shifting them to get a different view, something that made shrill whistling sounds, passed over their heads. "what's that?" asked charlie, who stood ready with a reel of spare film for blake's machine. "bullets, i reckon," answered joe. "they seem to be coming our way, too." "maybe we'd better get out of here," suggested blake. "we've got a lot of views, and----" "don't run yet, buddies!" called a voice, and along came private drew. "you'll never hear the bullet that hits you. and they're firing high, the fritzes are! don't run yet. how're you making it?" "all right so far, but it's--fierce!" cried blake, as he stopped for a moment to let a smoke cloud blow away. "yes, it's a hot little party, all right," replied the soldier, with a grin. "i haven't had all my share yet. had to go back with an order. hi, here comes one!" and instinctively he dodged, as did the others, though a moment later it was borne to them that it was of little use to dodge on the battlefield. something flew screaming and whining over their heads, and fell a short distance away. "it's a shell!" cried joe, as he saw it half bury itself in the earth. "look out!" private drew gave one look at the place where the german missile had fallen, not ten feet away, and then, with a shrug of his shoulders, he cried: "it's only a dud!" "what's that?" asked joe. "shell that didn't explode," answered the soldier. "the fritzes have fired a lot of them lately. guess their ammunition must be going back on them. it's only a dud!" he was about to pass on, and the moving picture boys were going to resume their making of films, when another scream and whine like the first came, but seemingly nearer. instinctively all four looked up, and saw something flashing over their heads. they could feel the wind of the shell, for that is what it was, and then the chance shot from the german gun fell about fifty feet behind the group. the next instant there was a tremendous explosion, and blake and the others felt themselves being tossed about and knocked down as by a mighty wind. chapter xviii trench life blake was the first to scramble to his feet, rolling out from beneath a pile of dirt and stones that had been tossed on him as the shell heaved up a miniature geyser and covered him with the débris. then, after a shake, such as a dog gives himself when he emerges from the water, and finding himself, as far as he could tell, uninjured, he looked to his companions. private drew was staggering about, holding his right hand to his head, and on his face was a look of grim pain. but it passed in an instant as he cried to blake: "hurt buddy?" "i don't seem to be," was the answer, given during a lull in the bombardment and firing. "but i'm afraid----" he did not finish the sentence, but looked apprehensively at his prostrate chums. both joe and charlie lay motionless, half covered with dirt. one camera had been upset and the tripod was broken. the other, which blake had been operating, seemed intact. "maybe they're only knocked out. that happens lots of times," said drew. "we'll have a look." "but you're hurt yourself!" exclaimed blake, looking at a bloody hand the soldier removed from his head. "only a scratch, buddy! a piece of the shell grazed me. first i thought it had taken me for fair, but it's only a scratch. if i don't get any worse than that i'm lucky. now to have a look at your bunkies." charles anderson seemed to need little looking after, for he arose to his feet, appearing somewhat dazed, but not hurt, as far as was evidenced. "what happened?" he asked. "just a little bit of a compliment from our friend fritz," answered drew. "that was a real shell--no dud--but it exploded far enough away from us not to do an awful lot of damage. that is, unless your other bunkie is worse hurt." "i'm afraid he is," observed blake, for joe had not yet moved, and dirt covered him thickly. the center of the fighting seemed to have passed beyond the group of moving picture boys by this time. blake, charlie and drew turned to where joe lay and began scraping the dirt from him. he stirred uneasily while they were doing this, and murmured: "it's all right. put in another reel." "touched on the head," said the soldier. "we'd better get him back of the lines where he can see a doctor. your machine got a touch of it, too." anderson hurried over to the overturned camera. a quick examination showed him that it had suffered no more damage than the broken support. "it's all right," he announced. "not even light-struck, i guess. i'll take this and the boxes of film," and he shouldered his burden. "well, i'll take your bunkie--guess i can manage to carry him better than you, for we've had practice in that--and you can shoulder the other picture machine," said drew, as he moved over to joe. "we won't wait for the stretcher-men. they won't be along for some time if this keeps up. come on now." "but can you manage, hurt as you are?" asked blake. "oh, sure! mine's only a scratch. wait, i'll give myself a little first aid and then i'll be all right." with the help of blake the soldier disinfected his wound with a liquid he took from his field kit, and then, having bound a bandage around his head, he picked up the still unconscious joe and started back with him to the rear trenches. they had to make a détour to avoid some of the german fire, which was still hot in sections, but finally managed to get to a place of comparative safety. here they were met by a party of ambulance men, and joe was placed on a stretcher and taken to a first dressing station. meanwhile, anderson put the cameras with their valuable reels of film in a bomb-proof structure. "is he badly hurt?" asked blake anxiously of the surgeon. "i hope not. in fact, i think not," was the reassuring answer of the american army surgeon. "he has been shocked, and there is a bad bruise on one side, where he seems to have been struck by a stone thrown by the exploding shell. but a few days' rest will bring him around all right. pretty close call, was it?" "oh, it might have been worse," answered drew, whose wound had also been attended to. "it was just a chance shot." "well, i don't know that it makes an awful lot of difference whether it's a chance shot or one that is aimed at you, as long as it hits," said the surgeon. "however, you are luckily out of it. how does it seem, to be under fire?" he asked blake. "well, i can't say i fancy it as a steady diet, and yet it wasn't quite as bad as i expected. and we got the pictures all right." "that's good!" the surgeon said. "well, your friend will be all right. he's coming around nicely now," for joe was coming out of the stupor caused by the blow on the head from a clod of earth. at first he was a bit confused--"groggy," private drew called it--but he soon came around, and though he could not walk because of the injury to his side, he was soon made comparatively comfortable and taken to a hospital just behind the lines. as this was near the house where charlie and blake were quartered, they could easily visit their chum each day, which they did for the week that he was kept in bed. as charles had surmised, the films in the cameras were not damaged, and were removed to be sent back for development. the broken tripod was repaired sufficiently to be usable again, and then the boys began to prepare for their next experience. the engagement in which joe had been hurt was a comparatively small one, but it netted a slight advance for the french and american troops, and enabled a little straightening of their trench line to be made, a number of german dug-outs having been demolished and their machine guns captured. this, for a time at least, removed a serious annoyance to those who had to occupy the front line trenches. though joe improved rapidly in the hospital, for some time his side was very sore. he had to turn his camera over to charlie, and it was fortunate the lanky helper had been brought along, for the work would have proved too much for blake alone. following that memorable, because it was the first, going "over the top," there was a period of comparative quiet. of course there was sniping day and night, and not a few casualties from this form of warfare, but it was to be expected and "all in the day's work," as private drew called it. blake, joe and charlie were complimented by captain black for their bravery in going so close to the front line in getting the pictures; then he added: "you can have it a little easier for a while. what we want now are some scenes of trench life as it exists before an engagement. so get ready for that." this blake and charlie did, while joe sat in the sun and tried to learn french from a little boy, the son of the couple in whose house the moving picture boys were quartered. though the american and french soldiers, with here and there a canadian or english regiment, lived so near the deadly front line, there were periods, some lengthy, of quiet and even amusement. of course, the deaths lay heavy on all the soldiers when they allowed themselves to think of their comrades who had perished. and more than one gazed with wet eyes at the simple wooden crosses marking the graves "somewhere in france." but officers and men alike knew how fatal to spirit it was to dwell on the sad side of war. so, as much as possible, there was in evidence a sense of lightness and a feeling that all was for the best--that it must be for the best. now and then there were night raids, and occasionally parties of german prisoners were brought in. blake and charlie made moving pictures of these as they were taken back to the cages. most of the germans seemed glad to be captured, which meant that they were now definitely out of the terrible scenes of the war. they would be held in safety until after the conflict, and they seemed to know this, for they laughed and joked as they were filmed. they appeared to like it, and shouted various words of joking import in their guttural voices to the boys. a week after coming out of the hospital joe was able to take up light work, and did his share of making pictures of trench life. he had a big bruise on one side, a discolored patch that had an unpleasant look, but which soon ceased to give much pain except after a period of exertion. "well, you're a veteran now--been wounded," said blake to his chum. "yes, i suppose you can call it that. i don't care for any more, though." the plan in operation at this particular section of the front where the moving picture boys were quartered and on duty was for the soldiers to spend five or six days in the trenches, taking turns of duty near no man's land, and then going back to rest in the dug-outs. after that they would have a day or so of real rest back of the lines, out of reach of the big guns. and there the real fun of soldiering, if fun it can be called amid the grim business of war, was to be had. the officers and men vied with one another in trying to forget the terrible scenes through which they had gone, and little entertainments were gotten up, the moving picture boys doing their share. thus they obtained views of trench life both grave and gay, though it must be admitted that the more serious predominated. there were many wounded, many killed, and, occasionally, one of the parties going out on patrol or listening-duty at night would never come back, or, at most, one or two wounded men would come in to tell of a terrific struggle with a party of huns. sometimes, though, the tale would be the other way around, and the americans would come in with a number of captives who showed the effects of severe fighting. chapter xix gassed "well, there's one thing about it," remarked joe to blake one day, as they sat in the shade beside the french cottage waiting for orders. "this isn't as nervous work as traveling on a ship, waiting for a submarine." it was three weeks after the first and only engagement they had taken part in, and, meanwhile, they had filmed many more peaceful scenes of army life on the front. "especially when you know there's a traitor in the cabin across the hall that may signal any minute for you to be blown up," blake responded to his friend's remark. "you're right there, joe. but how's the side?" "coming on all right. hurts hardly at all now. i wonder what became of those two fellows?" "which two?" "secor and labenstein." "oh, i thought you meant those two german officers who tried to hire us to send some word back to their folks about them." this had been the case: in a batch of prisoners brought in after a raid which was most successful on the part of the americans, two captured german officers of high rank who spoke english well had offered blake and joe a large sum if they would send word of their fate and where they were held prisoners to an address in berlin. but the boys would do nothing of the sort, and reported the matter to captain black. the result was that the officers were searched and some valuable papers, containing some future plans of the enemy, were discovered. the officers were sent to england under a strong guard, as it was felt they were particularly dangerous. "i suppose secor and labenstein are somewhere, plotting to do their worst," went on blake. "having gone as far as they did, they wouldn't give up easily, i imagine. i can understand labenstein's acting as he did, but that secor, a frenchman, if he really is one, should plot to injure his own country--that gets me!" "same here! i wonder if we'll ever see him again--either of them, for that matter." "i hope not i don't like--snakes!" exclaimed blake. "yes, that's what they are--snakes in the grass," agreed joe. "but i wonder what our next assignment will be." "it's hard to say. here comes an orderly now. maybe he has some instructions." this proved to be the case, the messenger bearing a note from captain black, requesting the moving picture boys to get some scenes around the camp when the soldiers were served with their daily rations. some german propaganda was being circulated in the united states, captain black explained, to the effect that the soldiers in france were being underfed and were most unhappy. it was said that large losses had taken place in their ranks through starvation. "we want to nail that lie to the mast!" said the captain; "and i can't imagine a better way than by making some films showing the boys at their meals." "and they are some meals, too!" exclaimed blake, as he and his chum made ready for the task set them. "if every soldier in this war had as good grub as our boys, they'd want to keep on fighting." though blake and joe were resting at that particular time, it must not be assumed that they did much of that sort of thing. of course they were not always on duty. moreover, unlike the soldiers, they could do nothing after dark, during which period many raids were made on both sides. the moving picture business of taking films depended on daylight for its success. but when they were not filming peaceful scenes in and about the trenches the boys were getting views of tanks, of men drilling, of their games and sports, and now they were to get some pictures of the meals. as blake and joe had remarked, they had neither heard nor seen anything of secor or labenstein since they came from england. the men might have been arrested, but this was hardly likely. "even if they were we wouldn't hear of it," said blake. "but i hope, if they are under arrest, they'll hold them until we can tell what we know of them." "same here," agreed joe. "but i guess we'll never see them again." before long, however, his words were recalled to him in a strange manner and under grim circumstances. "well, buddy, coming to get yours?" called private drew, as blake and joe, their cameras over their shoulders, walked toward the cook wagons from which came fragrant odors. "haven't heard any invitations yet," returned blake, grinning. "come in with us!" "over this way!" "here you are for the big feed!" the cries came from a number of different groups of uncle sam's soldiers who were fighting in france. for blake, joe and charlie were generally liked, and though they were not supposed to mess with the soldiers, they did so frequently, and had many a good meal in consequence. "we're going to get records of your appetites to show the folks back home," observed blake, as he and joe set up the machines. "there's a report that you're gradually wasting away from lack of pie and cake." "watch me waste!" cried a vigorous specimen of american manhood. "just watch me waste!" and he held aloft a big plate heaped high with good and substantial food, while, laughing, blake and joe made ready to get the views. there was much fun and merriment, even though a few miles away there was war in its grimmest aspect but if one thought of that all the while, as captain black said, none would have the nerve and mental poise to face the guns and finally overcome the huns. following the taking of the scenes around the mess hall, others were made showing the boys in khaki at bayonet practice, at the throwing of hand grenades, and other forms of war exercises. "i guess these will do for peaceful scenes," said captain black, when joe and blake reported to him what they had accomplished. "and now do you feel equal to a little more strenuous work?" "yes, sir. in what way?" returned blake. "on the firing line again. i know you'll keep it to yourselves, but we are going to have a big engagement in a day or so. we are all primed for it and it will be on a big scale. the government wants some films of it, if you can get them, films not so much to be shown in public as to be official records of the war department. do you boys feel equal to the task?" "that's what we're here for!" exclaimed blake. "how about you, duncan?" asked the captain of joe. "is your side all right?" "oh, yes! i'd never know i'd been hurt. i'm game, all right!" "well, it will be in a day or so. none of us knows exactly when, as those higher up don't let us into all of their secrets. too many leaks, you know. we want to surprise fritz if we can." this gave the moving picture boys something further to think about and to plan for, and when they had taken the reels of exposed film, showing the dinner scenes, from their cameras, they made the machines ready for more strenuous work. "i think i'll put an extra covering of thin sheet steel on the film boxes," said charlie, talking the matter over with his two chums. "a stray bit of shrapnel might go through them now and make a whole reel light-struck." "i suppose it would be a good idea," agreed blake. "go to it, mac, and we'll be ready when you are." four days of anxious waiting followed, with the men keyed up to concert pitch, so to speak, and eager for the word to come that would send them out of the trenches and against the ranks of the germans. but for a long time no word came from the higher command to prepare for the assault, though many knew it was pending. perhaps the germans knew it, too, and that was what caused the delay. none could say. blake, joe and charlie were in readiness. they had their cameras adjusted, had plenty of fresh film, and but awaited the word that would send them from their comparatively comfortable house with the french family into the deadly trenches. finally the word came. once more in the gray dawn the boys took their places with their cameras in the communicating trench, while ahead of them crouched the soldiers eager to be unleashed at the germans. and then they went through it all over again. there was the curtain of fire, the artillery opening up along a five-mile front with a din the boys had never heard equalled. waiting for the light to improve a little, the boys set up their cameras in a little grove of trees where they would be somewhat protected and began to make the pictures. the battle was one of the worst of the war. there were many killed and wounded, and through it all--through the storm of firing--the moving picture boys took reel after reel of film. "some fight!" cried blake, as a screaming shell burst over their heads, some scattering fragments falling uncomfortably close to them. "i should say yes!" agreed joe. "but look, here comes drew on the run. i wonder what's happened." they saw their friend the private rushing toward them, and waving his hands. he was shouting, but what he said they could not hear. and then, so suddenly that it was like a burst of fire, blake, joe and charles experienced a strange feeling! some powerful odor overpowered them! gasping and choking, they fell to the ground, dimly hearing drew shouting: "gassed! gassed! put on your masks!" chapter xx "gone!" rolling down upon the american and french battlelines, coming out of the german trenches, where it had been generated as soon as it was noted that the wind was right, drifted a cloud of greenish yellow, choking chlorine gas. chlorine gas is made by the action of sulphuric acid and manganese dioxide on common salt. it has a peculiar corrosive effect on the nose, throat and lungs, and is most deadly in its effect. it is a heavy gas, and instead of rising, as does hydrogen, one of the lightest of gases, it falls to the ground, thus making it dangerously effective for the huns. they can depend on the wind to blow it to the enemy's trenches and fill them as would a stream of water. knowing as he did the deadly nature of the gas from his own experience and that of his comrades, some of whom had been killed by it, private drew lost no time in sounding his warning to the moving picture boys. he had taken part in the raid on the germans, had seen and engaged in some hard fighting, and had been sent to the rear with an order from his officer. and it was as he started that he saw, from one section of the hun lines, the deadly gas rolling out. he knew from the direction and strength of the wind just where it would reach to, and, seeing the moving picture boys in its path, he called to them. "put on your masks! put on your masks!" cried the soldier. at the same time, as he ran, he loosed his from where it hung at his belt and began to don it. the gas masks used in the trenches are simple affairs. they consist of a cloth helmet which is saturated with a chemical that neutralizes the action of the chlorine. there are two celluloid eye holes and a rubber tube, which is taken into the mouth and through which the air breathed is expelled. all air breathed, mixed as it is with the deadly chlorine, passes through the chemical-saturated cloth of the helmet and is thus rendered harmless. but it is a great strain on those who wear the masks, for nothing like the right kind of breathing can be done. in fact, a diver at the bottom of the sea has better and more pure air to breathe than a soldier in the open wearing a gas mask. it was the first experience of blake and his chums with the german gas, though they had heard much about it, and it needed but the first whiff to make them realize their danger. even as private drew called to them, and as they saw him running toward them and trying to adjust his own mask, they were overcome. as though shot, they fell to the ground, their eyes smarting and burning, their throats and nostrils seeming to be pinched in giant fingers, and their hearts laboring. one moment they had been operating their cameras. the next they were bowled over. "put on your----" began blake; and then he could say no more. he tried not to breathe as he fumbled at his belt to loosen his mask. he buried his nose deep in the cool earth, but such is the nature of this gas that it seeks the lowest level. there is no getting away from it save by going up. in a smoke-filled room a fireman may find a stratum of cool, and comparatively fresh, air at the bottom near the floor. this is because cold air is heavier than the hot and smoke-filled atmosphere. but this does not hold with the german gas. and so, before blake could slip over his head the chemical-impregnated cloth, he lost consciousness. in another moment his two companions were also unconscious. private drew, struggling against the terrible pressure on his lungs, managed to get his helmet over his head, and then he gave his attention to his friends. he knew that to save their lives he must get their helmets on; for a few breaths of the gas will not kill. but they will disable a person for some time, and a little longer breathing of it means a horrible death. and so, working at top speed, the soldier, now himself protected from the fumes, though he had breathed more of them than he liked, labored to save his friends. suddenly a new terror developed, for, wearing their own helmets which made them look like horrible monsters out of a nightmare, the germans charged against the french and americans, whom they hoped to find disabled by the gas. "here they come with blood in their eyes if i could only see it!" mused private drew, as he finished fastening the helmet on charles anderson, having already thus protected joe and blake. all three boys were now unconscious, and what the outcome would be the soldier could only guess. "but there won't be any guesswork if i leave 'em here for the huns," he reasoned. "i've got to help 'em back--but how?" the germans, in a counter-offensive, were striving to regain some of the lost ground, and, for the moment, were driving before them the french and american forces. back rushed the advance lines to their supporting columns, and drew, seeing some of his own messmates, signaled to them, for he could not talk with the helmet on. fortunately his chums of the trenches understood, and while some of them caught up the unconscious boys and started with them to the rear, others saved the moving picture machines. and then, just as it seemed that the germans would overtake them and dispose of the whole party, there came a rush of helmet-protected americans who speedily dispersed those making the counter-attack, pursuing them back to the very trenches which they had left not long before. the fight went on in that gas-infested territory, a grim fight, desperate and bloody, but in which the allies were at last successful, though blake and his two chums saw nothing of it. "they're in a bad way," the surgeon said, when he examined them soon after drew and his friends brought them in. "i don't know whether we can save them." but prompt action, coupled with american ingenuity and the knowledge that had been gained from the experience of french and british surgeons in treating cases of gas poisoning, eventually brought the moving picture boys back to the life they had so nearly left. it was several days, though, before they were out of danger, and by that time the french and americans had consolidated the gains it cost them so much to make, so that the place where the three boys had been overcome was now well within the allied lines. "well, what happened to us?" asked joe, when he and his chums were able to leave the hospital. "you were gassed," explained private drew, who had had a slight attack himself. "didn't you hear me yelling at you to put on your helmets?" "yes, and we started to do it," said blake. "but that stuff works like lightning." "glad you found that out, anyhow," grimly observed the soldier. "the next time you hear the warning, 'gas!' don't stop to think, just grab your helmet. and don't wait longer than to feel a funny tickling in your nose, as if you wanted to sneeze but couldn't. most likely that'll be gas, too. cover your head when you feel that." "thanks!" murmured blake, for he and his chums understood that the soldier and his mates had saved their lives. now that the moving picture boys were out of danger and could take some stock of themselves and their surroundings, their first thoughts, naturally, were of their apparatus. "did they get our machines?" asked joe. "no; we saved the cameras for you," answered drew. "what about the boxes of exposed film--the ones the war office is so anxious to get?" asked blake. "i didn't see anything of them," said the soldier. "we were too anxious to get you out of the gas and save the cameras to think of anything else. i didn't see any boxes of films, but i'll ask some of the boys who helped me." blake and his chums waited for this information anxiously, and when it came it was a disappointment, for no one knew anything of the valuable reels. "though they may be there yet," said drew. "there was some fierce fighting around that shell crater where we carried you from, but it's within our lines now, and maybe the boxes are there yet. better go and take a look." this blake, joe and charlie lost no time in doing. after a little search, for the character of the ground had so changed by reason of the shell fire they hardly knew it, the boys located the place where they had so nearly succumbed. they found the spot where their cameras had been set up, for they were marked by little piles of stones to steady the tripods. but there were no boxes of films. "gone!" exclaimed blake disconsolately, as he looked about. "and we'll perhaps never get another chance to make such pictures again!" "it surely is tough luck!" exclaimed joe. they saw a sentry on guard, for this place was far enough from the lines of both forces to obviate the use of trenches. "what are you looking for, buddies?" asked the soldier, who knew the moving picture boys. "some valuable army films," explained blake, giving the details. "they're very rare, and we'll probably never get any others like them." "did you leave them here?" "right around here," answered joe. "i think just near this pile of rocks," and he indicated the spot he meant. "say, now," exclaimed the american private, "i wouldn't be surprised but what those two fellows took 'em!" "what two fellows?" cried blake. "why, just as i was coming on duty here i saw two fellows, one dressed as a german soldier and the other in a blue uniform, walking around here. i thought they were up to no good, so i took a couple of shots at 'em. i don't believe i hit either of 'em, but i came so near that i made 'em jump. and then, just before they ran away, across no man's land, i saw them stoop down and pick up something that looked like boxes. i thought they might be something they had lost in the fight the other day, for the scrap went back and forth over this section. but now, come to think of it, they might have been boxes of your films." "i believe they were!" cried blake. "what two fellows were they you saw?" asked joe. the soldier explained, giving as many details as he could remember, and charlie cried: "lieutenant secor for one--the chap in the blue. a french traitor!" "he did have a uniform something like the french," admitted the private. "the other was a fritz, though." "labenstein!" murmured joe. "i wonder if it is possible that they are with the hun army and have learned through spies that we are on this front. if they have, they would know at once that those were boxes of films, and that's why they stole them! do you think it possible, blake?" chapter xxi across no man's land blake stewart did not answer at once. he appeared to be considering what the soldier had told him. and then blake looked across no man's land--that debatable ground between the two hostile forces--as though to pierce what lay beyond, back of the trenches which were held by the germans, though, at this point, the enemy was not in sight. "could it, by any chance, have been secor and labenstein who got our films?" asked joe. "very possible," agreed blake. "labenstein, of course, would be with the german forces, and since secor is a traitor he would be there also. of course it may not have been those fellows, but some other two men who had learned through their spies that we were here taking pictures and wanted them for their own purposes." "the question is, can we get them back?" put in charlie, scowling in the direction of the germans. "that's only one of the questions," observed blake. "the main one is, where are the films now, and where did those fellows go with them?" "maybe i can help you out there," put in the soldier. "i saw those two fellows heading that way, down in that depression, and they certainly carried some sort of flat, square boxes under their arms." "what's down in there?" asked joe eagerly. "well, it _was_ a machine-gun station, and old fritz certainly played hob on our boys with it," answered the sentry. "but we wiped that out the other day, though i guess the dugout is there yet, or whatever is left of what they used to house their barker in. the two fellows i saw were heading for that spot." "is that between the lines?" asked joe. "just about, yes, though there aren't any of our trenches, or theirs either, near there now. what trenches there were have been knocked into smithereens. that's no man's land down there. it belongs to whoever can keep it, but just now nobody seems to want it. i'm here to report if there's any movement on the part of fritz to take up his station there again." "as it is now, could we go down there?" asked joe eagerly. "well, if you wanted to take a chance, i s'pose you could," answered the sentry slowly. "i wouldn't stop you. you don't belong to the army, anyhow, and we've been instructed that you're sort of privileged characters. all the same, it might be a bit dangerous. but don't let me stop you." "come on!" exclaimed joe, starting down the slope that led across the bullet-scarred and shell-pitted ground. "where are you going?" asked charles anderson. "across no man's land," answered joe grimly. "i'm going to see if we can get back those stolen army films. if they were ours, i wouldn't be so anxious about them. but they belong to uncle sam. he hired us to take them, and it was our fault they were lost." "not exactly our fault," put in blake. "we couldn't help being gassed." "no, but excuses in war don't go. we've got to get back those films!" "that's right!" exclaimed charlie. "i'm with you!" "oh, for the matter of fact, so am i," said blake quickly. "i feel, as you do, joe, that it's up to us to do all we can to get back those films. i'm only trying to think out the best plan for getting them." "go right down there and make that traitor secor, and that submarine dutchman, give 'em back!" cried charlie. "yes, and perhaps make such a row that there'll be a general engagement," said blake. "no; we've got to go at this a little differently from that. i'm in favor of getting the films away from those fellows, if they have them, but i think we'd better try to sneak up there first and see what the situation is. if we march down there in the open we'll probably be fired on--or gassed, and that's worse." "now you've said it, buddy!" exclaimed the sentry. "i've had both happen to me, and getting shot, say in a soft place, ain't half as bad as the gas. whew! i don't want any more! so, if i was you, i'd wait until after dark to make a trip across no man's land. you'll stand a better chance then of coming back alive." "that's what i think," returned blake, and though joe and charlie were eager for action, they admitted that their chum's plan was best. "we'll have to make some preparations," blake went on; "though i don't know that we need say anything to captain black about what we are going to do." "he might stop us," said charlie. "oh, no, he wouldn't do that," joe assured their assistant. "i'll tell you what to do," counseled the sentry: "i'm going to be on duty here until late this afternoon. i'll keep my eyes peeled for anything that may happen down there where that dugout used to be, and i'll let you know. "meanwhile, you can be getting ready to take a little excursion there after dark. you'd better take your gas masks with you, and also your automatics, for you may run into a party of fritzes out to get the night air." "that's what we'll do," decided blake, and his chums agreed with him. and then they began to make their preparations for the perilous trip across no man's land that night. they were not asked to make any pictures that day, for which they were thankful, as they still felt some of the effects of the gas, though they were rapidly improving. following the fight in which the boys so nearly lost their lives and in which there were severe losses on both sides, though with a net gain of territory in favor of the allies, there was a period of comparative calm in the american ranks. the soldiers took advantage of this to rest and repair their damaged uniforms, arms and equipment. and it was on one of these days, when discipline was somewhat relaxed, that the moving picture boys made their preparations. as they were left pretty much to themselves when they were not called on to be making pictures, it was rather easy for them, without exciting any comment, to get ready. this consisted in seeing that their automatic pistols were in good working order. they also applied for new gas masks, with a fresh impregnation of chemicals. when they received these, and with a supply of lampblack, they were ready, waiting only for the fall of darkness. the lampblack was to be put on their hands and faces so that their whiteness would not be revealed in case the germans played their searchlights on the ground the boys hoped to cover, or sent up star clusters to give light for raiding parties sent out to kill the french and american wounded, such being one of the pleasant ways in which fritz makes war. late in the afternoon they paid a visit to their friend the sentry, asking if he had seen anything of the two men that they suspected might have the films--secor and labenstein. "i wouldn't know 'em by those names even if i saw 'em," said the soldier, "and, as a matter of fact, i didn't see the same two chaps i saw before. but i have seen figures moving about down in that hollow, where we wiped out the machine gun squad, and i wouldn't be surprised but what there was something doing there." "i only hope our films are there," said joe. "don't build too much on it, buddy," advised the sentry. "as i say, i saw some figures i took to be germans down in that valley, but they may be getting ready for a raid on our lines, and may have nothing to do with your pictures." "well, we'll take a chance," decided blake. "that's what!" chimed in joe. being accredited representatives of a certain branch of the army, though non-combatants, the boys were allowed to pass through the sentry lines, except in certain restricted places. they were given the countersign each night in case they desired to leave their quarters and go about. but there was a risk in starting on this journey. as non-combatants, if they carried arms and went into the enemy's territory, they were not entitled to be considered prisoners of war. of course they could fight for their lives, but not with the same status as could a uniformed soldier. as a matter of fact, they did not wear the regulation uniform, having dark suits better suited to this night excursion than the khaki. waiting until it was dark enough for their purpose and taking with them electric flashlights to use in case they got into a hut or some such place where they could not see to search for their films, and having blackened their hands and faces and seen that their weapons were in order, they sallied forth from the home of the humble french couple, many good wishes going with them. it was a walk of three or four miles from the little village to the place where the sentry had said the dugout lay, and during the first part of the trip the boys talked to each other. "do you suppose we'll really find the films there?" ventured joe. "it's a slim chance, but one worth taking," said blake. "though i can't imagine what secor and labenstein, if those two fellows are really here, could want of them." "maybe they just picked them up on the chance that they would give away some of the american army secrets," suggested charlie. "and they would show our boys were drilling, fighting, and all that. of course some of the things on the films were actually seen by the germans, but others were not; and i fancy those would be of value to fritz. that's why they took 'em." "they couldn't have known we were here taking views," remarked joe. "oh, yes they could!" declared blake. "germany's spy system is the best in the world, and lots that goes on in america is known in germany before half of our own people hear about it. but we'll have to get there before we can find out what is in that dugout, if it's there yet." "well, some part of it--maybe a hut or a brush heap--must be there, or the sentry wouldn't have seen men about it," observed joe. "and now we'd better keep quiet. we're getting too close to talk much." a little later they passed a sentry--not their friend--gave the proper password, and then stood on the edge of no man's land. what would be their fate as they crossed it and ventured on the other side--the side held by the germans? "come on!" whispered blake softly, and, crouching down to avoid as much as possible being detected in the starlight, the boys went cautiously into the debatable territory. chapter xxii captured not without a rather creepy feeling did the three boys start on their mission, the outcome of which could only be guessed. they were taking great risks, and they knew it. but it was not the first time. they had gone into the jungle to get films of wild beasts at the water hole. they had ventured into earthquake land where the forces of nature, if not of mankind, were arrayed against them. and they had dared the perils of the deep in getting pictures under the sea. but these were as nothing compared to the mission on which they were now engaged, for, at any moment, there might go up from the german lines, not half a mile away, a string of lights that would reveal their presence to the ever-watchful snipers and sharp-shooters. and, more than that, the whole area might suddenly be swept by a hail of bullets from a battery of machine guns. both sides had these deadly weapons in readiness, and it was well known that fritz was exceedingly nervous and apt, at times, to let burst a salvo of fire without any real reason. the fluttering of some armless sleeve on the body of a dead man, the rattle of a loose strand of barbed wire, the movement of a sorely wounded soldier lying out in the open, might draw the german fire. and if the moving picture boys were caught in that they would be hard put to it to escape. "the only thing to do, when you see a flash of fire, is to drop to the ground and lie as still as you can," blake had said to his chums before they started out. "duck your heads down on your arms and don't move. the lampblack will kill any glare from the lights and they may not see us. so remember, don't move if you see anything like a light. it may be a glare from a discharged rifle, or it may be a rocket or star cluster. just lie low, that's the way!" and so, as they crawled on, in crouching attitudes, over the desolate stretch that lay between them and the place they sought, they made no noise, and kept a sharp watch. blake led the way, his hand ready on his pistol, and the other two boys followed his example. their gas masks were ready at their belts, but these were mainly an added precaution, as it was not likely, unless a general attack was contemplated, that the germans would produce the chlorine. blake had gone a little way down the slope, joe and charlie following as closely as was safe, when the leader came to a halt. watching his dim form, his chums did the same. "what is it?" whispered joe, in the softest of voices. "a figure," answered blake likewise. "i'm not sure whether it's a dead man or some one like us--trying to discover something. do you see it?" joe looked. he saw a huddled heap which might, some day, have been a man. now it was but a--heap. as the boys strained their eyes through the darkness they became aware that it was the body of a man--a french soldier who had fallen in the engagement of a few days before, and who had not yet been buried. there were many such--too many on both sides for the health and comfort of the living. "pass to one side," advised joe. "we can't do him any good." "poor fellow!" murmured charlie. "ouch!" he suddenly exclaimed, in louder tones than any they had heretofore used. "quiet!" hissed blake. "what's the matter?" "a big rat ran right over my legs," answered macaroni. "well, if he didn't bite you what are you yelling about?" demanded joe. the trenches were full of rats--great, gray fellows--for there was much carrion food for them. once more, making a little détour, blake started forward, but hardly had he again taken up his progress when there came the sound of a slight explosion over toward the german lines, and almost instantly the dreary stretch of no man's land was brightly illuminated. "down! down!" hoarsely called blake, and he and his chums dropped full length on the ground, never heeding puddles of water, the rats or the dead, for they became aware that more bodies were all about them. up from the german lines went a series of rockets and star clusters. they made the battle ground between the two forces almost as bright as day, so that should any of the unfortunate wounded men be seen to move they might be killed. perhaps some keen-eyed hun, watching for just this chance, had detected a slight movement near the dead man beside whom blake and his chums first stopped. and, knowing from a previous observation that the body was cold and stark, the sniper must have reasoned that the living had joined it. or perhaps the incautious exclamation made by charlie when he felt the big rat may have been carried to the ever-listening ears. however that was, the glaring lights were set off, and at once hundreds of rifles, aimed over the tops of the german trenches, began to send a hail of lead across no man's land. fortunately the line of fire was either to one side of where the boys had fallen, or it was too high or too low. they did not stop to consider which it was, but were thankful that they felt none of the leaden missiles, though some sang uncomfortably close. for perhaps five minutes the glaring lights illuminated the blood-stained ground, and the firing was kept up at intervals. it was replied to from the american and french lines, but with what effect could only be guessed. and then, once more, darkness settled down, and the boys began to breathe more easily. they had had a narrow escape, and their journey was not half over, to say nothing of the return trip--if they lived to make it. "come on!" blake cautiously whispered again. "and bear off to the right. the fire wasn't so heavy from there. maybe we can find a gap to get through." his companions followed him as he crawled along, actually crawling this time, for it was not safe to rise high enough to walk even in a stooping position. no one could tell when the glaring lights might be sent up again. but, for a time, fritz seemed satisfied with the demonstration he had made. perhaps he had killed some of the wounded, for not all of them had been brought in. perhaps he had only further mutilated bodies that had long since ceased to be capable of movement. and so, over the dark and bloody ground, blake and his chums made their way. in a little while they would be in comparative safety, for their friend the sentry had told them there were no regular trenches near the little hollow where once had stood a machine-gun emplacement and where the boys now hoped to find their precious war films. but their journey was not destined to be peaceful. once more the flaring lights went up, and again came the heavy firing. again the boys crouched to get below the storm of bullets, and again they escaped. but a groan and a cry of anguish, from somewhere on their left, told them some poor unfortunate had been put out of his misery. they waited a little while, and then again took up the perilous journey. presently blake, taking a cautious observation, announced that they were in comparative safety, and might walk upright. "where's the hut--or whatever it is?" asked joe. "down in that little hollow, i take it," said blake. "we can't see it until we round that little hill. maybe we can't see it at all, for it may not be there," he added. "but we'd better go slow, for it may be there, and there may be some one in it." "secor and labenstein, perhaps," murmured charlie. "perhaps," agreed blake. "if they are----" he did not finish, but his chums knew he meant there might be a desperate fight. a little later, having proceeded cautiously, the boys made the turn around the little hill that had hitherto hidden from view the hollow of which the american sentry had spoken, and then they saw in the light of the stars what seemed to be a tumbled-down hut. as a matter of fact, it had once been a concrete dugout, where a machine gun had been placed in order to fire at the french and american lines. but in the heavy fighting of the past few days this place had been captured by an american contingent. they had destroyed the gun and killed most of the crew, and the place had been blown up by a bomb. but the fierce waves of germans had surged back over the place, driving out the americans who, in turn, captured it again. just now the place was supposed to be deserted, being of no strategic value, and in a location that made it dangerous for either side to hold it. "we'll take a look in there," said blake, when they had drawn near and had discovered that the ruins of the concrete dugout had been covered with brush, to "camouflage" it from spying airmen. they approached cautiously, and, as they did so, they became aware of a faint light coming from the ruins. so faint was it that at first it seemed no more than the reflection of the stars, but a long look showed that it was a light from within, but carefully screened. "we've got to have a look in!" whispered blake. "maybe the films are there, and maybe not; but some person is." "probably germans," said joe. "very likely. but it may be that frenchman. if we could only capture him!" "i'd like a chance at him!" exclaimed charlie. "hush!" cautioned blake. the boys were now close to the hut, for that was all it was since the bombardment. they tried on three sides of the place to look in, but without success. then, as they moved around to the side which faced the german lines, they saw a crack through which the light streamed in greater volume. "take a look, blake," advised joe. his chum did so, and, with an exclamation of surprise and satisfaction, turned away from the slot, motioning to the others to look for themselves. and as joe and charlie looked they saw, seated on the ruins of a machine gun and other things that had been in the place, secor and labenstein. the two plotters had between them boxes which the boys had no difficulty in recognizing as their missing war films. joe was about to utter an exclamation of delight when blake softly put his hand over his chum's mouth. "not a sound!" breathed blake. for a moment the boys stood looking in at the plotters and wondering how they could capture them, or at least get back the stolen films. and then a door, or what had been a door, to the dugout swung open with a creak of its rusty hinges. "what's that?" cried secor, in french, starting to his feet. "only the wind," replied the german, in the tongue of his fellow-conspirator. "only the wind." "ah! i thought maybe it was----" "you thought perhaps it was the boys who own these films, but who will never see them again. i know not how valuable they may be--these films--but i was told to get them, and i have. let the ones higher up decide on their value. but we must get our price for them--you and i. we must get a good price. we have run a great risk." "yes, a great risk," murmured the frenchman. blake motioned to his chums to follow him into the dugout. they could see his gestures in the light of a lantern which formed the illumination of the ruins. cautiously the three went inside, the noise they made being covered by the rattling of the wind which had sprung up. "we have them! we have them!" exulted joe, in a whisper. they were silently considering how best to surprise and capture the two men, who were still unaware of the presence of the boys, when a sudden noise came from outside. blake and his chums, as well as the two men, started. "that was not the wind!" exclaimed secor. "no, my friend. it was not. i think there is some one here besides ourselves. we must look. i----" and then came a guttural command in german: "surrender--all of you! you are surrounded and are prisoners! surrender!" chapter xxiii the airship raid surprise on the part of blake and his chums, as well as on the part of secor and labenstein, was so complete that it would be hard to say who felt the sensation most. the moving picture boys, after danger and difficulties, had found the stolen army films and those they believed had taken them. they were about to make a dash and get not only the precious boxes, but also, if possible, capture the two plotters, when, like a bolt from a clear sky, they were themselves called upon to surrender. "come on!" yelled charlie, as he understood the import of the summons to surrender. "we can make a fight for it!" "don't try it!" advised blake. by the light of lanterns carried by the raiding party of germans he had seen that they were numerous and well armed. it would have been the height of folly to resist, especially as the boys were non-combatants and not entitled to the honors of war. "hands up--and search them!" commanded the german officer of the raiding party, as he pointed to blake and his two chums. he spoke in german and then lapsed into english, which he spoke very well, saying: "it will be best for you americans to give in quietly. hands up!" and the order was stern. the boys had no choice but to obey, and their weapons were quickly taken from them. "i will allow you to keep your gas masks for the present," the german captain said, "as you may need them, as we ourselves may, before we get back to our lines." "then we are going back with you?" asked joe. "of a certainty--yes! did you think i would leave you here to go back to your own? indeed not! now, then, ready--march--all of you!" and he nodded at secor and labenstein. blake and his two friends noticed that no hostility seemed directed toward the two conspirators, who, however, appeared as much surprised at the advent of the raiding party as were the boys. it was evident, though, that some understanding existed between the german captain and labenstein, for they talked in low voices while secor stood a little apart. the gaze of the frenchman rested on the boys in what blake said later seemed a peculiar manner. "well, up to your old spying tricks, i see!" exclaimed joe, with a sneer he could not forego. "have you summoned any submarines lately?" a strange look passed over the face of the frenchman, but he did not reply. labenstein, who had finished his talk with the german captain of the raiding squad, turned to the boys, and a tantalizing smile spread over his face as he said: "ah, we meet again, i see!" "and you don't seem to have found much use for my flashlight," said blake. "i hope it still works!" the german muttered an exclamation of anger, and turned aside to pick up the boxes of films. this was too much for charles anderson, who sprang forward, crying: "say, those are ours, you dutch thief! let 'em alone! we came here to get 'em! let 'em alone!" the german captain gave a sharp order, and charlie was forcibly pulled back by one of the soldiers. "say, but look here!" exclaimed the lanky assistant of the moving picture boys. "this isn't war. i mean we aren't fighting you germans--though we might if we had the chance. we're just taking pictures, and these fellows have stolen our films," and he indicated secor and labenstein. the latter made some reply in german to the captain which the boys could not understand. "give us back our films and let us go!" demanded macaroni. "we only came to get them!" "enough of this!" broke in the captain. "you are our prisoners, and you may be thankful you are alive," and he tapped his big automatic pistol significantly. "march!" he ordered. labenstein and secor picked up the boxes of exposed film containing the army views and went out of the hut followed by some of the soldiers. then the moving picture boys were told to follow, a guard of germans, with ready bayonets, closing up the rear. a little later the boys, prisoners in the midst of the raiding party, were out under the silent stars. for the time peace had settled over the battlefield, extending across the trenches on both sides. "i wonder what they are going to do with us," said joe, in a low voice, to blake. "hard to tell," was the quiet answer. "they're marching us toward their lines, though." this was indeed true, the advance being toward a section of the field beyond the german trenches whence, not long before, had come the searchlights and the hail of shrapnel. "well, things didn't exactly turn out the way we expected," said charlie. "i guess we'll have to make a re-take in getting back our films," he added, with grim humor. "how do you figure it out, blake?" the talk of the boys was not rebuked by their german captors, and indeed the captain seemed to be deep in some conversation with secor and labenstein. "i don't know how it happened," blake answered, "unless they saw us go into that hut and crept up on us." "they crept up, all right," muttered joe. "i never heard a sound until they called on us to surrender," he added. "maybe secor and labenstein saw us and never let on, and then sent a signal telling the others to come and get us," suggested charlie. "i hardly think that," replied blake. "the frenchman and his fellow german plotter seemed to be as much surprised as we were. you could see that." "i guess you're right," admitted joe. "but what does it all mean, anyhow?" "well, as nearly as i can figure it out," responded blake, as he and his chums marched onward in the darkness, "secor and labenstein must have hidden the films in the hut after they stole them from the place where we went down under the gas attack. for some reason they did not at once turn them over to the german command." "maybe they wanted to hold them out and get the best offer they could for our property," suggested charlie. "maybe," assented blake. "whatever their game was," and he spoke in a low tone which could not carry to the two plotters who were walking ahead with the german captain, "they went to the hut to get the films they had left there. and as luck would have it, we came on the scene at the same time." "i wish we'd been a little ahead of time," complained macaroni. "then we might have gotten back with our films." "no use crying over a broken milk bottle," remarked joe. "that's right," blake said. "anyhow, there we were and there secor and his german friend were when the others came and----" "here we are now!" finished joe grimly. and there, indeed, they were, prisoners, with what fate in store none of them could say. suddenly from the darkness a sentinel challenged in german, and the captain of the little party answered, passing on with the prisoners. a little later they turned down into a sort of trench and went along this, the boys being so placed that each walked between two germans, who carried their guns with bayonets fixed, as though they would use them on the slightest provocation. but blake and his chums gave none. and then, making a sudden turn, the party came to what was evidently an outpost of importance. there were several large underground chambers, fitted up with some degree of comfort and a number of officers and soldiers about. some were eating, some smoking, and others drinking, and still others sleeping. in one room could be seen a rough table, laden with maps and papers, and there were many electric lights, showing to what degree of perfection the german military system was carried out at this point. a portable dynamo and gasolene engine probably furnished the current. the captives were halted, and a brief talk in german took place between the captain and the officer to whom he reported. what was said blake and his chums could not, of course, hear, nor could they have understood had they heard. a little later, however, they were ordered to march on, and then were shown into an underground room, none too clean and quite dark, and the door was banged shut on them. just before this they had seen secor and labenstein go off in another direction, still carrying the boxes of films. the echoes of the retreating footsteps of the men who had thrust them into their prison soon died away, and the boys were left to themselves in a veritable cell that was unpleasantly dirty and dark. "whew!" whistled joe, after a moment of silence. "this time we certainly are up against it!" suddenly a light flashed in the darkness. "what's that?" asked joe sharply. "i want to see what sort of hotel accommodations they've given us," was blake's grim answer, as he flashed his pocket light about. the germans had not taken those from the boys, and they were soon inspecting their prison. it was merely a hole dug underground, earth, supported by timbers, forming the floor, ceiling and sides, while the entrance was made of a plank door, with cracks large enough to show that a passage ran outside--a passage along which men passed with a frequency which seemed to indicate that escape would be exceedingly difficult. "well, we've just got to make the best of it," said blake. "i'm going to get what rest i can." it could not be much at best, for there was no furniture in the cavelike cell. the boys curled up in corners--fortunately it was not cold--and thought over their situation. that it was very desperate they all admitted. that night was like a bad dream to them. at times they dozed off in light slumber, but, as far as they knew, their captors did not so much as look in on them. they did not know, of course, when morning came, but they judged that the sun had risen when, after several hours of waiting, a tin can of water and some food was thrust in to them. "and i'm hungry enough to eat even german sausage," announced macaroni, as he inspected the food. it was coarse but satisfying, and the boys felt better when they had eaten it. later came a squad of germans, one of whom spoke enough english to order blake and his chums to follow them. they were led out of the dungeon, along a covered underground passage, and then they suddenly emerged into daylight. "well, it's a comfort to be able to see," remarked joe, as he and his companions looked about. without a word as to where they were to be taken, the boys were marched along, and, for a moment, they feared they were to be the victims of a firing party. but a turn in the course showed them just ahead a group of buildings about which could be seen some german officers. "evidently we're going to be questioned by some one in authority," suggested blake. "well, that looks more hopeful." they were at the very edge of an enclosure containing the official headquarters of that part of the german army, and the leader of their squad was about to reply to the challenge of the sentinel when a curious sound was borne to the ears of the boys. it was like a fast motor operating at some distance. "what's that?" asked charlie. as if by a common impulse they all looked up, for the noise seemed to come from above, and they saw dotting the blue sky many small, black specks. "aeroplanes!" cried blake. the germans had seen the objects in the air at the same time, but on them the sight produced quite a different effect from that made on the boys. in an instant all thought of guarding blake and his chums seemed to have been forgotten. their escort ran to one side. the sentries on duty before the official headquarters hastened away, and some of the elaborately gold-laced officers ran within the buildings. a moment later a number of soldiers could be observed some distance away manning a battery of guns, the muzzles of which pointed upward. "they're going to fire at the airships!" cried joe. "and that means they are not german craft!" added blake. "boys, i guess the french and americans are making an airship raid on mr. fritz this morning, and maybe it'll be a good thing for us. let's hunt cover!" chapter xxiv buried alive even as blake and his chums looked about for some place of refuge, the firing of the german anti-aircraft guns began. these weapons, designed especially for shooting straight up and sending shrapnel shells to a considerable height, were rapidly manned and fired by crews that seemed to be in readiness for just such danger. the raid of the french and american airships, quickly as the defensive preparations were made, seemed to take the germans by surprise. that is the only way the boys could account for the fact that their guarding escort deserted them. for deserted they had been, some of the germans running back in the direction whence blake and the others had come, while a few, under orders from one of the german officers, helped to man the guns of which several score were now shooting at the aircraft high above the hun position. joe, blake and charlie paused a moment, before seeking some shelter, to watch the thrilling sight. on came the aeroplanes, like a flock of great birds, and they did not resemble anything else quite so much, high up as they were. they came on in regular formation, for the day of the lone attack by an aeroplane was passed, except under special circumstances. straight for the german camp--if camp it could be called--came the flying squadron. as yet the airships were too high to be hit by the german guns, however great their range. but the airships came on. their speed was not apparent at so great a height, but it must have been wonderful, for but a few minutes seemed to have elapsed from the time they were first sighted, far down on the horizon, until they were almost overhead. "and now's the time for us to get under cover!" said blake. "when they begin to drop bombs, there'll be something doing around here." "where'll we go?" asked charlie. "oh, there ought to be plenty of bomb-proofs and dug-outs in this camp. the germans must have been air-raided before, or they wouldn't have the anti guns ready. the most likely place to find the best cyclone cellars will be near the officers' headquarters, i think. trust those fellows to have a safe place ready." "do you think they are making the raid to help us?" asked joe. "hardly," replied blake. "they probably don't even know that we have been captured. no, i guess this has been in preparation on our side for some time, judging by the number of craft in it. i hope they wipe out this dump!" "but not until we get under cover!" said joe. "look! there goes one of our ships!" as he spoke a white cloud seemed to burst in the vicinity of one of the aircraft. the machine, which with the others had come lower down, was seen to dip and plunge. then, after what seemed a dizzy fall, it straightened out again and kept up with the others. "hit but not disabled," murmured blake, as he and his chums paused in their race for shelter. "the germans are getting the range, i guess." "why don't we drop some bombs?" cried joe, speaking as though he and his friends were personally engaged. "i guess they're waiting until they get in a favorable position," returned blake. "look out! here comes one!" something black dropped from one of the airships. it fell in a long curve, landing in a spot which the boys could not see, and an instant later there was a terrific explosion. "that hit an ammunition dump, all right!" cried charlie. "duck, fellows!" "in here!" yelled blake, for at that moment they came opposite what looked like the entrance to a tunnel. it was lighted by small electric lamps and appeared to extend some distance into the earth. no one could be seen in it or entering it as the boys made a dive for it. and it was well that blake, joe and their assistant found shelter when they did, for an instant later the whole area was under bombardment by the airships. the boys, racing through the tunnel, dug underground and timbered and braced as is a mine shaft, could not see what went on, but they could hear and imagine. by this time the american and french aeroplanes were directly over the german camp and were dropping tons of explosives. the bombs struck and burst, some of them setting off stores of ammunition and powerful powder designed for the big guns. and these explosions, combined with the firing of the weapons aimed to bring down the flying enemy, made a pandemonium which penetrated even to the tunnel along which the boys were fleeing. "that's some fight out there!" cried joe. "if we could only film it!" added charlie, his voice and that of his chum ringing hollow in the tunnel. "we'd stand about as much chance as we did when the volcano let loose in earthquake land," answered blake. "come on, fellows! this isn't over yet." "i only hope we don't run into a party of huns who'll drive us out," murmured joe. but, so far, they had met no one, though ahead of them they could hear a sound as though others were running through the underground shaft seeking a place of safety. "where are we going, anyhow?" asked charlie at length. "going until we stop," answered joe. "and that'll be soon," added blake, "for i see the last of the lights." the boys looked down the long passage, which was well made and was high enough to permit them to run upright. it was wide enough, also, for three to go abreast. as blake had said, the string of incandescent lights, suspended overhead, came to an end a little farther on. they stopped under the third light from the last and looked about them. "isn't this as good a place as any?" asked joe. "if we go on any farther we may get into a hole we can't get out of. i say, let's stay here. we'll be safe from the airship bombs." "i don't know about that," said blake. "if you'll notice, we have come along pretty much on the level. this tunnel wasn't dug in the side of a hill. it went into the ground slanting, and at such a gradual slope that the top can't be very far under the surface." "what does that mean?" asked charlie. "it means that we haven't much dirt over our heads, and if a bomb were to drop directly above us we'd be in a bad way. i think we'd better keep on until we get to a deeper part of the cave, or whatever it is." "but we'll have to go on in the dark," objected joe. "there are only three more lights, and----" suddenly came a muffled explosion, and the lights went out, leaving the place in black gloom. "now there aren't any lights," said charlie, when the echo of the dull roar had passed away. the tunnel had been shaken, and there was a pattering sound all about the boys, as if little particles of earth had been dislodged, but no other damage appeared to have been done. "it _is_ dark!" said blake. "but come on. use your pocket lights. no, hold on. we'll use only one at a time. no telling how long we may need them." bringing out his own light, he flashed it on and led the way. above them a continuous roar could now be heard, and they guessed that the airships were attacking in force, directly over the german camp, and were being fired at from all sides. "one bomb must have splattered fritz's electric plant," observed joe, as he and his chums hurried on as best they could in the somewhat dim light of the little pocket lamp blake carried. hardly had he spoken when there came a tremendous explosion--one that staggered the boys and seemed to crumple up the tunnel as though it were made of paper. they had no time to cry out. they were thrown down and felt rocks and stones falling about them, while their ears were deafened by the roaring sound. then came silence and darkness--a darkness that weighed heavily on them all, while blake, who had been in the lead, tried to move his hand to flash on the electric light that had gone out or been broken. he could barely move, and as he felt dirt and rocks all about him there was borne to his senses the horrible message: "buried alive!" after that thought mercifully came unconsciousness. chapter xxv the end of labenstein how long they lay entombed in the german tunnel the moving picture boys did not know. they must have been unconscious for some time. joe was the first to regain his senses. telling about it later, he said he dreamed that he had been taking views in earthquake land and that, somehow or other, a volcano had fallen on his chest. he had difficulty in breathing, and no wonder, for as he came to his senses he found that a great rock and a pile of earth were across him. slowly at first, fearing to move much because he might bring down more débris on himself, joe felt about. he found that his arms and hands were comparatively free, though partly buried in earth. "i say!" he called, and his voice sounded strange in that dark and broken tunnel, "is any one here but me? blake! charlie! are you alive?" no one answered, and then, feeling his strength coming back, joe ventured to move. he found that he could manage to emerge from the pile of earth and stones that had fallen on him, fortunately none over his head. when he ventured to stand upright he tried to pierce the darkness and find out what had become of his chums. but he could see nothing until he thought of his pocket lamp and, taking it in his hand, flashed it about him. the light revealed to him the figures of blake and charlie, lying not far away and covered with débris as he had been. he set the little light on a rock, leaving the switch on, and by the intense but limited glow, he set to work to free his companions. blake's head was bleeding from the cut of a sharp rock, but he, like joe and charlie, had fallen in such a way, or rather, the cave-in had taken place in such a manner, that their heads and faces were comparatively free from dirt, else they would have been smothered. joe worked feverishly to free his chums and at length succeeded in freeing his assistant, who, of the two, was less covered by the débris. charlie opened his eyes and looked about him, asking: "what happened? where am i?" "don't stop to ask questions now," directed joe. "help me with blake. i'm afraid he's hurt!" the two together got their chum cleared of the débris finally, and then joe, taking a flask of cold coffee from his pocket, gave his now half-unconscious chum some to drink. this served further to rouse blake, and it was soon found, aside from a painful cut on the head, that he was uninjured except for bruises, such as they all had. "but what happened?" asked charlie, as they sat down to rest on some rocks and took turns finishing joe's limited supply of coffee. "the tunnel caved in on us after a big explosion of some kind," joe said. "i guess we're going to have trouble getting out, too." "let's have a look," suggested blake. "we can't stay in here much longer or more of the roof and sides may cave in. can we get out?" "i haven't looked," answered joe. "i wanted to get the dirt off you fellows. i'm afraid we're caught, though." and they were. an examination, made with the pocket lights, showed them that the way back was blocked by a mass of rock and earth and that no progress ahead could be made for the same reason. "i guess we'll have to dig our way out," said joe. "what with?" asked charlie. "some of the broken boards that held up the tunnel," was the answer, and joe pointed to pieces of timber that had been splintered and shattered by the cave-in. "yes, it's the only way out," agreed blake, who, now that his cut had been bound up with bandages from the first-aid kits the boys carried, felt better. "we'll have to dig out." and after a short rest they began this work. a terrible fear was upon them, a fear greater than that caused by their capture by the germans with the possibility of being shot as spies. it was the fear of a horrible death--buried alive. they dug as best they could for some time with the broken boards, their hands becoming cut and bruised by the rough edges. and yet, with all their efforts, they could not see that they had gained much. they were digging back along the way they had come in, for, as blake said, they knew how long the tunnel was in that direction, but they did not know how far it extended the other way. "is it of any use to continue?" asked joe wearily, when they had been digging for what seemed several hours, though really it was not as long as that. "of course we've got to continue!" declared blake, half savagely. "we can't give up now--and die!" "we may die anyhow," said joe. they were resting in the darkness after strenuous digging. in the dark because, to save the battery, they had switched off the electric light by which they had been working. charlie turned to look back. they had been piling the earth behind them as they worked, but there was not much of it as yet. they had made but small impression on the débris that hemmed them in. and as charlie looked he uttered a cry. "what is it?" asked blake. "a light! don't you see a light there?" charlie demanded. "see! back there through the chinks in the rock. see, a flickering light!" there was no doubt of it! there was a gleam of light, and it appeared to come from a point where some fallen rocks were loosely piled. dropping their boards, which they had been using for shovels, the boys climbed as near as they could to the hole. in the dark as they were, the light showed plainly. "can you see anything?" asked charlie of joe, who was nearest. "no, only some figures moving about. it seems like some sort of dugout beyond there, and it hasn't caved in. maybe it's the end of the tunnel." "did you say you can see somebody in there?" asked blake. "yes; figures moving about." "call to them." "maybe they're germans!" exclaimed charlie. "they probably are," blake answered. "but we've got to be rescued from here and take our chance with them. it's better than being buried alive. hello, there!" he shouted. "help us get out!" and he began tearing at the stones with his hands. seeing his object, his chums helped him. and then some one on the other side of the rocky barrier also began pulling down the stones, so that in a little while, the light becoming momentarily greater, the boys saw a way of escape open to them. but it was a strange way. for when the rocks had been pulled down sufficiently to enable them to crawl through, they emerged into a space--a small room, as it were--walled with solid logs. logs also formed the roof. it was a room lighted by a lantern, and on a pile of bags in one corner lay a huddled figure of a man. standing near him was another man--a man in a ragged blue uniform--and at the sight of his face blake murmured: "lieutenant secor!" "at your service!" said the frenchman, bowing slightly. "no!" bitterly cried blake. "not at _our_ service--you traitor!" the frenchman seemed to wince, but at that moment a call from the huddled man in the corner attracted his attention. he bent over him, drew back the covering and revealed in the lantern's glow the face of labenstein. the german raised himself on one elbow, and a wild look came over his face. his eyes gleamed brightly for a moment. "they--they here!" he murmured. "well, perhaps it is better so." "how better? what does he mean?" asked blake. "does he think----" "hush!" and the frenchman spoke softly. "this is the end--of labenstein!" and even as he spoke the man fell back dead. lieutenant secor seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, as though the death of the other had brought a great release to him. "now i can speak," said the officer. "now i can explain, and perhaps you will again regard me as a friend," he said softly. "well," returned blake, "you probably saved our lives by helping us get out of the tunnel. but as for being friends with----" "please do not say it," begged the lieutenant. "i have had to play a part. it is over now. i can again take my place with my comrades and fight openly for france. for i have learned all his secrets and whence the spy-leaks came. now my unpleasant mission is over!" "what--what do you mean?" asked joe, beginning, as did his chums, to have an inkling of the truth. "aren't you two working together against us and for germany?" "never i!" cried the frenchman. "i am a member of the french secret service, and for months i have consorted with that dog!" and he pointed at the dead man. "i but played a part to gain his confidence and to learn from what sources germany was getting her secret information about our soldiers and yours. now i know. i will explain. but come, we must get out of here." "can we get out?" asked blake. "surely, yes. the tunnel goes from here into the german trenches, and the other end was not damaged by the explosion." "but," exclaimed joe, "the german trenches! we don't want to go there to be captured again." "have no fear," said the frenchman, with a smile. "i should, perhaps, have said what _were_ the german trenches. they are now held by some of your own troops--the brave americans!" "they are?" cried charlie. "that is true! you shall see!" "hurrah!" cried the moving picture boys, and their fears and weariness seemed to depart from them in a moment. "the great airship raid was a success," went on the frenchman. "our troops and yours have made a big advance, and have captured many prisoners. they would have had labenstein, but he is beyond prisons now. let us go hence! even dead i can not endure his company. i suffered much on his account." "well, things are happening so fast i don't know which to begin to think of first," remarked joe. "but, on general principles, i presume it's a good thing to get out of this tunnel. come on, boys." "one moment," interposed the lieutenant. "perhaps you will like to take these with you." he stooped and lifted a pile of trench bags, and the boys saw the boxes of moving picture films. "ours?" cried joe. "none else," answered the frenchman. "i trust you will find them all right." "not a seal broken!" reported charlie, who had quickly examined the cases. "this is great!" together, hardly able to believe their good luck, they made their way out of the log-protected room--once a german bomb-proof dugout. as they emerged into the trenches, carrying the films, the boys saw american soldiers. "the stars and stripes!" cried charlie, as he noted the united states flag. "now we're all right!" "whew! we did make some advance!" added blake, as they saw how the battle lines of the french and americans had been extended since they had crawled into no man's land the night before. the boys learned later that the airship raid was the forerunner of a big offensive that had been carried out when they were held prisoners and in the tunnel. the germans had been driven back with heavy loss, and one of their ammunition dumps, or storage places, had been blown up, which had caused the collapse of the tunnel. that the moving picture boys were welcomed by the soldiers, among whom they had many friends, goes without saying. and the recovery of the films was a matter for congratulation, for they were considered very valuable to the army. "though it was lieutenant secor who really saved them for us," explained blake, when the story of their adventure was being told. "and i am glad the time has come when lieutenant secor can appear in his true light," said captain black. "even i suspected him, and he lost many friends who will come back to him, now that he risked all to serve his country in a rôle seldom honored--that of getting secret intelligence from the enemy." for that is what the french lieutenant had been doing. even while he was in the united states, where the boys first met him, he had been playing that part. "but i assure you," he said to blake and the others, "that the destruction of your films by my auto was an accident. when i found you believed it done purposely i let it go that way, as it helped me play my part the better. also, i had to act in a manner to make you believe i was a friend of labenstein. but that was all a part." and it had not been an easy part for the french officer to play. he had, in ways of his own, come to suspect labenstein, who went under various names, sometimes that of karl kooder. this man, who held forged citizenship papers of the united states, was a german spy and had done much to aid the kaiser. but he accepted lieutenant secor as a co-worker, on the latter's representation that he, too, was a friend of germany, or rather, as the frenchman made labenstein think, was willing to become so for a sum of money. so the two seemingly worked together. "and it was thus you knew us," said the lieutenant to the boys. "labenstein, to use one of his names, had orders to make all the trouble he could for you when you reached france, and to prevent your getting any pictures, if possible. of course he could not do that, but he tried, even to the extent of writing a false note in london that caused your arrest. i had, seemingly, to help him, but all the while i was endeavoring to find out where the leak was on our side that enabled him to profit. and i found out. the leak will be stopped. "i even seemed to join labenstein in signaling the submarine, though that night, had he really succeeded in calling her with your light, i would have killed him where he stood. however, the depth charge solved that question. "i had to escape from the ship with him to lull his suspicions against me. then i went into the german ranks with him, being thought a deserter! that was hard for me, but i had my duty to perform. "the rest you know. it was by a mere chance that labenstein, when i was with him, came upon your films after the gas attack. he thought to profit personally from selling them, which is why he did not turn them over at once to his superiors. ever since then he has been trying to dispose of them to enrich himself. and i have been trying to find a way to get them back to you without betraying myself and my mission. "at last chance favored me. the big air attack came just after i had secured all the information i wanted. i was about to go back to my comrades and arrange for the capture of labenstein if i could. he still had the films and was about to sell them to another german--a traitor like himself. "then came the big explosion, and he was fatally hurt. we both took refuge in the tunnel, labenstein carrying with him the films, and you came just as labenstein died. well, perhaps it is better so." "yes," agreed blake, "i think it is." "and we have the films back!" exulted charlie. "but, best of all, we know lieutenant secor is straight!" cried joe. "i'd hate to think anything else of him, after he saved our lives." "yes," agreed blake softly. "and now to get back on the job!" cried joe, after a moment of silence. and so the moving picture boys again took up their perilous calling. they soon recovered from their slight injuries caused by the cave-in of the tunnel, and, finding their cameras where they had left them in the french house, resumed the turning of the cranks. they filmed many stirring scenes, and the records they made now form an important part of the archives of the war office in washington, the films so strangely lost and recovered being considered most valuable. lieutenant secor became one of the boys' firmest friends, and through his help they were enabled to obtain many rare views. and now, having seen them safely through some of their perils, we will take leave of them. the end [transcriber's note: some of the adverts appeared at the start of the book and repeated at the end. the duplicates have been removed, and the remaining series (motion picture chums) have been added here.] the moving picture boys series by victor appleton mo. bound in cloth. illustrated. uniform style of binding. moving pictures and photo plays are famous the world over, and in this line of books the reader is given a full description of how the films are made--the scenes of little dramas, indoors and out, trick pictures to satisfy the curious, soul-stirring pictures of city affairs, life in the wild west, among the cowboys and indians, thrilling rescues along the seacoast, the daring of picture hunters in the jungle among savage beasts, and the great risks run in picturing conditions in a land of earthquakes. the volumes teem with adventures and will be found interesting from first chapter to last. the moving picture boys or perils of a great city depicted. the moving picture boys in the west or taking scenes among the cowboys and indians. the moving picture boys on the coast or showing the perils of the deep. the moving picture boys in the jungle or stirring times among the wild animals. the moving picture boys in earthquake land or working amid many perils. the moving picture boys and the flood or perilous days on the mississippi. the moving picture boys at panama or stirring adventures along the great canal. the moving picture boys under the sea or the treasure of the lost ship. the motion picture chums series motion picture chums' first venture motion picture chums at seaside park motion picture chums on broadway motion picture chums' outdoor exhibition motion picture chums' new idea motion picture chums at the fair motion picture chums' war spectacle the tom swift series by victor appleton mo. cloth. uniform style of binding. colored wrappers. these spirited tales convey in a realistic way the wonderful advances in land and sea locomotion. stories like these are impressed upon the memory and their reading is productive only of good. tom swift and his motor cycle or fun and adventure on the road tom swift and his motor boat or the rivals of lake carlopa tom swift and his airship or the stirring cruise of the red cloud tom swift and his submarine boat or under the ocean for sunken treasure tom swift and his electric runabout or the speediest car on the road tom swift and his wireless message or the castaways of earthquake island tom swift among the diamond makers or the secret of phantom mountain tom swift in the caves of ice or the wreck of the airship tom swift and his sky racer or the quickest flight on record tom swift and his electric rifle or daring adventures in elephant land tom swift in the city of gold or marvellous adventures underground tom swift and his air glider or seeking the platinum treasure tom swift in captivity or a daring escape by airship tom swift and his wizard camera or the perils of moving picture taking tom swift and his great searchlight or on the border for uncle sam tom swift and his giant cannon or the longest shots on record tom swift and his photo telephone or the picture that saved a fortune tom swift and his aerial warship or the naval terror of the seas tom swift and his big tunnel or the hidden city of the andes =grosset & dunlap=, publishers, new york the moving picture girls under the palms or lost in the wilds of florida by laura lee hope author of "the moving picture girls," "the moving picture girls at oak farm," "the bobbsey twins series," "the outdoor girls series," etc. _illustrated_ the world syndicate publishing co. cleveland new york made in u.s.a. copyright, , by grosset & dunlap press of the commercial bookbinding co. cleveland contents chapter page i overboard ii to the rescue iii a disquieting item iv fire on board v disabled vi by wireless vii in port viii st. augustine ix in the dungeon x the motor races xi on to lake kissimmee xii a warning xiii out in the boat xiv under the palms xv in peril xvi a strange attack xvii out of a tree xviii the animated logs xix into the wilds xx lost xxi the long night xxii ashore xxiii the palm hut xxiv the lost are found xxv out of the wilds chapter i overboard "all ready now! in position, everyone!" half a score of actors and actresses moved quickly to their appointed places, while overhead, and at the sides of them hissed powerful electric lights, and in front of them stood a moving picture camera, ready to be operated by a pleasant-faced young man. "ready?" came in questioning tones from mr. pertell, the stage director, as he looked sharply from one to the other. a tall, well-built man, with iron-gray hair, nodded, but did not speak. "let her go, russ!" mr. pertell exclaimed. "vait! vait a minute!" called one of the actors, with a pronounced german accent. "well, what's the matter now, mr. switzer?" asked the director, with a touch of impatience. "i haf forgotten der imbortant babers dot i haf to offer mine enemy in dis play. i must have der babers." "gracious, i should say so!" said the manager. "where's pop snooks?" and he looked around for the property man, who had to produce on short notice anything from a ten-ton safe to a hairpin. "hi, pop!" called mr. pertell. "make up a bundle of important, legal-looking papers, with seals on. mr. switzer has to use 'em in this play. i forgot to tell you." "have 'em for you right away!" cried the property man, and a little later mr. switzer had his "babers." "i guess we're all right now. start up, russ," ordered the stage director, who was also the manager of the troupe. "that was a mistake on the part of mr. pertell; wasn't it, ruth?" asked one of the young actresses--a pretty girl--of her sister, who stood near her in the mimic scene. "yes, indeed, alice. but it isn't often he makes one." "no, indeed. oh, we mustn't talk any more. i see him looking at us." "begin!" called the manager, sharply, and the play proceeded, while the young moving picture operator clicked away at the handle of his camera, the long strip of film moving behind the lens with a whirring sound, and registering views of the pantomime of the actors and actresses at the rate of sixteen a second. the above was done several times a day in the new york studio of the comet film company, which was engaged in making moving pictures. the play went on through the various acts. only part of it was being "filmed" now--the interior scenes. later, others would be taken outdoors. "time out--hold your positions!" suddenly exclaimed the operator. "film's broken. i've got to mend it." everyone came to a standstill at that. in a few seconds the damage was repaired, and the play went on. it was, in the main, a "parlor" drama, and there were to be only a few outdoor scenes. "that will do for the present," said mr. pertell. "you may all take a rest now. this will be our last new york play for some time--that is, after we get the outdoor scenes for this." "where are we going next?" asked the elderly actor before mentioned. he spoke in very hoarse voice, and it was evident that he had some throat affection. in fact, it was the ailment which had forced him to give up acting in the "legitimate," and take to the "movies." "we are going to florida--the land of the palms!" announced the manager. "you know i spoke of tentative plans for a drama down there when we were in the backwoods. now i have everything arranged, and we will leave on a steamer for st. augustine one week from to-day." "hurrah for florida!" exclaimed a young actor, with a strikingly good-looking face. "there's where i've always wanted to go." "so have i!" exclaimed a young girl who stood near him,--a girl with merry, brown eyes. "will you take me out after oranges, paul?" she asked, mischievously. "certainly, alice," he answered. "why don't you say orange blossoms while you're about it?" inquired another actress, with a pert manner. alice blushed, and her sister ruth looked sharply at miss laura dixon, who had made the rather pointed remark. "i'm willing to make it orange blossoms!" laughed the young fellow. "that is, if they're in season." "ah, stop all this nonsense!" exclaimed alice. "i want to ask mr. pertell a lot of questions about where we're going, and all that. oh, to think we are really going to florida!" "yes, we are all going," went on mr. pertell. "i think--" "one moment, if you please!" interrupted a middle-aged actor whose face seemed to indicate that he lived more on vinegar than on the milk of human kindness. "we are not _all_ going, if you please, mr. pertell." "who is not going, mr. sneed, pray?" the manager wanted to know. "i, for one. i have gone through many hardships and dangers acting in moving pictures for you, but i draw the line at florida." "why, i think it's perfectly lovely there!" exclaimed miss pearl pennington, a chum of miss dixon. "do you call alligators lovely?" asked mr. pepper sneed, who was known as "the actor with the grouch." he was always finding fault. "lovely alligators!" he sneered. "if you want to go to florida, and be eaten by an alligator--go. i'll not!" some of the younger members of the company looked rather serious at this. they had not counted on alligators. "now look here!" exclaimed mr. pertell. "that's all nonsense. we are going where there are no alligators; but i'll pay anyone who is injured in the slightest by one of the saurians a thousand dollars!" "then i'll go!" cried mr. sneed, who was rather "close," and fond of money. "but i'm not going to stand a very big bite for that sum!" he stipulated, while the others laughed. "i'll grade the payments according to the bites, at the rate of a thousand dollars a big bite," declared the manager, also laughing. "now then, you may make your plans accordingly. as i said, we leave by steamer for st. augustine by way of jacksonville this day week." "and will all the scenes be taken in st. augustine?" asked one of the company. "no, we shall go into the interior. i expect we may go to a place near lake kissimmee, and there--" "lake kissimmee!" exclaimed alice devere, in surprise. "what about it?" asked mr. pertell. "are you afraid to go there?" "no, but two girls whom we met on the train going to deerfield, when we were preparing to make the ice and snow dramas, were going to a place near there. we may meet them." "that's so!" agreed ruth. "i hope you will," went on mr. pertell. "lake kissimmee, however, is only one of the interior places we shall touch. i will tell you more detailed plans later." "i--ah--er--presume we shall have a little time to--er--see the sights of st. augustine; will we not?" asked one of the actors, in affected, drawling tones. "oh, yes, plenty of time, mr. towne," answered mr. pertell. claude towne was a new member of the company, rather a "dudish" sort of chap, and not, as yet, very well liked. he dressed in what he considered the "height of fashion." the week that followed was a busy one for every member of the comet film company. not that they were required to do much acting in front of the camera; for, after the outdoor scenes in connection with the current play were made, russ dalwood, the operator, packed up his belongings ready for the florida trip. the others were doing the same thing, and mr. pertell was kept busy arranging for transportation, and hotel accommodations, and for the taking care of such films as he would send back from the interior of florida, since none would be developed there. this work would have to be done, and positives printed for the projecting machines, in new york. this custom was generally followed when the company went out of town. "well, are we all here?" asked mr. pertell one morning as he reached the steamer, which lay at her dock in new york, ready for the trip to the land of the palms. "i think so," answered russ, who had with him a small moving picture camera. he had an idea he might see something that would make a good film. "no one missing?" went on the manager. "that's good. oh, by the way, did mr. towne arrive? he 'phoned to me that he might be a little late." "yes, he's here," answered russ. "the last i saw of him he was looking in a mirror, arranging his necktie." "humph! he's too fond of dress," commented the manager, "but he does well in certain society parts, and that's why i keep him." the confusion of the passengers and late freight coming aboard gradually grew less. whistles sounded their bass notes, and gongs clanged. "all ashore that's goin' ashore!" came the warning cry, and there was a hurried departure of those who had come to see friends or relatives off on the voyage. the moving picture company were gathered together in one place on the deck, and they waved to other members of the company who were not to make the trip, for mr. pertell employed a large number of actors, and only a comparatively few of them were going to florida. the others would continue to work in new york. the steamer moved slowly away from the dock, in charge of a fussy tug, but presently she began forging ahead under her own steam, moving slowly at first. soon, however, the vessel was well down the harbor. alice and ruth devere, with russ dalwood and paul ardite, were standing amidships, on the port side, looking down into the water. a little in advance of them stood mr. towne and miss pennington. the latter had been much in the new actor's company of late. "they seem quite interested in each other," remarked russ, in a low tone. "yes, they have something in common," added alice--"a love of good clothes." "i like nice things myself," put in ruth, straightening a bow she wore. "you shouldn't say such things, alice." "oh, but you like them in the right way--so do i, for that matter. but i don't go to the extremes they do, and neither do you." "hush! they'll hear you," cautioned her sister, for alice was very impulsive at times. indeed the dudish actor and miss pennington were glancing rather curiously in the direction of our friends. then miss dixon came along, whispering something that caused the other to laugh. "fawncy that now! only fawncy!" exclaimed mr. towne, in his exaggerated english drawl. "that's a good joke--on them!" "i wonder if they mean us?" spoke paul. "if i thought so i'd go ask them what the joke was, so we could laugh, too." "oh, don't," begged ruth, who disliked "scenes." the mirth of miss dixon and miss pennington seemed to increase rather than diminish, and mr. towne was now fairly roaring with merriment. he laughed so hard, in fact, that he coughed, and leaned back against the rail for support. and then something happened. just how no one could explain, but mr. towne went overboard, his arms and legs wildly waving, and his cane flying far out into the river. he struck the water with a splash, just as one of the deckhands yelled: "man overboard!" chapter ii to the rescue "lower a boat!" "throw him a life preserver!" "stop the ship!" wild and excited were the cries that followed the accident. russ and paul were among the first to act, the former getting a life preserver from one of the racks, while paul caught up one of the round, white life rings and tossed it far out toward a commotion in the water that indicated where mr. towne had disappeared. they had to throw the articles toward the stern of the steamer, as she was in motion, and mr. towne was soon some distance astern. "stop the ship!" repeated scores of voices, when the nature of the accident was understood. discipline and boat drill were at a high state of perfection aboard the steamer, and soon, with a warning blast of her whistle, the craft trembled under the power of her reversed engines. "lower away a boat! smartly, men!" called one of the officers, as he ran up to the davits whence hung a life-boat. and while preparations are under way to rescue the unfortunate actor, may i take just a few moments to acquaint my new readers with something of the former books of this series? the initial volume was entitled "the moving picture girls; or, first appearances in photo dramas." in that was related how hosmer devere, a talented actor, suddenly lost his voice, through the return of a former throat ailment. he was unable to go in his part in a legitimate drama, and, through the suggestion of russ dalwood, who lived in the same apartment house with the deveres, in new york, mr. devere took up moving picture acting. his two daughters, ruth, aged seventeen, and alice, aged fifteen, also became engaged in the work, and later they were instrumental in doing russ dalwood a great service in connection with a valuable patent he had evolved for a moving picture machine. the second volume was called "the moving picture girls at oak farm; or, queer happenings while taking rural plays." in that book was told how the acquaintance was made of sandy apgar, who ran a farm in new jersey. as mr. pertell was looking for some country scenes to use in connection with his moving picture dramas, he took his entire company out to oak farm, hiring it from the apgars. a curious mystery was solved by the girls, and other members of the company--a mystery that involved the happiness of the old couple who owned oak farm, but were on the verge of losing it. "the moving picture girls snowbound; or, the proof on the film," was the title of the third book. as its name indicates, the girls and other members of the company were really snowbound. after the summer at oak farm, and the fall spent in new york, mr. pertell decided to make some dramas in the backwoods of new england, where there was much snow and ice. and for a time there was almost too much snow, for elk lodge, where the company of players was housed, was almost buried by a blizzard. before going to the backwoods, mr. devere had been much annoyed, and alarmed, by an unjust demand, and how a certain illegal suit against an electric car company was called off, through a discovery made by ruth and alice, you may read of in the book. russ got "the proof on the film" and when this moving picture was shown privately it caused dan merley's lawyer to say: "you win! we are beaten!" and mr. devere was at ease after that. many beautiful films were made at elk lodge, and some wonderful pictures of snow and ice scenes resulted from the trip to the backwoods. then the company returned to new york, and now we find them _en route_ for florida, when the accident to mr. towne occurred. mr. devere and his two daughters lived in the fenmore apartment house, in new york city. across the hall lived mrs. sarah dalwood, and her sons, russ and billy, the latter aged about twelve. the dalwoods and the deveres became very friendly, and russ thought there never was a girl like ruth. paul ardite, the younger leading man of the comet film company, thought the same thing of alice. frank pertell was the manager and chief owner of the film company. he had a large studio in new york, where all indoor scenes of the plays were enacted, and where the films were made for rental to the various chains of moving picture theaters throughout the country. he engaged many actors and actresses, but only the principal ones with whom the stories are concerned will be recounted. wellington bunn and pepper sneed were the ones who made the most trouble for the manager. mr. bunn was an former shakespearean actor. with his tall hat and frock coat--which costume he was seldom without--mr. bunn was a typical tragedian of the old school. mr. sneed was different. he had no particular ambition toward stardom, but he disliked hard work, and he was rather superstitious. then, too, he was always looking for trouble and often finding it. in short, he was the "grouch" of the company. mrs. margaret maguire was a motherly member of the troupe. she played "old woman" parts with real feeling, perhaps the more so as her two grandchildren, tommy and nellie, were dependent upon her. the youngsters usually went with the company, and were taken on the florida trip. occasionally they acted small parts. carl switzer was the german comedian, and was a first-rate actor in his line. his jollity proved an offset to the gloom of mr. sneed. pop snooks, the efficient property man, has already been mentioned. his work was easier when the company was on the road, as there the natural scenery was depended on to a great extent. pearl pennington and laura dixon were former vaudeville actresses who had gone into the "movies." some said it was because they failed to longer draw on the stage. whether or not this was so, it was certain that the two had very large ideas of their own abilities. they cared little for ruth and alice, and the latter had few interests in common with miss pennington and miss dixon. paul ardite has been mentioned. with the exception of mr. towne the players had been associated together for some time. but, just at present mr. towne was "disassociated" from the others. "oh, can you see him?" cried ruth, as she clung to alice. "i--i can't bear to look!" "of course i can see him!" alice returned. "he's trying to swim. oh, he has grabbed the life ring!" "that will keep him up," spoke paul. "are they lowering the boat?" "there she goes!" cried russ. "ha! i've got an idea. i'll film this, and mr. pertell may be able to use it in some drama." he hurried to where he had set down the small moving picture camera, and while the boat was being lowered by the sailors russ got views of that. then he moved closer to the rail, and took more views as the small craft was sent away under the force of the sturdy arms of the rowers. "this will be great!" russ cried. "oh, but it seems so cold-blooded!" murmured ruth. "to take a picture of a drowning man." "i don't think he is drowning," paul observed. "he has the ring, and that will keep him up until the boat reaches him. they are almost to him, and he seems able to swim well." "that's good," declared alice. she had not turned her head away as had her sister. in fact, in spite of being two years younger than ruth, alice often showed more spirit. she was of an impulsive nature, and mr. devere used to say she was very like her dead mother. ruth was tall and fair, and of a romantic nature. alice was more practical. "there! they've got him!" cried paul, as the boat came up to the actor in the water. "that's good!" sighed ruth. "oh, i was _so_ alarmed. i think i will go below, alice, when they bring him on deck." "you don't need to," said her sister. "he's probably all right, except that his fine clothes are spoiled." "that's so!" chuckled russ, who was industriously grinding away at the handle of the camera. chapter iii a disquieting item "man the falls!" this order was given by one of the officers as the boat containing the rescued actor came close to the ship's side. the sailors stood ready to hoist the boat to the davits again, when the tackle blocks should have been made fast by the hooks to the ring bolts at bow and stern. "best chance i ever had to get a rescue picture," remarked russ, as he reeled away at the film. the young operator even managed to get in a favorable position, and take views as the blocks were being made fast to the boat. then, as it was hoisted up, he pictured that. "is he all right?" asked mr. pertell of the sailors in the boat, when the craft was raised to the level of the rail. "aye, aye, sir," answered the steersman. "only a bit wet." but mr. towne was more than a bit wet. he was completely soaked, and a more bedraggled-looking specimen of humanity would be hard to find. "oh, the poor man!" exclaimed ruth, who had thought better of her determination to go below. "it's his own fault," snapped miss pennington. "he should not have carried on so." "well, it was partly our fault," interposed miss dixon, who was perhaps more just. "we were laughing with him." "don't go too close!" cautioned miss pennington, as she saw her friend advancing toward the group of sailors, and others who surrounded the rescue party. they were helping mr. towne out of the boat. "why shouldn't i go close?" laura wanted to know. "you might get your dress wet. mine spots terribly." "oh, so does mine. i forgot; and sea water stains so badly!" so the two actresses drew away. "there, i guess that will do," remarked russ, as he saw that there was no more film left in the camera. "now, mr. pertell, you'll have to get some story written around these scenes. add more to them, and you'll have a good reel." "i'll do it, russ. i'm glad you were here to take them, so long as it did not turn out seriously." "do you--er--ah--mean to say that you _filmed_ me?" demanded the dudish actor, who had overheard this colloquy. "i got some pictures of you--yes," admitted russ. "i couldn't resist the temptation." "i demand that those pictures be destroyed!" cried mr. towne, who seemed to have recovered rapidly from his unexpected bath. "what for?" asked mr. pertell, in surprise. "i haven't seen them, of course--can't until they're developed, and that won't be for some time. but i should say the rescue pictures would make a fine film." "but i want it burned up. i won't have it shown!" insisted mr. towne. "why not?" "do you suppose for one instant--er, ah--that i am going to let the public see me like this?" and mr. towne glanced at his wet and dripping garments--garments that, but a short time ago, had been a walking testimonial of the tailor's art. now they were wet and misshapen. "why, you can't expect a man who has just been rescued from new york bay to look as though he came out of a band-box; can you, dear man?" asked mr. pertell. "of course you look wet--the public will expect to see you wet--dripping with water, in fact. water always comes out well in the movies, anyhow. of course the public wants to see you wet!" "but i don't want them to!" protested the actor. "i have never been shown in pictures except when i was well dressed, and i do not propose to begin now. i will pose for you as soon as i get dry clothes on, but not in--these!" and he made a despairing motion toward his ruined garments. "oh, you are too fussy!" laughed mr. pertell. "those pictures will have to go. the scene was too good to spoil, as long as you were not drowned." "i was in no danger of drowning," returned mr. towne, coldly. "i am a good swimmer. i was taken by surprise, that is all." "well, it made good pictures," declared the manager, indifferently. "too bad i couldn't get you just as you went overboard!" sighed russ. "i was taken by surprise, too; but i did the best i could. we can have you do that part over." "never!" cried mr. towne, angrily. "i will never be seen in an undignified position again, nor in clothes that have not been freshly pressed," and he stalked away toward his stateroom. "i can sympathize with you, my dear fellow," murmured mr. bunn, who was as careful of his dignity, in a way, as was the other. "they have made me do the most idiotic things in some of the dramas," the older man went on. "i have had to play fireman, and ride in donkey carts, slide down hill and all such foolishness--all to the great detriment of my dignity." "yes, this moving picture business is horrid," agreed mr. towne, who was dripping water at every step. "but what is a chap to do? i tried the other sort of drama--on the stage, you know; but i did not seem to have the temperament for it." "ah, would that i were back again, treading the boards in my beloved shakespeare, instead of in this miserable moving picture acting," sighed the tragedian. the excitement caused by the mishap to mr. towne soon subsided. the steamer got on her way again, once the small boat had been hoisted up, and several tugs and motor craft that had gathered to give aid, if needed, went on their courses. "well, that's something for a start," remarked alice, as she walked the deck with ruth. "yes, i knew something would happen," spoke mr. sneed, gloomily. "i felt it coming." "how could you?" asked paul, winking at russ. "because to-day is friday. something always happens on friday." "yes, we generally have fish for dinner," remarked russ, with a twinkle in his eyes. "you may laugh," sneered the gloomy actor, "but the day is not over yet. i am sure that something else will happen. the ship may sink before it gets to florida." "oh!" cried ruth. "don't be silly!" laughed alice, while russ gave mr. sneed a meaning look and remarked in a low voice: "that's enough of such talk, old man. it gets on the girls' nerves. why can't you be cheerful?" "i never am--on friday," grumbled mr. sneed. "no, and on very few other days," commented russ, as he went below to take the film out of his camera in readiness to ship it back to new york for development. ruth and alice had done much traveling with their father when he was engaged in the legitimate drama, for he was with a number of road companies, that went from place to place. water journeys were, however, rather a novelty to them, and now that the excitement of the rescue was over they went about the ship, looking at the various sights. the _tarsus_ was not a big vessel, but it was a new and substantial craft engaged in the coast trade. a fairly large passenger list was carried and, as this was the winter season, many tourists were heading for the sunny south--the warm beaches of the coast, or the interior where the palms waved their graceful branches in the orange-scented breezes. "how is your throat, daddy?" asked ruth, as mr. devere joined his daughters in a stroll about the deck. "much better, i think," he said. his voice was always hoarse now, totally unlike the vibrant tones in which he was used to speak his lines. "the pain seems less. i have hopes that the warm air of florida may improve, and even cure it, in connection with the medicine i am taking." "oh, wouldn't that be just great!" cried alice, as she clasped her arms about his neck. "perhaps you could go back to the real theaters then, daddy." "i might," he replied with a smile at her; "but i do not know that i would. i am beginning to like this silent 'drama.' it is a rest from the hard work we old actors used to have to do. there is much less strain. and if i went back to the legitimate, i would have to take you with me," he added. "never, daddy!" cried the younger girl. "i am going to remain with the 'movies'! i would be lost without them." "assuredly, they have been a great blessing to us," observed ruth, quietly. "i do not know what we would have done without them, when you were stricken the second time," and she looked fondly at her father. she thought of the dark days, not so far back, when troubles seemed multiplying, when there was no money, and when debts pressed. now all seemed sunshine. "yes, it would be a poor return to the movies, to desert them after all they did for us," agreed mr. devere. "that is, as long as they care for us--those audiences who sit in the dark and watch us play our little parts on the lighted canvas. a queer proceeding--very queer. "i little dreamed when i first took up the profession immortalized by shakespeare, that i would be playing to persons whom i could not see. but it is certainly a wonderful advance." down the bay, out through the narrows and so on out to sea passed the _tarsus_, carrying the moving picture players. the day was cold, and a storm threatened, but soon the frigid winter of the north would be left behind. this was a comforting thought to all, though alice declared that she liked cold weather best. mr. towne came up on deck, again faultlessly attired. his unexpected bath had not harmed him, in spite of the fact that it was cold, for he had at once taken warm drinks, and been put to bed, for a time, in hot blankets. he could talk of nothing, however, save the fact that he was to be shown in the wet clothing he so despised. "it is a shame!" he declared. "if i could find that film i would destroy it myself." "it is safely put away," laughed russ. the day passed, and evening came. on through the darkness forged the _tarsus_, while about her were the flashing beams from lighthouses, or the bobbing signal lamps from other ships. ruth and alice were in their stateroom, talking together before retiring. alice had that day's paper and was idly glancing over it. she yawned sleepily, when an item suddenly caught her eye. "oh, dear!" she exclaimed. "that must be dreadful!" "what is it?" asked ruth, who was letting down her long hair. "why here's an item from some place in florida. it says that two girls went out in a motor boat, to gather specimens of rare swamp flowers, and have not been heard of since. it is feared they may have been upset and drowned, or that alligators attacked them. oh, how dreadful!" "don't let mr. sneed hear about that," cautioned ruth. "where in florida was it?" "the item is dated from winterhaven, but it says that the girls started from some place near lake kissimmee." "oh!" cried ruth, pausing with the comb half way through a thick strand of hair, "suppose it should be those two girls we met?" "i don't imagine it could be," reasoned alice. "they did not look like girls who would be bold enough to go off after swamp blooms. but think of the poor girls, whoever they are, out all alone at night, with maybe alligators around their boat! oh, i hope we don't have to go too far into the wilds." "we may," remarked ruth, uneasily, as she reached for the paper to read for herself the disquieting item. chapter iv fire on board ruth sat for some moments in silence after she had read in the paper the short account of the missing girls. she had come to a pause in arranging her luxuriant hair for the night and, with it only half combed, leaned back in the small chair the stateroom afforded. alice was reclining on her berth. "does it worry you, ruth?" the younger girl finally asked. "a little, yes." ruth was unusually quiet, and there was a far-away look in her deep blue eyes. "oh, don't take it so seriously," rallied alice, in her vivacious way, though at first she, too, had been affected by what she read. "but it is serious." "oh, it may be only one of those 'newspaper yarns,' as russ calls them." "alice, your language, of late--" "there, sister mine! please don't scold--or lecture. i'm too sleepy," and she finished with a yawn that showed all her white, even teeth. "i'm not scolding, my dear, but you know i must look after you in a way, and--" "look after yourself, my dear. with your hair down that way, and that sweet and innocent look on your face, and in your eyes--you are much more in need of looking after than i. someone is sure to fall in love with you, and then--" "alice, if you--" "don't throw that hair brush at me!" and the younger girl covered herself with a quilt, in simulated fear. "i--i didn't mean it. i'll be good!" and she shook with laughter. ruth could not but smile, though the serious look did not leave her face. she was very like her father. the least little matter out of the ordinary affected him, and usually on the sad, instead of on the "glad" side. he, like ruth, was of a romantic type, inclined to anticipate too much. alice was more matter of fact, not to say frivolous, though she could be very sensible at times. "well, i suppose we must go to bed," sighed ruth at length. "but i'm afraid i sha'n't sleep." "on account of thinking of those girls?" "yes, just imagine them out all alone in some dismal swamp, perhaps, without a light, hungry--afraid of every sound--" "please stop! you're getting on my nerves." "i didn't mean to, my dear," was the gentle answer. "i know you didn't, and it was mean of me to talk that way," and a plump, bare arm stole around the other's neck, while a hand was run through the golden hair. "but, don't let's think so much about them. perhaps they are not those two girls we met, after all." "oh, i don't believe they can be," ruth agreed. "that would be too much of a coincidence. but they are two girls--" "not necessarily. maybe it's only an unfounded rumor. russ says newspaper men often 'plant' a story like this off in some obscure place, and then use it as the basis for one of those lurid stories in the sunday supplements. "i shouldn't wonder a bit but what this was one of those cases. so, sister mine, go to sleep in peace, and in the morning you'll have forgotten all about it. only don't let's tell any one, for some of the company, like mr. sneed, might make trouble for mr. pertell, saying alligators were there." "well, there are." "perhaps. but who cares? i'd like to get one ordinary-sized 'gator." "why, alice! what for?" "i've always wanted an alligator bag, and i never could afford it. now's my chance. but we may never get far enough into the interior for that. by the way, where did it say those girls started from? i didn't half read it." "from sycamore, near lake kissimmee." "well, mr. pertell did mention that we might get to the lake, but he didn't specify sycamore." "no, and now i'm going to try and do as you said, and forget all about it," and ruth laid aside the paper and resumed putting up her hair for the night. "i wonder what will happen to-morrow?" mused alice, as she slipped into her robe, and thrust her feet into bath slippers. "what do you mean?" ruth's voice was rather muffled, for her hair was over her face now. "i mean mr. towne fell in to-day, and--" "gracious, i hope you don't infer that it's someone else's turn to-morrow!" "hardly!" laughed alice. "hand me that cold cream, please, the salt air has chapped my face. oh, say, did you notice how much color laura had on to-day? if ever there was a 'hand-made' complexion hers was!" "you shouldn't say such things!" "why not? when they're true! and such eyes as she made at poor mr. towne!" ruth slipped a rosy palm over her sister's lips, but alice pulled it away, and laughingly added: "she found that her glances failed to reach paul, and so she's trying her 'wireless' on--" "alice, you _must_ stop. someone may hear you!" "can't! daddy has the stateroom on one side, and mr. pertell the other, and they're both sound sleepers. but i've finished anyhow. you put out the light," and with a bound, having completed her toilette, alice was in her berth. ruth sighed, and then sat again staring off into space. it must have been some little time, too, for when she turned to look at her sister, alice was breathing deeply in sleep. "dear alice!" murmured ruth, and she bent over her for a moment, and kissed her lightly on the cheek--as gently as the fall of a rose petal. soon the older sister, too, was asleep. in order that there might be no trouble among the members of the moving picture company over the statement made in the newspaper that perhaps the two girls had fallen victims to alligators, ruth, next morning, carefully cut out the item, and put it away among her things. "it may be silly," she said to alice, "but--" "it _is_ silly to imagine anything like that," was the quick retort. "but it's best to be on the safe side," finished ruth, gently. "mr. sneed is so peculiar." "i agree with you there, sister mine. well, you've taken the precautions, anyhow. my, i'm hungry! i hope breakfast is ready." "you are not troubled with _mal-de-mer_, then?" "not a bit of it, and i never was out on the ocean before. it isn't a bit rough; is it?" "well, we did roll some during the night, but then the sea is calm. wait until we get a storm." "i do hope one comes!" "alice devere!" "well, i mean just a _little_ one, with waves like little hills, instead mountains." the only members of the film company who did not present themselves at the breakfast table were miss pennington and miss dixon. they breakfasted in their staterooms, but it was noticed that the trays came out about as well filled as they went in, from which it might be gathered that they were not altogether free from the toll the sea exacts from most travelers. "my, how charming you look!" observed paul to alice as he joined her on deck, and arranged her steamer chair out of the wind. she had on a new jacket, and a little toque, the brown fur of which matched her eyes, and brought out, in contrast, the damask of her cheeks. "thank you," she laughed in retort. "i might say the same of you. that's a good-looking coat." "a little different from the usual, yes. the man said it was imported--" "just as if that made it any better." "it doesn't--only different. where did you get that rug? it's an odd pattern." "my! but the compliments are flying this morning. it's one daddy picked up somewhere. isn't the weather glorious?" "now we're on a safe topic," laughed paul. "here come russ and ruth. my, but she's stunning!" "i'm glad you appreciate her," alice said. really, ruth made a picture, for she had on a long white cloak, and with a turban trimmed with ermine, and her fair hair and blue eyes, she looked like some siberian princess, if they have princesses there, and i suppose they must. the four young people chatted and laughed together, while the _tarsus_ plowed on her way. it was a day of idleness, save that russ took a few pictures of scenes on shipboard for future use. in the afternoon, while ruth and alice were reclining luxuriously in their steamer chairs, they observed one of the officers come up from below, and run toward the bridge. there was something in his manner that startled alice, and she sat up suddenly, exclaiming: "i hope nothing has happened!" "happened? why should it? what do you mean?" asked ruth. but immediately a look of fear came into her own eyes--a look born of suggestion merely. "oh, i don't know," and alice tried to laugh, but it did not ring true. "it was just a notion--" she did not finish, for another officer came on the run from forward, and he, too, sought the bridge. then the two girls saw curling up from one of the hatchways on the lower forward deck, a little wisp of smoke, and immediately afterward there sounded through the ship the clanging of bells. "what's that?" cried ruth, casting aside her rug, and struggling to her feet, no easy matter from a steamer chair. "what's that?" "some alarm," said alice, faintly. paul came running toward them. "oh, what is it?" gasped ruth, impulsively clasping him by the arm. "don't be frightened," said paul, but alice noticed that his lips trembled a little. "it's only a--fire drill." as he spoke there was an outpouring of sailors from many places, and lines of hose were reeled out. the wisp of smoke from the forward hatchway had increased now, though the hatch cover was on. up on the bridge the girls could see the captain leaving his post in charge of one of the officers. the ship, too, seemed to be turning about. "are you sure it is only fire--_drill_?" asked alice. "why, that's what a sailor told me," answered paul, slowly. "look," said alice, and she pointed to the curling smoke. more clanging bells resounded, and more lines of hose were run out. there was no doubt, now, that the _tarsus_ was making a complete turn. then, as the captain and one officer left the bridge there rang out the cry: "fire! fire! the ship's on fire! lower the boats!" chapter v disabled panics start so easily, especially at the mere mention of the word "fire," that it is no wonder there was at once an incipient one aboard the _tarsus_. but the captain, who was a veteran, acted promptly and efficiently. some of the sailors had made a rush for the boats, but the captain, coming down from the bridge on the run, flung himself in front of the excited men. he pushed one or two of them aside so violently that they fell to the deck. then the commander, in a voice that rang out above the startled calls, cried out: "get back, you cowards! if we do take to the boats it will be women and children first! but we're not going to! stop that noise!" his hand went, with an unmistakable gesture, to his pocket. perhaps he was about to draw a weapon, but there was no need. his ringing words, the lash of "coward," that cut like a knife, and his bearing, had an immediate effect. "stop those shouts of 'fire!'" he cried, and the excited men and women became quiet. "now get back to your places--every one of you!" he ordered the sailors. "you ought to be ashamed of yourselves, to leave your mates to answer the fire call alone," and he pointed to where a number of hands were about the hatchway, from which smoke was still coming. but the wind was taking it away from the ship now, which was the reason why the vessel had been turned around. "get to your quarters!" the captain commanded, and the men slunk away. the danger of a panic was over--at least for the time. ruth and alice stood where they had risen from their steamer chairs, their hands clasped, and alice had thrust her rosy palm into the broad one of paul. he held it reassuringly. "oh, what shall we do?" murmured ruth. "there isn't another ship in sight," added alice, as she looked about the horizon. "we can call one soon enough," said paul. "they'll start the wireless if they have to." mr. devere came hurrying up, his eyes searching about for his daughters. a look of relief came over his face as he saw them. "you had better go below, and get what things you can save while there is time," he said, hoarsely. "we may have to take to the boats any minute." "listen, the captain is going to say something," warned paul. nearly all the passengers were now gathered on deck, as were most of the sailors, but the latter were engaged in fighting the fire through the forward hatchway. those who were not needed at that particular place were at the other fire stations, in readiness for any emergency. the _tarsus_ now lay motionless on the ocean, rolling to and fro slowly under the influence of a gentle swell. there was scarcely any wind, and the smoke, which had constantly grown thicker and blacker, even with the efforts made to subdue the flames, arose in a straight pillar of cloud. "there is no danger!" began the captain, and there were a few murmurs at these rather trite words under the circumstances. "i mean just what i say!" went on the commander, and there was no mistaking his sincerity. "there is no danger--at present," he continued. "there is a slight fire among the cargo in one of the small forward holds. but it is cut off from the rest of the ship by fire-proof doors, and we are flooding that compartment. the fire will be out shortly, i expect. "so there is absolutely no need of taking to the boats. later on, if there should be, i will give you ample warning, and i might add that we carry a sufficient complement of boats and life rafts to accommodate all. and should we take to the boats, the weather is in our favor. so you see you should not worry." "but suppose we have to take to the boats at night?" asked mr. sneed, who seemed to have the faculty for hitting on the most unhappy aspect of any situation. "the fire cannot possibly get beyond control before morning, even if it is not put out," the captain replied. "so there will be no need of boats in the night. even if there were, we have powerful searchlights, and each boat carries her own storage battery lighting plant. now, please be reasonable." his words had a calming effect, and those who had rushed up to take to the boats now began to disperse. russ, who had come on deck with mr. devere, was seen talking to mr. pertell. as the two advanced toward ruth and alice the girls heard russ saying: "i'm going to make moving pictures of the fire scenes." "a good idea!" commented mr. pertell. "if the captain will let you." "i'll ask him." captain falcon, after a moment of consideration, agreed that the young operator might take views showing the fire-fighters at work. "i wish i had had it going when they made that rush for the boat, though," russ said. "i am glad you did not," returned the captain, gravely. "i would not have an audience see what cowards some of my men were to so far forget themselves. that is better forgotten. doubtless they were mad with fear. but i am glad you did not get that picture." russ, however, might be pardoned for still wishing he had it, for he had the true instinct of a moving picture operator--he wanted to get everything possible. he now set up his camera in different parts of the ship, and made a number of separate views. the black smoke would come out particularly well on the film, he knew. the men were shown at their various stations, and of those at the hatchway where the smoke came up, several different views were made. captain falcon was also shown, directing the fire-fighting. in order to cut off the draft from the fire the hatchway had been covered with heavy tarpaulins, the hose being put through holes cut in them. there was some relaxation of the tension following the captain's little speech, but even yet there were serious faces among the passengers, as the volume of smoke seemed to grow instead of diminish. captain falcon, too, was observed to be laboring under a strain. "i wonder if it is true--as he says--that there is no danger?" observed alice, as she, paul and ruth walked about uneasily, pausing now and then to observe the men at work. "oh, i think so," answered paul, quickly. "he would have no object in deceiving us, and let matters go so long that it would be necessary to take a risk in getting to the boats. if he did that he might be censured by the owners. i think he really believes there is no danger. and when he thinks otherwise he will give us ample warning." "let us hope so," murmured mr. devere. "fire is a terrible element--terrible, and at sea there is nothing more awful! i trust we may be spared from it." "let's go see if the wireless is working," suggested ruth. "it will take our minds off the fire to know that help is being called for--and perhaps on the way." "yes, it is working," announced alice, as they drew near the quarters occupied by the wireless operator and heard the spiteful snapping of the notched wheel of the spark-gap apparatus. they looked in and saw the operator with the telephone receivers on his ears, while with nervous fingers he pressed the key that made and broke the circuit, thus sending out from the wire aerials between the masts the dots and dashes that, flying through the air, were received on other aerials and translated from meaningless clicks into words fraught with meaning. "i must get a picture of that, too," observed russ, as he came up behind paul, ruth and alice. "may i?" he asked of the captain, who, at that moment came to give an order. "yes," nodded the commander. and while the vivid blue spark shot from the revolving wheel to the connection, where it was made and interrupted as the operator pressed the key, or allowed it to spring up, russ made a short film. the young man who was sending a message looked up as he finished and smiled at the group observing him. "i got that smile, too," russ informed him. "did you get any reply?" asked captain falcon, as the operator removed the receivers in order to hear the commander's question. "the _bell_, of the downing line, is within fifty miles of us," the operator replied. "she can come up when we need her." "i don't think we shall," the captain said. "but kindly ask her to stand by during the night." "then the fire isn't altogether under control?" asked paul. "not as much so as i would like to see it," answered the commander, frankly. "but we are keeping at it." he wrote out the message he wished sent to the _bell_, and then the little audience gathered again at the door of the wireless room to watch the operator at work. russ made films as long as the daylight lasted, but finally the coming of night forced him to stop, and he put away his camera. the fighting of the fire still went on, though little of it could be observed now. there were no flames to be seen, but doubtless, down in the hold, where the cargo burned, there were angry, red tongues of fire. but the compartment was kept closed. it was now nearly full of water, the captain reported, and the fire must soon be extinguished. "unless it has crept to another compartment," ventured mr. sneed. "hush! don't let anyone hear you say such things!" cried russ, indignantly. dinner was not a very cheerful meal, but all managed to eat something. and the night was an uneasy one. what sleep there was came only in catnaps, for there was the constant noise of the pumps, and the running about of the sailors on the decks. the _tarsus_ was still motionless, save only as she rolled with the sea, which was still calm. captain falcon found that to proceed would be to drive the smoke aft into the cabins, and he did not want to do this. so he had the main engines shut down. through the night the fire was fought, and in the morning it was a gray and haggard captain who faced the anxious group of passengers gathered in the main saloon. "what is the report?" asked mr. pertell. "not very encouraging," was the answer. "we are now disabled, and the fire is still burning." chapter vi by wireless for a moment no one spoke, after the portentous words of captain falcon. men and women looked at each other. the members of the moving picture company glanced from face to face. what would come next? "does this mean--does it indicate that we are to take to the boats?" asked mr. devere, solemnly. "not necessarily," the captain replied. "i have come to put the matter plainly to you. the fire gained, in the night, and it reached the engine room compartment. we are, therefore, temporarily disabled, and cannot proceed, as we could have done had not this occurred. for we had the first blaze out. "now, those who wish will be put into life boats, with such of their belongings as it is practicable to take with them." "what is the other alternative?" asked mr. pertell, as the captain paused, thus indicating that he had another proposition to make. "the second question is--will you wait for the _bell_ to come up? she is within about fifty miles of us, i should judge, and can reach us inside of three hours." "in the meanwhile--the fire may gain?" suggested mr. sneed in gloomy tones. "it may--yes. it probably will, if it reaches the coal bunkers. that is what i am afraid of, and why i speak thus plainly." "then i'm going to take to a boat!" exclaimed the "grouch." "so will i!" put in mr. bunn. "wait," advised mr. pertell. "if possible i wish to keep all the members of my company together. i have not the fear that some of you have. i trust captain falcon." "thank you!" exclaimed the commander, evidently greatly pleased with this mark of confidence. "at the same time i stand ready to lower boats for those who may wish it. the sea is comparatively calm, and you will have to use boats anyhow, if you are taken off by the _bell_." "must that be done?" asked alice, in a low voice. "if we cannot subdue the fire, i am afraid so, miss devere," answered the captain. "but there is no danger in that. it is often done." "then i say, let's wait for the other vessel," decided mr. devere. "there may finally be no necessity for leaving our own ship, i take it?" he asked. "there may--it's a chance." "then let's take it!" cried russ. "how will you summon the _bell_?" "by wireless. i was only waiting for your decision to write out the message. she has been expecting a call from us, but she has probably drifted farther off than she was last evening. i will summon her." a little later the wireless began crackling out its call to the unseen _bell_, and preparations were made to lower away the boats promptly, in case the fire should suddenly gain greater headway. then there was nothing to do but wait, and fight the flames. "i insist, though, on being put in a boat!" cried mr. sneed. "i want to get off this dangerous ship." "i do, too!" exclaimed mr. bunn. "i advise you both to stick to this ship," spoke mr. pertell, seriously. "never!" cried the grouch, and the former shakespearean actor echoed the word. "let them go," decided captain falcon, in a low voice to the moving picture manager. "i can send them away in a boat, with some sailors, and tell my men to row slowly, so as not to take them too far away from us. then, when the _bell_ comes up, they can go aboard her, if our fire is not out by then. let them go." "all right," agreed mr. pertell, and orders were given to lower a boat. mr. bunn and mr. sneed got together what belongings they could, and entered it. "i must get a moving picture of this!" cried russ. "do!" said mr. pertell. "i forbid it!" exclaimed mr. sneed. perhaps he did not want to be shown deserting the ship and the company. but russ brought out his camera, and soon the film was moving, as the boat was lowered to the surface of the sea. then it was soon pulling away from the _tarsus_, and russ got those views too. "wait! wait for me!" cried a voice, and up on deck came mr. towne. he had a valise in each hand, which probably contained his best suits. "wait!" he cried. "i want to be saved, too." "there's no danger; you'll be saved more by staying here than by going with them," said mr. pertell. "besides, you might soil your clothing if you went in the small boat. another ship is coming for us." "oh--er--i certainly would not like to spoil any of my suits--the one i fell overboard in is almost ruined. i--er--i ah--shall stay!" and he went below again. the wireless was still crackling out its call for aid, and soon an answer was received, saying that the _bell_ was on her way. "she's coming!" cried the operator, as he gave the dispatch to the captain. russ, who had enough of the pictures of mr. bunn and mr. sneed leaving in the boat, filmed the captain in the act of receiving this message of good cheer. later it was worked into a stirring drama, called "the burning ship." with all else that was going on, the work of fighting the blaze in the hold was not for a moment given up. water and live steam were turned in among the cargo, the pumping apparatus fortunately not having been disabled when the rest of the machinery went out of commission. russ made more moving pictures, since he now had a good light, and as the fire-fighting was in another part of the ship it made a different series of views. "oh, isn't this the most awful thing you ever saw, or heard of?" cried miss pennington, coming on deck where ruth and alice stood. "fate seems to be against us at every turn!" she was very pale, and looked wretched, as did her chum miss dixon. "i guess they didn't take time to make up their complexions," whispered alice. "hush!" cautioned her sister. "i could cry!" declared miss dixon. "i never slept a wink all night." she looked it, too. "oh, we'll be all right," said paul. "the other ship is coming for us, and if necessary we can be transferred to her." "will we have to go in one of the small boats, like that?" miss pennington wanted to know, as she pointed to the one in which were mr. bunn and mr. sneed, some distance off, now. "that's the only kind they have on board," said mr. devere, who had shortly before joined his daughters. "oh, i never could go in one of those--never!" the former vaudeville actress cried, tragically. "ha! dose is goot boats! i in der german nafy vos," put in mr. switzer, "und dey are fery safe." "oh, but they look so small, and they hold so little. how can one get enough to eat in them?" asked miss dixon, clasping her hands, and looking with her rather effective eyes, first at mr. towne, and then at paul. "ha! you dakes along vot you eat!" exclaimed the german. "pretzels iss fine! haf one!" and he extended a handful of small ones. since the company had been snowbound he had always a few in his pocket. he called them his "mascots." "no, thank you. i never eat them!" declared miss dixon, with turned-up nose. "let's go see if there is any further report by wireless from the _bell_," suggested ruth, who saw kindling wrath in the eyes of her sister. alice never could get along well with the two actresses, and she was very likely to say something that might lead to a quarrel. "i'll come along," said paul. "so will i," echoed mr. towne. in spite of his affected mannerisms, he could be "nice," at times. it was ruth who had said this, but then ruth had such a kind heart that she generally found a good quality in nearly everyone, whatever their failings. "yes, she's coming on at full speed," reported the wireless operator. "she'll be with us in about an hour, now. and i guess it's time, too," he added in a low voice. "why?" asked russ, when the girls had passed on. "because i believe the fire is gaining. i think it's in one of the coal bunkers now, and that means it will burn steadily, and may eat through the side of the ship." the operator turned to his apparatus, for he had been told to keep in constant communication with the oncoming rescue ship. as paul rejoined the girls, there sounded through the _tarsus_ a dull explosion, that made the ship tremble. the commander was hurrying along the deck. many of the passengers, who had gone below to pack their belongings in anticipation of being transferred, now came rushing out of their staterooms. "what was it?" "are we going to blow up?" "is the ship sinking?" "don't be alarmed!" captain falcon exhorted them, but, even as he spoke, there came a second dull rumbling, a trembling of the vessel, and another explosion, louder than the first. there were screams from frightened women and children, and a number of men passengers made a rush for the boats, as the sailors had done before. chapter vii in port "stand back!" cried captain falcon, and again his hand went to his pocket as though to draw a weapon. "stand back! the same rule applies to you men passengers as to the sailors. women and children first! do you hear? stand back!" the rush was halted almost before it started. then mr. switzer, who had taken no part in it, said slowly: "dot is right. gentlemen, ve are forgetting ourselves!" "and it took him--above everyone else--to remind them of it," said mr. devere in a low voice. he had remained by the side of his daughters. "mr. switzer is a bigger man than any of us thought," murmured ruth. "oh, daddy, is the boat going to sink?" "we are going to be blown up!" exclaimed a big man, who, with others, had made a half start for the boat, and then had hung back shamefacedly. "if you say that again!" cried paul, in a fierce whisper, "i'll throw you overboard! this is no time to start a panic!" the man slunk away. there came another explosion, not so loud as the first, but enough to cause the men to start involuntarily, and to bring frantic screams from the women passengers. "what is that, captain?" asked mr. pertell. "nothing to be alarmed about," was the calm answer. "they sound alarming enough," declared a woman. "but they are not," the commander insisted. "they are only slight explosions of coal gas in some of the bunkers. the fire is slowly eating into them but the explosions are not heavy enough to cause any serious damage to the ship. "the _bell_ will soon be up to us. in fact, we could see her now, were it not for the slight haze. and, as it is evident that you will have to be taken off in her, i am going to lower the boats, and let you row away from this ship. "you will be picked up by the _bell_ as soon as she gets here, and, in any event, you would have to take to the small boats. so you might as well start. i will have all your baggage brought on deck ready for transfer," he added to the moving picture manager. "very good," assented mr. pertell. "i am sorry this has occurred, but perhaps it is best that we leave the ship." "it will be better for your peace of mind, though really i think we can conquer the fire," the captain went on. "but we are disabled, and may not be able to proceed for some time." "what are you going to do when we are gone?" asked alice, who, with ruth, had recovered some of her equanimity by this time. "are you coming with us, captain falcon--you and your sailors?" "i am going to stick by the ship!" he answered, and there was a proud ring in his voice. "i believe i can save her, and then we'll make repairs, and get to port under our own steam. i want to save the owners salvage, if i can." "there speaks a brave man," murmured mr. devere. "and there are many such unknown, who are going down the sea in ships every day. a brave man!" "man the falls!" ordered captain falcon to those sailors who were not engaged in fighting the fire. "man the falls, and stand by to lower the boats!" "oh, must we really go in those little things?" cried miss pennington, as she heard this. "certainly," answered russ, who was near her. "you wouldn't expect to swim; would you?" "horrid thing!" snapped the actress. "come, laura. don't leave me. i'm so frightened!" "so am i," declared her companion. "it's awful!" "their fright hasn't made them pale, at any rate," whispered alice. "they've taken on color, lately." "oh, my dear, you mustn't say such things," chided ruth. the work of getting the passengers and their baggage into the boats was soon under way. there was some confusion, not a little evidence of fright on the part of many, and some tears. but among the bravest were little tommie and nellie. they thought it all a lark, and probably, in their case, it was the bliss of ignorance. russ, who had been standing near ruth and alice, suddenly started for his stateroom. "where are you going?" asked ruth, as the call came for them to take their places in a boat. "for my moving picture camera! i'm going to get views of this. it's too good to miss!" "it seems so--so--" began ruth, but alice interrupted with: "why shouldn't he get the film? there is really no danger of death, and it is a chance that he may never have again. a film like this could be worked into a great play!" "spoken like a real artist of the movies!" cried mr. pertell. "go ahead, russ. get all you can; but don't take any chances." then the young operator busied himself with making a film that was afterward said to be one of the best in the world showing a rescue from a burning ship. and the beauty of it was that it was real. there was no posing, and the ship was not an old hulk chartered for the occasion, and set fire to, as has been done more than once. as the women and children were first helped to the boats, and the craft then carefully lowered to the sea, russ took picture after picture. fortunately the sea and weather were both calm, and, after the first little fright, no one made any disturbance. the boat containing mr. bunn and mr. sneed had returned part way to the ship, the sailors having heard the explosions, and desiring to aid in the work of saving the passengers if there was any need, for their craft could hold many more. but there was no need. there was ample room in the other boats, and, as captain falcon had said, the explosions were really of little moment--at least, for the present. boat after boat was loaded and lowered away, and not an accident marred the work. true, mrs. maguire, in her anxiety to see that nellie and tommy were safe, nearly fell overboard, but a burly sailor caught her just in time. "how are you coming on, russ?" asked mr. pertell who, with pop snooks, was seeing to the bringing up of the baggage, and the other property of the moving picture company. "fine," answered the young operator. "this will be a great film!" "glad to hear it! it will be our turn soon." "i'm going to stick till the last boat. i want to get all the views i can." russ spoke simply, but he well knew the danger he ran in remaining until the last boat was sent away. the ship might be in no real danger; even as captain falcon had said; but, on the other hand, the fire might have spread more than the commander realized. but russ, like many another picture operator, was not afraid to do his duty as he saw it, even in the face of danger. suddenly a great shout arose. "wonder what's happened now?" remarked mr. pertell. he knew a moment later, for the shout took to itself words: "the ship!" "the rescue ship!" "there comes the _bell_!" sweeping up through the mist came the ship that had responded to the wireless calls for aid. on she came at full speed, and when she caught sight of the _tarsus_ she sent out a reassuring blast from her great whistle. it was answered in kind. "now you're all right!" cried captain falcon over the side, to those in the small boats. "row the passengers over to her," he ordered the sailors, "and then come back to your ship!" "aye, aye, sir!" was the answer. and be it said to the credit of those sailors that not one of them shirked, or tried to desert, which might have been easily forgiven in the face of the danger. "i've got to get a picture of her!" cried russ, as he focused the camera on the oncoming ship. and a fine picture he obtained. "oh, now we're all right, daddy!" cried ruth, as she nestled close to her father. mr. devere had been allowed to go in the boat with his daughters, as there was plenty of room, and all the other women had been provided for. "i wasn't worrying," declared alice. "oh yes, it's easy to say that now," sighed ruth. "but i'm sorry for poor captain falcon." "he is a brave man," said mr. devere, again. the _bell_ came as close as was safe, and a little later the small boats rowed to her accommodation ladder, which had been lowered. then began the risky work of getting from the small boats to this ladder, and so aboard the _bell_. for there was now a little sea on, and the boats rose and fell to a considerable degree. but the sailors were skillful, and soon all the passengers and baggage were transferred. russ was the last to leave the _tarsus_, and the last to go aboard the _bell_, for he wanted every view he could get. he was received with a cheer, given not only by his friends, but by the passengers and crew of the _bell_. for mr. pertell had told of the devotion to duty of the young operator, and his act was duly appreciated. back to the burning vessel--perhaps, for all they knew, back to their doom--rowed the sailors of the _tarsus_. the chief mate of the _bell_, at the request of his commander, went to consult with captain falcon. on returning, the mate reported that captain falcon felt he could get the fire under control, and also make repairs to enable him to get his ship to port. "then we will proceed," said captain blackstone, of the _bell_. he gave the signal to go ahead, and soon the ill-fated _tarsus_, with the smoke pall hanging about her, was left behind. but it is a pleasure to record that, after a hard fight, captain falcon and his men did subdue the flames, and, after harder work, temporary repairs enabled them to limp into port. thus the commander saved his ship, and also avoided the payment, on the part of the owners, of heavy salvage. later he was suitably rewarded by his superiors. "oh, but what an experience!" lamented miss pennington, as she sank into a steamer chair after the rescue. "i wonder what sort of a stateroom we'll have here, laura?" "they'll be lucky if they get even a berth," grumbled paul. for the _bell_ carried a number of passengers, and the addition of those from the _tarsus_ rather crowded her. but accommodations were found for all, though the quarters were rather cramped. the _bell_ was bound direct for st. augustine, and in due season, and without further mishap, the moving picture company reached that oldest city in the united states. chapter viii st. augustine "oh, isn't it beautiful!" "the most gorgeous place i ever saw!" alice and ruth were standing in the doorway of the hotel to which the moving picture company had been taken. they were looking out into the ladies' court--into a sun-lit and palm-girded garden, wherein a fountain played, the water falling with a musical tinkling. birds flitted here and there amid the bright flowers, but to the moving picture girls the palms seemed the most wonderful of all. such palms! "i never realized that the great creator could make anything so beautiful," murmured ruth, reverently. "and, oh! alice; to think that _we_ can enjoy it!" "yes, isn't it wonderful, after all the storm and stress of the fire, to be in this lovely, calm place?" "and the best part of it is that we're getting _paid_ for it!" observed a voice behind the two girls. they turned, with a start, for they had lost themselves in a dreaming reverie, to find russ and paul smiling at them. it was paul who spoke. "it does seem a shame to take the money under these circumstances," added russ, with a laugh. "it's like a vacation," agreed alice. "oh, but isn't it just--just too--" she was evidently searching for a fitting simile. "alice," warned ruth, gently. she was endeavoring to wean her sister from the habit of using slang expressions; but alice always boasted that she liked to take "short cuts," and that slang--that is, her refined variety--offered the best method of accomplishing this very desirable object. "oh, i was only just going to say--scrumptious!" laughed the younger girl. "you don't mind that; do you, sister mine? this is really the most scrumptiously scrumptious place i've ever seen!" "i'm afraid you're hopeless," was the smiling retort. "well, it's certainly swell--that's my word for it," answered russ, with a frank laugh. indeed, mr. pertell had not spared expense in taking out his moving picture company. and he had a method in going to one of the largest and finest hotels in st. augustine. he intended to stage some scenes of one of the southern plays there, and having his actors and actresses right in the hotel made it much more practical. "let's take a walk," proposed russ. "there's nothing to do to-day." it was the morning after their arrival and mr. pertell was not quite ready to proceed with making films. the fire aboard the _tarsus_, and the necessity of taking another vessel, had rather upset everyone, so a day or so of rest had been decided upon. "where shall we go?" asked alice, readily falling in with the proposal. "you'll come, won't you, ruth?" "i think so--yes." "there are lots of places to see," suggested paul. "this is the oldest city in the united states. i've got some guide books up in my room, and a lot of views. we'll pick out some points of interest and visit them." "we'll have plenty of chance to see the sights," remarked russ. "i understand there are to be a number of films made in the city and vicinity, so you'll probably have to act out around fort marion and at fort mantanzas, as well as in the slave market. i'll be with you in a minute. i just want to get my little hand camera, to make a few snap-shots." while waiting for him and paul to return, the girls slipped up to their room a minute. "just to freshen up," as alice put it, though really there was no need in her case, nor on the part of ruth, either. the day was perfect--like summer--and the girls, knowing they were coming to the land of the palm and orange blossom, had brought suitable dresses. ruth wore white, with a mere suggestion of trimming in blue, and with her fair hair and blue eyes she was a picture that made more than one man--elderly as well as young--turn for a second look. the darker beauty of alice was well set off by her dress of light tan pongee with maroon trimming, and her sparkling brown eyes were dancing with life, and the love of life, as she came out to join her sister and the young men. "primping, as usual," mocked russ, but with a laugh that took the sting out of his words. "naturally," agreed alice, determined not to let him "fuss" her. they strolled out under the beautiful loggia, through an avenue of palms and many tropical plants, and breathed deeply of the perfumed air. "oh, it is perfect--just perfect!" sighed ruth. "i think the garden of paradise must have been in florida." "there you go!" cried alice. "first you know you'll want to go off and live the simple life under a palm tree, with bananas for lunch and oranges for dinner. and when your--er--your hero--we'll say, comes riding on that milk-white steed i so despise, you'll be so thin that he won't know you." "thank you!" returned her sister. "but a _svelte_ figure is much to be desired these days." "not that you're getting stout!" declared alice. "really it is i who ought to diet on bananas and--" "orange blossoms," finished paul. "thanks," and she bowed gracefully to him. "well, paul, where is it to be--you're the guide?" asked russ, as they emerged on king street. "where's your map?" "i have it. what do you say we go out to the old city gates, and then to fort marion?" "wherever you say," agreed alice. "it is all new to us." they soon reached the north bend of st. george street and stood before the old city gates. these once formed part of the northerly line of defence of the ancient city. "built in ," declaimed alice, as she read from the bronze tablet set in the masonry by the d.a.r. "my, how long ago that seems; doesn't it?" "a mere trifle!" replied russ, airily. "get together there, and i'll snap you," he invited. "if you think that's old we'll go to the fountain of youth a little later, and renew our youngness." "oh, is that really here?" cried ruth, with such sudden interest that they all laughed. "yes, my ancient sister, it is," said alice. "dost wish to quaff a cup?" "merely for the novelty of it--yes," answered ruth, and she too, laughed. her cheeks were the color of bridesmaid roses, and russ, as he looked at her, wished-- but there--what's the use of being mean and telling on a good chap? the pictures taken, they strolled on. at fort marion, on the banks of the mantanzas river, they found much of interest; but agreed to explore it more in detail at another time. "you'll have to be filmed here, anyhow," russ told the girls. "there's an important drama, with several scenes, laid here." "are we in it?" asked ruth. "yes, the whole company; and mr. pertell said he'd have to hire some supers, too." by this russ meant that the manager would have to engage extra persons to impersonate the unimportant characters in the play, as is often done in "mob" scenes in the theaters. "now for the orange grove, and then--the fountain of youth!" cried paul, as they came out of the old fort. "what a delightful combination!" exclaimed alice. "youth--and--orange blossoms!" and she clapped her hands, her eyes shining. "be careful," warned ruth in a low voice, as the young men went on ahead. "why, sister of mine?" "don't talk so much of orange blossoms." "pooh! i'm not thinking of getting married!" "oh, alice!" "well, wasn't that what you meant?" "not at all, i only meant--" "i don't believe you knew what you did mean. come on, we'll be lost!" and she caught ruth by the arm and hurried on after russ and paul. chapter ix in the dungeon "oh, if we could only stay here forever!" "it would be paradise!" thus ruth and alice exclaimed as they entered the orange grove, a short distance from the city gates. and indeed the scene that greeted them, and the sweet odors, might well call for this praise and desire from even the most _blasé_ tourist. even russ, grown accustomed by his calling to odd scenes, was impressed by the wonderful sight, and as for paul, who had something of the romantic nature of ruth, it was a pure delight to him. "i wonder if they will take any pictures here?" said ruth, softly--at first it seemed as if one must talk in whispers so as not to disturb the beauty of the place. "oh, i'm going to film you here," announced russ. "stand still a moment and i'll snap you now. there's a pretty place." ruth and alice assumed graceful poses, and soon their likenesses were registered on the film. russ never tired of taking pictures, and when he was not making moving ones he was using his small hand camera. how many times he had taken the likeness of ruth it would be hard to estimate. they wandered about the orange grove, and the young men bought some of the delicious fruit, right from the trees, and fully ripe. it had a flavor all its own. "let me show you how to eat an orange," suggested one of the men of the grove, as he saw the young people going about, "in the way it is usually done when no orange spoons are to be had." "somebody has said," went on the man, "that you need to lean over a bathtub to eat an orange this way, but it's worth while. you get a little smeared up doing it; but you can wash in the spring over there," and he pointed to one amid a pile of stones. then with his keen knife he cut the orange in a peculiar spiral manner, with the skin left on so that eventually he had a long yellow strip, with the sections of orange clinging to the yellow rind. "now, all you've got to do is to run your mouth along that strip," he directed, "and you get all the juice--that is, all you don't miss. it takes a little practice; but i've got some black boys that can get every drop. watch!" rapidly he ate along the extended strip of skin, to which clung the cut sections of orange. in a moment it was clean. "it's an awfully crude way of doing it--but, as long as we're in an orange grove, let's do as the orange 'grovers' do," laughed alice. "i'm game!" cried paul. "same here!" put in russ, and they cut their oranges as the man had done. the latter then prepared one each for ruth and alice, and amid much laughter--the girls and the young men leaning far over so as not to drip the juice on their clothes--they finished the delicious fruit. "now bring on your bathtub!" cried russ. "there's the spring," the man said. "there's a basin near it, and it's clean." laughing over the new way of eating oranges, but voting that it was worth while, even if it was a bit "smeary," the young folks washed their hands and faces, and kept on through the grove, growing more and more glad at every step that they had come to florida. "and now for the fountain of youth!" cried paul. "i don't feel that i need it, after that delicious orange," laughed ruth. "indeed, if you get any younger, you'll go back to kindergarten days," remarked paul. "thank you. i don't want to be quite as young as that." the fountain of youth, one of the curiosities of st. augustine, is on myrtle avenue, two blocks north of the orange grove, and the four laughing young people were soon there. "is this really the fountain ponce de leon thought would give eternal youth?" asked ruth, half-seriously, as they stood near the little roofed-over spring. "that is the legend," declared paul. "of course that's not saying it's so. but the spring has one peculiar quality." "what's that?" asked russ. "the waters rise and fall without any particular cause. sometimes they are higher than at others, and none of the other wells, or springs, in this vicinity do that. so you see it may be miraculous after all." "let's try it," suggested alice, who was always ready for anything new. "oh, but perhaps it isn't good water," objected ruth, more cautious. "we may get typhoid, or something like that." "nonsense!" laughed alice, but she looked questioningly at paul. "lots of people drink the water," he said. "allow me," and he lowered a small bucket attached to a rope made fast to the roof of the well. he drew it up, brimming over, and with a low bow handed some of the water to alice, pouring it into a small collapsible cup he happened to have with him. "drink! and may you never grow old!" he said, and there was more of meaning in his eyes than in his words. "we'll all sample it!" cried russ, and as ruth was induced, just for the fun of the thing, to try some, they heard the murmur of voices behind them. "save some for us!" was the call, and miss pennington and miss dixon came up. "we'll all be young together," said alice. though she and her sister were not very chummy with the two former vaudeville actresses, they were not exactly unfriendly. and who could be unfriendly in that beautiful spot, and on the reputed site of the fountain of youth? "the more you drink the younger you get!" bantered paul, as miss dixon asked him for a second cup. "gracious, then i'll turn into a baby," exclaimed miss pennington. "i've been here once before this morning, and i took several glasses." "back to juvenile rôles for yours!" cried russ. "mr. pertell will have to look for another leading lady." "i haven't noticed any effect yet," she said, as she took out a vanity box, and surreptitiously used her chamois, leaving a more brilliant tint on her face. "it takes time," went on russ, half-seriously. "you will awaken in the morning, crying for a rattle." thus they made merry near the well, with its queer square stones built into pillars to hold up the roof. "poor ponce de leon," sighed ruth. "how disappointed he must have been when he found out that his life was slipping away in spite of the fountain of youth. i wonder if he really believed he had found it?" "he couldn't have--when he came to die," remarked russ, practically. "but it is a pretty story," ruth said, softly. "poor ponce de leon!" "the indians told him this was the fountain," said paul, who had been reading history. "near this fountain was found a large coquina cross. the cross was located by the discovery of a silver casque, which contained documents telling of the matter, and one seems to fix the date of the first visit of ponce de leon to florida. that was in , according to the documents found in the casque. "am i boring you?" he asked quickly, for he thought the two former vaudeville actresses looked as though they wanted to talk of something else besides dry historical facts. "no, indeed!" cried alice. "i just love to hear about this." "do go on," urged ruth, and even miss pennington condescended to say: "it sounds interesting." "i'll read you what one of the old documents said," went on paul. "'as we bore down upon him we found him to be an indian, in a skin boat with a skin sail, running to a point twenty feet in the air, with a bow at the top. in the boat, which i describe in my descriptive image, i went ashore with the indian. we landed near a spring that they call the fountain of youth; there they had a temple built where they worshipped the sun, and there i built a cross out of coquina, which is a natural formation of the sea, and i laid it with the rising and setting sun. in the heart of the cross i placed a descriptive image of myself, and took possession in the name of our beloved catholic king.' "that's in the document," went on paul, "and the paper was given to the united states, through courtesy of the governor of sevilla, in ." "how interesting," murmured alice. "and to think that we are standing on such historic ground! think of the ancient indians worshipping the sun here," and she looked up at the flaming orb. "the sun is paying altogether too much attention to me!" complained miss pennington, with a laugh. "it will spoil my complexion, in spite of the fountain of youth. i must be going." "oh, by the way, russ," she called back over her shoulder, "mr. pertell was looking for you." "was he?" asked the young operator. "then i'd better be getting back." "i fancy we all had," spoke ruth. "it must be near lunch time. come along, alice." russ, back at the hotel, found that the manager had decided to make as the first film one showing some of his players at fort marion, and he wanted russ to go out there with him and plan the scenario, which would be undertaken in a day or two. the time quickly passed, for it was so lovely in st. augustine, and there were so many things to see, that night seemed to follow quickly on the heels of morning. arrangements having been made, the company one morning went to the old fort and there russ filmed many scenes. the play was to be called "the spanish prisoner," the background of the old fort being most effective. the players were filmed, going through their various parts on what was once the drawbridge in front of the portcullis, near the old watchtower on the stairway that was originally an inclined way, by which artillery was hauled up to the _terre plein_. ruth and alice were in many of the scenes, but there came a rest for alice who, always interested in matters of antiquity, wandered about the old fort by herself, ruth and mr. devere being engaged. the girl finally made her way to what had been the old guard room and dungeon. in the guard room was a table and some chairs, for the fort is in charge of a detachment from the united states army, and accommodations are provided for visitors. alice sat down in one of the chairs, and looked at the big open fire-place at one end of the guard rooms. she recalled some of its history that paul had read to her that morning. the dungeon was accidently discovered in and two iron cages, containing the skeletons of a man and woman, were found fastened to the wall. "poor creatures! what a horror it must have been!" thought alice, as she looked toward the narrow opening to the black dungeon. "ugh! it's getting on my nerves, staying here!" she exclaimed, for she was all alone. "i'm going!" as she rose she heard a noise near the doorway by which she had entered. turning quickly, expecting to see one of the company, she was horrified to see by the light which entered through a barred window, an aged colored man facing her. he did not approach, but bowing before her exclaimed in quavering tones: "den i find yo', my missie! old jake look eberywhere fo' you,' but he find yo'! i knowed i'd find yo' some day, an' now i has, but it's been a pow'ful long time, honey! a long time!" and with outstretched hands, as he took a battered hat from his head, he approached her. alice screamed and got behind the table. chapter x the motor races with wildly beating heart, alice watched the approach of the colored man, and then, somehow or other, it came to her in a flash that she need not fear him. his bearing was most deferential, as of some old slave toward a cherished mistress. his manner was gentle and, after advancing a short distance toward her, he stopped, bowed again, placed his battered hat over his heart, and said: "i knowed i'd find yo' some day, missie, an' now i has. yo' ain't gwine t' send po' ole jake away; is yo', missie?" alice, having repressed the desire to scream, was now more calm and, as quietly as she could she said: "you must go out of here, jake. go out, and i will come out, too." "yes'm, missie, dat's what i'll do," he said. "ole jake'll do jest as his missis says. oh, but it' pow'ful good t' see you' once mo', missie!" "you must go now," repeated alice, firmly. and, without another word, he turned and shuffled out. but he had no sooner reached the entrance to the dungeon than alice, who had remained behind the table, not knowing whether to go out or not, saw the old colored man seized by a soldier--one of those detailed at the fort. "here now, jake!" the soldier exclaimed, "haven't i told you time and again to keep away from here? you know you haven't any right to come in this part of the fort!" "yais, sah, cunnel, i knows it, sah," replied the aged negro, with a low bow. "but yo' see, i done found mah li'l missie what i'se been lookin' fo' so long! dat's why i come heah!" "great scott! have you been bothering some of the women visitors?" cried the soldier and, wheeling about on his heel, he hurried into the dungeon, which alice had just decided to leave. he met her coming out, and by her agitated manner must have guessed that something had happened. "i beg your pardon, miss," began the soldier, with a salute, "but has old jake annoyed you?" "oh, not at all," she answered, as calmly as she could. "he only startled me for a moment; that is all. i was here alone, foolishly, perhaps--" "oh, no, that's all right," interrupted the soldier. "we want the visitors to go about as they please, alone or in company. old jake's as harmless as a kitten. he isn't just right up here," he said, touching his head, and speaking in low tones. "i thought as much," responded alice, with a smile. "he's perfectly harmless," went on the soldier, looking out to see the aged negro shuffling off. "you see, he used to be a slave in some southern family," the army man explained. "he was given his freedom, but never took it, and they say he went insane when his mistress died. he had taken care of her since she was a baby, and he took it very much to heart." "poor old man," murmured alice. "yes, we all like him around here," the soldier continued. "he has a notion now that his 'little mistress,' as he calls her, is only lost, and he keeps searching for her. sometimes he scares the lady visitors, so we try to keep him out of the lonely parts of the fort. but he must have slipped in here when no one was watching. i'll give him a good lecture." "oh, please don't be harsh to him!" pleaded alice. "really he did nothing!" "but he scared you, miss." "oh, not much. only for a second. then i guessed what his trouble was. please say you won't scold him!" she pleaded. "well, i guess i'll have to, if you ask me that way, miss," said the soldier with the air and manner of a southern colonel. "we can't refuse the ladies anything, you know," and he bowed and smiled in a frank manner that pleased alice. "then you won't punish him?" she asked. "punish him? oh, no, miss. old jake is just like a child. he sort of lives in the fort. no, i won't do any more than tell him to keep away from here, for them's the captain's orders, miss." "all right," she answered. "and now i think i had better join my friends. what a horrible place this is!" she added, with a backward look at the dungeon. "you may well say that, miss. but it isn't so bad now as it must have been in the old days. it's a queer world, that men would make such a place to put a fellow creature in," and with this somewhat philosophical remark the soldier saluted again, as alice bade him good-bye. "why, where have you been?" ruth asked, as sister appeared. "we have been looking all over for you. where were you?" "in jail!" "jail! alice, don't joke about such things." "no, sister mine, i was only in a deep, dark dismal dungeon, and i had such a romantic adventure." "oh, do tell us about it!" begged miss pennington. "did you meet a handsome prisoner?" asked miss dixon. "yes, a regular othello." "othello? who speaks of othello?" interrupted mr. bunn. "i have played him many times!" and he threw back his shoulders, and tried to give himself the airs he was wont to assume in the theater. alice told her story, minimizing her fright as much as possible. "it _was_ romantic," said ruth, softly, as her sister concluded. "only, dear, you musn't go off in any more strange dungeons alone." "i won't," was the promise, given readily enough. the making of moving pictures was soon over for the day, and the company returned to the hotel. some of the members went to their rooms, while the others sat about in the beautiful tropical garden, listening to the mingled music of the band and the fountain. "good stunt on for to-morrow," said russ, coming up behind ruth, and taking a chair near her. "what is it?" asked paul, who was with alice. "any more fort stuff?" "no, but it's out near the fort. mr. pertell is arranging for a motor boat race, with you girls in rival boats. you know there is a speed course on mantanzas bay, and he's hired two of the fast boats. it's going to be a regular race, for the two fellows who run the boats are real water rivals. "mr. pertell has induced them to act the parts for him, and there'll be some fun. part of our company is to be in one boat, and part in the other, and some will be on the fort wall, outside the old moat, watching the boats come up. it ought to make a dandy picture." "i'm sure it will," declared ruth, who was always interested in the mechanical end, as well as in the artistic side. russ had taught her considerable about the technical part of the business of making moving pictures. "a motor boat race will be simply fine!" alice exclaimed. "i hope the boat i am in wins." "there's no telling," russ went on. "as i said, the men who own the boats are real rivals, so each will do his best to come out ahead. there'll be no fake about this--if you'll excuse the use of slang," he added. that evening, seated in the palm garden, mr. pertell explained to his company something of the plans for the next day, telling of the plot of the play in which the motor boat race was to figure. "that sounds interesting," commented mr. devere. "do those boats go very fast?" inquired mr. sneed. "rather--they are two of the fastest boats in the world," answered the manager. "then there's sure to be an accident," predicted the grouchy actor. "i think you may count me out of this play, mr. pertell. i have had enough of water stuff." "well, you're due to have a bit more," observed mr. pertell, drily. "for you fall overboard from one of the boats, at the conclusion of the race." "i fall overboard!" was the startled exclamation. "yes, and mr. bunn dives in after you. you are both good swimmers--you remember you told me so." the use of the dock of the st. augustine power boat club had been loaned for the making of the moving picture, and next day, with such of his company as were to go in the boats, mr. pertell went to the float. others of the players took their places on the wall of the fort. two cameras were to be used, russ working one to show the start and finish of the race, and pop snooks the other, to depict the action of the players not in the boats. the motor boats were powerful and handsome craft. the skippers of each were at the wheel as the players took their places, and each boat carried a blackened and greasy mechanician, as looking after high-powered motors was no simple matter. "well, are we all ready?" asked the manager, as he assigned the players to their places. "all ready, sir," answered mr. devere. alice was in one boat, well up in front beside the captain-owner, while ruth occupied a similar position in the other craft. "you may start, if you please," said the manager, with a nod at russ and another at the skippers. a moment later the air was filled with the thundering, rattling exhaust of the motors as the boats swept away from the float. the motor race was on. chapter xi to lake kissimmee the staccato explosions of the motor boats, the cheers of the spectators, of whom there were many; the clicking of the camera operated by russ, and the shouts of the picture-players themselves as they went through the "business" prescribed for this act of the play, made the scene a gay one. "this will make a fine film," declared mr. pertell, who was in the boat with alice, mr. bunn, mr. sneed and mr. devere. "i think so," agreed the latter. "i am glad we came to florida." "is your throat better?" the manager asked. "indeed yes--much better. that is, it does not pain me, but i still retain my hoarseness, as you notice." "yes, and i am selfish enough to wish that it will stay with you a little longer," the manager said. "that is, only so that you will not leave me and go back to the legitimate," he added, quickly. "for i want you in moving pictures. i have some other plans when we finish work here, and you and your daughters will be much needed." "i am glad you have such a good opinion of us," murmured the veteran actor. "where are we going from here?" asked alice. "that's a secret," laughed the manager. "i haven't it all worked out myself, as yet." the boats sped on, the rival skippers striving to gain the lead. the men in charge of the motors, too, did everything in their power, in the way of changing the gasoline mixture, or by means of copious oiling, to get one more revolution out of their engines. but the boats seemed very evenly matched. a big wave was thrown up on either bow of each boat. russ, after getting pictures of the start, had gone with his camera, by a short cut, to a little promontory on shore, where he got other views of the boats racing through the water. then he went farther on and, getting into another motor boat, took his place near the finish line, to film the end of the race. "oh, i do hope we win!" exclaimed alice, to her captain. "i'm going to do my best," he answered, grimly, as he glanced across to where the other boat was forging through the water. and in her boat ruth was saying the same thing. each skipper had been holding something in reserve in the way of power, and now the mechanicians were signalled to use this. the boats were nearing the finish line now, for the race, for the purpose of the moving pictures, was only a short one. but, as it happened, the captain of the boat alice was in, got his signal a little ahead of his rival, so that he shot forward, and thus gained an advantage the other motor boat could not cut down. "oh, we're going to win!" cried alice in delight, clapping her hands as she saw russ, in his boat at the finish line, operating his camera. "we're going to win!" miss pennington and miss dixon, who, with ruth, were in the other boat, looked glum. as for ruth she was of that gentle nature which is willing to lose, that others may enjoy even a brief pleasure, and she rejoiced in the delight of her sister. "well, i guess he's got me!" regretfully admitted the captain of the losing boat. "he was a little too quick for me." and so it proved, for the boat containing alice shot across the line a winner. "i knew we'd do it!" she cried. "good for you!" shouted russ. "it's time for you to fall overboard now, mr. sneed," directed the manager. "make a good fall, and put plenty of splash into it." "oh dear!" groaned the actor. "i suppose i must!" in anticipation of this he had donned an old suit of clothes, as had mr. bunn, and the latter, for one of very few times, did not wear his tall hat. "be ready with your rescue leap," ordered mr. pertell to the older actor. "make it as natural as you can." the boats had now lost headway, and were coming to a point where russ could get pictures of the "overboard act." "i say!" cried mr. sneed, as he paused in his preparations to fall, "i have just thought of something!" "what is it?" asked mr. pertell, sharply. "quick, we are losing time, and getting out of position." "there are no alligators in this bay; are there?" and mr. sneed looked anxiously at the captain of the motor boat. "not one," was the laughing answer. "you're safe." "then here i go!" cried the grouch, as he toppled overboard, having first "registered" a faint, as directed in the plot of the play. "now get him, mr. bunn!" cried the manager, and there was another splash, while aboard the boats the proper bits of acting were gone through with, that the camera might catch them. once they were in the water mr. bunn and mr. sneed acted their parts well, and the result was a good film. then, once more aboard the boats, a start was made for the fort, where the final act was to take place. "i say, me deah fellah!" complained mr. towne, as he moved away from mr. bunn, who sat near him; "keep a bit off, that's a good chap! i don't want to wet this suit, you know." "oh, all right, i beg your pardon," spoke the other. but mr. towne's anxiety for his garments was wasted, for at that moment mr. sneed, taking off his coat, wrung some water from it, and of this a considerable quantity splashed on the light suit of mr. towne. "oh, i say!" the latter cried in dismay. "this won't do, you know!" "humph! it seems to me it's already done," observed paul, with a chuckle. during the rest of the trip mr. towne was kept busy trying to dry up the wet spots with his perfumed handkerchief. pop snooks, the property man, who had little to do when outdoor scenes were being made, was busy with the other moving picture camera on the fort wall, and presently, on the arrival of the company at that place, the final scenes were filmed. "wasn't it a dandy race?" cried alice, as she and her sister, with russ and paul, started back to the hotel. "it was for you because you won, i suppose," remarked miss pennington, in a disagreeable tone. "not at all," returned alice, promptly. "it was a glorious race anyhow. winning didn't count; it was all for the picture." "that's the way to look at it," said paul, in her ear. "but, all the same, i'm glad your boat won." "thanks," she replied, as she tripped along beside him. miss pennington and miss dixon, pausing a moment to "readjust their complexions," as alice said (for which she was reproved by ruth), went on by themselves. the company of players remained in st. augustine several days, and many fine films resulted, the scenery lending itself particularly well to the camera. one act in a play took place at the alligator "farm," on anastasia island. there ruth and alice saw 'gators in all stages, from tiny ones just emerging from the shell, to big fourteen-foot ones--regular "man-eaters" they were told. "ugh! the horrid creatures!" exclaimed ruth, who could not repress a shudder. "they aren't very pleasant," agreed alice. "and to think that perhaps those two girls may be--" "oh, my dear! don't mention it! i can't bear to think of such a thing. it's too horrible!" "but i suppose there must be many such as that one, in the wilds of the swamps and bayous," said alice in a low voice, as she pointed her parasol at a huge saurian. "if there are any such, i don't want to know it--or see them," murmured ruth, again shuddering. "oh, i hope we don't go too far into the wilds." "so do i," agreed her sister. that afternoon, calling his company of players together, mr. pertell said: "friends, we will leave in two days for the interior. i want to get some views along the rivers and bayous, where the scenery is wilder than it is here." "and where are we going, may i ask?" inquired mr. devere. "to a place called sycamore, near lake kissimmee," was the answer. "oh, ruth!" exclaimed alice, impulsively, when she heard this. "yes, dear, what is it?" "why, that's where those two girls were from--the ones who were lost, you know!" "hush! yes. you know we agreed to say nothing about it, for fear of causing undue alarm. miss pennington and miss dixon might refuse to go, you know," she went on in a low voice, "and that would make trouble for mr. pertell." "oh, but isn't it a strange coincidence?" remarked alice. "it certainly is. but perhaps the girls have been found by this time." "our destination will be lake kissimmee," proceeded mr. pertell. "we will take some pictures on the lake, some on the kissimmee river, that connects the lake of that name with lake okeechobee, and then we'll go a little way into the wilds, on various streams." ruth and alice looked at each other apprehensively. chapter xii a warning "beg pardon," said claude towne, during a pause in which mr. pertell was consulting some notes he had jotted down, in order to make matters more clear to his players. "beg pardon, my dear sir, but are we going to a _very_ wild part of this country?" "why, yes--rather so," was the not very reassuring answer. "you probably won't be able to get a room and bath at the hotel where we stop." "oh, another one of those backwoods places," murmured miss pennington. "how horrid!" "is there any--er--any society there?" asked mr. towne. "hardly," answered the manager, "unless you call the natives society." "wretched!" exclaimed the dude, with a wry face. "hold on, though!" cried mr. pertell, "i believe that there are some of our first families there." "ah, that is better," replied mr. towne, adjusting his lavender tie. "i shall include my evening clothes in my wardrobe, then." "i'd advise you to," remarked mr. pertell, with an assumption of gravity. "the seminole indians, to which i refer, are a very ancient and proud race, i understand, and doubtless a dress suit would appeal to them. they are the first families of florida!" "wretched joke!" muttered the actor. "i think i shall not go into the interior." "oh, i think you will," retorted mr. pertell, easily. "your contract calls for it." "what about alligators?" asked mr. sneed. "you know my offer--a thousand dollars a big bite," laughed the manager. "but i don't fancy we shall see half as many as you saw out at the alligator farm. they are being hunted too fiercely for their skins to allow many to be around loose. don't worry about them. "and now, friends, if you please, get ready for the trip to lake kissimmee. russ, see to it that you have plenty of film, for we won't be able to get any out there. now i leave you to make your arrangements." there was a buzz and a hum of excitement as the players talked over what lay before them. miss pennington and miss dixon rather shared the disappointment of mr. towne that there was no "society" at the place where they were going. but ruth and alice, aside from a little feeling of apprehension, and of regret at the fate of the two girls of whom they had read, rather welcomed the coming change. "it will be a new experience for us," exulted alice. "and i hope it will be a pleasant one," rejoined ruth. final visits were paid to points of interest in st. augustine. it would be some time before they would see it again, as mr. pertell intended remaining in the interior for several weeks, and then going back to new york by a different route. "we must have another drink from the fountain of youth," laughed alice, the day before their departure. "who knows but what it may preserve us, out in those dismal swamps?" "good idea!" commented paul. "come on, i'll go with you." so they went and made merry at the historic well. mr. pertell and russ had much to do to get ready for the trip. a motor boat had been arranged for to meet the party at sycamore, where the headquarters would be for most of the work in the wilds of florida. on this it was planned to take trips on lake kissimmee, and the river of that name. "and we may go as far as lake okeechobee," said russ in speaking of the matter to ruth. "that's down among the everglades; isn't it?" she asked. "close to them. i've always wanted to go there, and see what they are like. now i may get the chance." "i think i should like to see them, too," she agreed. "ruth, you are getting very brave," observed alice a little later, when the two sisters were packing up in their room. "why, dear?" "to offer to go with russ to the everglades." "i didn't offer!" "it was the same thing, sister mine. it makes a big difference; doesn't it?" "silly!" alice laughed. "i wonder if we ought to take all these light waists?" she asked a little later, holding up a beautiful flimsy one. "it's sure to be hot there, i suppose." "i imagine so. and yet there may be cool and damp evenings. i'd take everything, if i were you." "i was thinking of sending some of my things back to mrs. dalwood. she promised to look after them, if i did." "oh, i'd take everything. where did you get that?" ruth asked curiously, as she held up one of her sister's garments, ornamented with a peculiar lace. "at that little spanish shop we pass every day. oh, she has some of the most gorgeous things there, and some of the most beautiful! i wish my purse were as long as my desires. but i got this very reasonably." "are there any more like it?" asked ruth, for she, too, liked pretty things. "there were only two, and i took one." "then i'm going to get the other. i can go without ice cream for a week to make up for it. i never saw anything so pretty." "i'll go with you. she might charge you more than she did me. i had to bargain with her." "i never knew you could do it," laughed ruth. the two girls desisted from their packing long enough to slip out to the lingerie shop, where they spent more time and money than they intended. the result was they had to hurry at the last minute, and their trunks were hardly strapped before the porter came to take them to the station. the trip to sycamore from st. augustine was rather tedious and tiresome. the railways in the interior of florida were not like some of the fast lines, and there was not always the luxury of a parlor car. miss pennington and miss dixon were rather inclined to murmur about this, but most of the others of the company took the inconveniences in good spirit, even mr. towne making the best of it. he soon found that it was of little use to attire himself in the "height of fashion," and gradually became more sensible in his adornment. on the trip russ managed to get a series of films showing different scenes, and at one lonely railroad station, where they had to wait several hours for a connecting train, a little scene was improvised that later was worked into a play. the few "natives" around the place were much excited at some of the things the players did, and when paul "saved" mr. towne from being run down by a freight train that came along, one grizzled old man was so worked up, thinking it all real, that he wanted to run for a doctor, when mr. towne pretended to be hurt. "an' they do that fer money?" this native inquired, when the matter had been explained to him. "that's what they do," said russ, who was putting away his camera. "wa'al, all i've got to say is if that's what they call work--i'd rather do nothin'," was the caustic comment. "and that's what he jinerally does," spoke another native, in a low voice. "he's never worked, an' i guess he never will." "it would be pretty hard to get a _moving_ picture of _him_, then," laughed russ. finally the train, which had been delayed by a slight accident, came along, and the weary players got aboard. in due season they reached sycamore, a little village near the shores of lake kissimmee. accommodations had been arranged for in advance, and soon the company was getting settled in the new quarters. "this is some different from st augustine," complained miss pennington, who roomed with her friend miss dixon. "i should say so. i'd go back to new york, if i could." "so would i. but i guess we'll have to stay, my dear. hand me the powder; will you? my face is a wreck from the cinders and dust." "so's mine." and together they "beautified." ruth and alice were among the first to go down to the parlor to await the ringing of the dinner gong. they strolled up to the desk, to ask the clerk if there was any mail for them, since word had been left at the hotel in st. augustine to forward any letters. "oh, you are with the moving picture company; aren't you?" the clerk asked, as he gave them each a letter. they were from acquaintances they had made at the hotel. "yes, we're with the 'movies,'" admitted alice. "going to make all your pictures around here?" "not all. we are booked to go into the interior, i believe. pleasant prospect; isn't it?" she asked with a frank laugh. "well, no, i wouldn't say it was," answered the clerk, and he spoke as though alice had meant to be serious. "in fact, if i were you i wouldn't try to go into the interior around here." "why not?" asked ruth. "because it was from here the two girls started out into the wilds to gather rare flowers, and they have not since been heard from!" chapter xiii out in the boat ruth and alice looked at each other. it seemed almost impossible that there could be this confirmation of the news item they had read, and so soon after arriving at the hotel. yet such was the fact. "does any one know what has become of them?" asked alice, after a pause. "not the least trace of them has been found," replied the clerk. "have they made any search for them?" inquired ruth, looking over her shoulder almost apprehensively, as though she, herself, were out in some swamp, surrounded by perils of all sorts. but only the lighted parlor met her gaze. "search! indeed they have!" cried the hotel man. "the parents of the girls have sent out party after party." "with no result?" asked alice, softly. "well, they found traces where the girls had evidently landed, but that was all. they seemed to have gone deeper and deeper into the swamp." "how long ago was it?" ruth wanted to know. "several weeks, now. it is almost impossible that the girls are alive, though they took a quantity of provisions with them, as they expected to be gone several days." "the poor things!" murmured ruth. "tell us more about them. who are they?" "mabel and helen madison," was the answer. ruth and alice cried out in surprise. "those girls!" voiced alice. "the ones we met in the train," added ruth. "it seems incredible!" "did you know them?" asked the clerk, for the remarks and demeanor of ruth and alice were too marked to pass over without comment. "we did not exactly know them," replied ruth, slowly. "we met them in the train when we were going to the new england backwoods to get moving pictures last winter. one of them had a headache--i think it was helen." "no, it was mabel, dear," corrected alice. "they seemed such nice girls." "they _were_ nice!" the clerk declared. "i did not know them very well, but i have often seen them about the hotel here. some of their friends stopped here. their folks live just outside the town." "and you say they went out to get rare flowers?" asked ruth, as she noted miss pennington and miss dixon coming into the hotel parlor. "yes. the girls are real outdoors girls," went on the clerk. "they can hunt and fish, and miss mabel, i believe it was, once shot a big alligator." "alligators! oh, dear! are any of the horrid things around here?" broke in miss dixon. "not right around here," was the reassuring answer. "this was out in the swamps." "we are talking about two girls who have disappeared from here, and can't be found," explained alice, for the story was bound to come out now. "oh, how perfectly dreadful!" cried miss pennington, as the account was completed. "we must be careful about going out alone, my dear," she added to her friend. "not much danger--you'll always want some of the men along," thought alice. "what sort of flowers were they after?" ruth wanted to know. "some sort of orchid," was the hotel man's answer. "i don't know much about such things myself, but mr. madison, the girls' father, is quite a naturalist, and i guess they take after him. he collects birds, bugs and flowers, and the girls used to help him. "as i heard the story, he has been for a long time searching for a rare orchid that is said to grow around here. he never could find it until one day, by chance, an old colored man came in with a crumpled and wilted specimen, mixed in with some other stuff he had. mr. madison saw it, and grew excited at once, wanting to know where it had come from. "the colored man told him as well as he could, and mr. madison decided to set off in search of this flower--if an orchid is a flower?" and the clerk looked questioningly at the girls. "oh, indeed it is a flower, and a most beautiful one," ruth assured him. "well, mr. madison was about to start off on a little expedition, when he was taken ill. he was much disappointed, as some naturalist society had offered him a big prize for a specimen of this particular plant. "then the girls, wishing to help their father, said they would go in search of it. they owned a good-sized motor boat, and had often gone off before, remaining several days at a time. they know how to take care of themselves." "that's the kind of girls i like," declared alice. "it seems doubly hard on them, though, that they should be lost." "and lost they are," concluded the clerk. "not a word has been heard of them since they set off into the wilds. when they did not come back, after several days, mr. madison organized a searching party. but, beyond a few traces of the girls, nothing could be found." "we read about it in a newspaper," said ruth. "yes, there were some items, but not many," the clerk said. "there wasn't much to print, i guess. so i just thought i'd warn you folks not to go too far off into the swamps or bayous." "and you may depend upon it--we won't!" exclaimed miss pennington. "our party will probably keep together," explained ruth, "as we will all be needed in the moving pictures." "that's a good idea," the clerk said. "take no chances." it was not long before the entire moving picture company had heard the story of the lost girls, and there was universal sympathy for them, and for their grief-stricken parents. "i only wish we could do something!" said ruth, and there were tears in her eyes as she looked toward her sister. "suppose it should be us?" she added. "i don't like to suppose any such horrible thing!" returned alice, brightly. "it's terrible, to be sure; but let's not think too much about it. it may get on our nerves." "but if we could only help find them," went on ruth, on whom the story seemed to have made a profound impression. "i don't see how we can," remarked alice, thoughtfully. "we know nothing about the country, or conditions, here. those who have lived here all their lives are better qualified to make a search." "say, wouldn't it be great if we could find them!" cried russ, as he listened to the story. "what a film it would make!" "oh, russ!" reproved ruth. "to think of such a thing at this time!" "why, what's the matter?" he asked, ruefully, for ruth's manner was a little cold toward him. "of course russ naturally thinks of the picture end of it," put in alice, determined to soften the unintended effect of ruth's manner. "i suppose so," agreed ruth, and she gave russ a glance that made up for what she had said. "i do wish we could do something," said paul, "but, as alice says, it doesn't seem possible." the hotel at sycamore was nothing to boast of, but it answered fairly well as the moving picture company would be outdoors practically all the time, as mr. pertell pointed out. the weather was like early summer--most delightful--and it was a temptation to wander out under the stately, graceful palms, which cast a grateful shade. there were not many other guests at the hostelry, and interest centered in the company of players. they were asked many questions as to what they did, and how they did it, and when russ set up his camera for the first time, merely to try it, and get the effect of light and shade, he was surrounded by a curious throng. the scenery around sycamore was most wonderful--at least, so ruth and alice thought. it was not that it was grand or imposing--for it was anything but that. florida is a low-lying country with many lakes and swamps. but the vegetation was so luxuriant, and the palms, the big trees festooned with spanish moss and the ferns were so beautiful, that it was a constant delight to the girls. there are few rapid streams around the vicinity of sycamore, most of them being sluggish to the point of swampiness. and a short distance away from the hotel, on some of the creeks and bayous, one could imagine oneself in some impenetrable jungle, so still and quiet was it. "it will give us some new effects in moving pictures," said mr. pertell. "it is just what we want." "how are we going to get farther into the interior?" asked mr. devere, when that subject was brought up. "i have chartered a small steamer," said the manager. "at first i decided we could use a large motor boat, and make the trips back and forth from the hotel each day, to get to the various places. but i find that distances are longer than i calculated on, and it might be inconvenient, at times, to come back to the hotel. so i have engaged a good-sized, flat-bottomed stern-wheeler, and we can spend several days at a time on her if need be." "oh, how lovely!" cried alice, clapping her hands in girlish enthusiasm. "won't it be fine, ruth?" "it sounds enticing." "to think of steaming along these quiet and mysterious streams, under the palms," exclaimed alice. "oh, i'm so glad i came." "huh! yes. suppose we get lost, as those two girls are?" demanded mr. sneed, who was the only one, you may be sure, who would make such a disquieting suggestion. "well, if we're all lost together it won't be so bad," declared alice. "but i should hate to be lost all alone." "don't speak of it!" begged ruth, with a shudder. after two or three days of fretting, because the boat he had ordered did not come, mr. pertell finally received word that it was on its way up the kissimmee river. the _magnolia_, which was the name of the steamer, arrived two days later. it proved to be an old, comfortable craft, with a wheezy engine, burning wood. at the stern was a paddle wheel, so placed because of the character of the waters to be navigated. the boat only drew about a foot, and could go in very shallow streams. there were sleeping and cooking quarters aboard, and on the upper deck a place to promenade, or to sit in the shade of an awning. "it's like a house-boat!" cried alice in delight, as she and ruth inspected it. "oh, i'd just like to live aboard this all the while." "you will be on it a good deal," observed russ. "we've got a number of dramas planned, of which the boat is the background." chapter xiv under the palms "attention, everyone!" mr. pertell stood on the deck of the _magnolia_, facing his company of players. at his side was russ, with the moving picture camera ready for action. "the first part of this play takes place aboard here," went on the manager. "the action is simple, as you can see from the scenarios i have distributed. some acts will take place on shore, and when the time comes for that the boat will be sent over to the bank and be tied up. now then, russ, get ready to film them. mr. devere, you are in this first act; also miss ruth and miss dixon. are you up in your parts?" "oh, yes," answered the veteran actor. indeed it did not take him long to become letter perfect, for with him to act was not only second, but first nature. "i don't just understand how i am to do this part," said miss dixon, as she walked over to mr. pertell to point out a certain direction. thereupon he explained it carefully to her. the company of players was out on the steamer, moving slowly up a quiet stream, one of the tributaries of the kissimmee river. on either side of the swamp-like stream were tall trees, from which hung, in graceful festoons, streamers of the peculiar growth known as spanish moss. in the background were palms and other semi-tropical plants. but the growth along the stream itself was so luxuriant that little could be seen except along the banks. now and then the quietude, which was unmarred, save by the gentle puffing of the engine, would be disturbed by some big bird, as it forsook its station on a fallen log, startled by the invasion of its domain. again there would be a splash in the water. "an alligator!" exclaimed miss pennington, as one rather loud splash sounded just beneath where she was leaning on the rail, looking down into the water. "where?" cried russ, eagerly, as he made ready to get some views of it with his camera. "there!" she said, pointing a trembling finger. "oh, don't look at it!" begged miss dixon, covering her face with her hands. "don't look at the horrid thing!" "no harm in looking at that," laughed russ. "it's only a log of wood." and so it proved. "well, it looked just like an alligator," protested miss pennington, as the others smiled. "and it sounded like one!" declared miss dixon. "how does an alligator sound?" asked mr. towne, who was walking about attired in immaculate white. "it made a splash." "so does a bullfrog," observed paul. "it does look rather alligatory in there," admitted alice, as she stood beside the young actor, and gazed into the sluggish stream. "'alligatory' is a new one," he remarked. "i wonder if alligators eat alligator pears?" "probably," she laughingly agreed. "there, i guess they're ready for you, paul," for he was to take part in the first scene. miss dixon, having had her difficulty straightened out, was prepared to go on, and soon russ was again at his usual occupation of turning the handle of the moving picture camera. for a description of how moving pictures are taken, developed, printed and thrown on the screen in the theater by means of a projecting machine, the reader is referred to the previous books of this series. "that will do for this part of the drama," announced mr. pertell, when an hour or more had been spent in taking various films. "we will now go ashore. put her over there," he called to the man in the pilot house on deck, pointing to a place where, back of the moss-fringed row of trees, could be seen some stately palms. the rather clumsy boat turned slowly toward shore, and a little later had "poked her nose," as russ expressed it, against a luxuriant growth of tropical vegetation, in the midst of some low palms and gigantic ferns. the moist smell of earth and plants, and the odor of flowers was borne on a gentle breeze. it was a lonely spot, and just what mr. pertell wanted for this particular play. on the way up the stream they had passed several small settlements, and the population, consisting mostly of colored folk, had rushed down to the crude landings to stare with big eyes at the passing steamer. "everybody ashore!" called the manager, when the boat had been made fast. "oh, but we can't go through there!" complained mr. bunn, who, in attempting to make his way into the deeper part of the woods, had suffered the loss of his tall hat several times, low branches having knocked it off. "wait, i'll send some of the hands ahead with axes to clear the way," offered the steamer captain. "it'll be easier going, then." this was done, and the moving picture players found it no trouble at all to make their way along the hewn path to where a little grove of palms, in a pretty glade, offered the proper scenic background for the pictures. "this is just the place!" cried the manager. "russ, set your camera up here, and you'll get the sun just right. now, everybody attention!" and he carefully explained what he wanted done. the play concerned the elopement of a pretty southern girl, the pursuit by her father, her subsequent marriage, and the forgiveness of her parents. one of the scenes showed the young couple fleeing through the wilderness, and coming to rest beneath the palms, while the pursuers searched in vain for them. "you're one of the lovers who has been disappointed by the elopement, mr. towne," said mr. pertell, in giving his directions. "when i give the word you must come running along there, so the camera will show you alone." "but i may fall in there," objected the actor, as he pointed you to a small, muddy stream along the path he was to take. "you must look out for that," the manager replied. "in fact, i don't know but what it would be good business to have you fall in. it would seem more realistic." "i absolutely refuse to fall in with this new suit on!" cried mr. towne, as he glanced at his while flannels. "oh, very well, then," conceded the manager. russ had his camera in readiness, and, after making views of the two lovers beneath the palms, he called: "all ready for you, mr. towne," and he focused his camera in another direction. the well-dressed actor came on. "oh, run faster!" commanded mr. pertell, impatiently. "act as though you meant it. put some spirit in it. you are supposed to be desperate because your sweetheart has gone off with another man. you look as though you didn't care!" thereupon mr. towne tried to "register" anger, and succeeded fairly well. but in doing so he forgot to "mind his steps," and a moment later, in running along the edge of the muddy stream he slipped, and the next moment, in all the glory of his white suit, he splashed into the mud. chapter xv in peril russ instantly stopped grinding away at the camera handle as he saw mr. towne go into the ditch, but the manager, without the loss of a moment, cried: "film that, russ! it'll be better than the way we were to play it first. catch him as he comes up!" "all right!" chuckled the young operator. "oh, what a place to fall!" cried miss pennington, who was off one side, out of the camera's range. "his suit will surely need washing," remarked alice. "oh, how can you be so heartless?" asked her sister. "heartless! isn't that the truth?" mr. towne had struggled to his feet. the muddy stream was not very deep. "help! help! save me!" he cried, as he wiped the water from his face, thereby making many muddy streaks on his countenance. "you're in no danger--come on out!" cried mr. pertell, trying not to laugh. "come right toward the camera, mr. towne, and register anger and disgust!" "register--register!" spluttered the actor. "do you mean to say you are filming me in this state?" "i certainly am--it's a state that will make a hit in the movies!" cried mr. pertell. "you might fall down once more, if you don't mind, mr. towne. it will add realism to the film." "fall down again! never! i will resign first." "very well, i won't insist on it," replied the manager, for he felt that it was rather hard on the actor. but moving picture work is not at all easy, and actors and actresses have to do more disagreeable and dangerous "stunts" than merely falling into a muddy stream. the demand of the public for realism often goes to extremes, and more than once performers have risked their lives at the behest of some enthusiastic manager. mr. pertell was not that sort, however, though he did insist on his players doing a reasonable amount of hard work--and often disagreeable work, as in this case. but aside from getting wet and muddy, which conditions could be remedied by a bath and dry clothes, the actor suffered no great hardship, except to his pride, and perhaps he had too much of that, anyhow. "come on!" cried the manager. "crawl out of that, and keep on with the chase." "keep on--in this condition! do you mean it?" mr. towne asked. "certainly i do. the play must go on. just because you fell in the ditch is no excuse for stopping it. keep on! right along the path. crawl out and run on." "but--but look at my clothes!" complained mr. towne. "they are--they're muddy!" "there is a little mud on them, to be sure," agreed mr. pertell. "but don't worry. it will wash off." "a _little_ mud!" spluttered the actor. "i--i--" "keep on!" cried the manager. "you are delaying the play!" the young actor groaned, but there was nothing for it but to obey. he climbed out of the ditch, his once immaculate suit dripping mud from every point, and then he began the pretended chase again, seeking to find the escaping lovers. of course this was the farcical element, but managers have found that this is much needed in plays, and though many of them would prefer to eliminate the "horse-play" the audiences seem to demand it, and managers are prone to cater to the tastes of their audiences when they find it pays. "i'm glad i wasn't cast for that part," remarked the dignified mr. bunn, as he saw what mr. towne had to go through. "i'd never consent to it," declared mr. sneed. "this business is bad enough as it is," he complained, "without deliberately making it worse. i presume he'll want me to try and catch an alligator next, or drive a sea cow to pasture." "what's a sea cow?" asked alice, who had overheard the talk, while mr. towne was being filmed in his muddy state. "the manatee," explained mr. sneed. "they are curious animals. they browse around on the bottom of florida rivers, and sea inlets, as cows do on shore, eating grass. we'll probably see some down here." "are they dangerous?" asked miss dixon. "not as a rule," answered the grouchy actor, who seemed to have taken a sudden interest in this matter. "they might upset a small boat if they accidently bumped into it, for often they grow to be fourteen feet long, and are like a whale in shape." "i hope we won't meet with any," observed ruth. "i can't bear wild animals." "manatees are not especially wild," laughed mr. sneed, it being one of the few occasions when he did indulge in mirth. "in fact, the earlier forms of manatee were called _sirenia_, and were considered to be the origin of the belief in mermaids. for they carried their little ones in their fore-flippers, almost as a human mother might do in her arms, and when swimming along would raise their heads out of water, so that they had a faint resemblance to a swimming woman." "how very odd!" cried alice. "and are there manatees down here?" "many in florida? yes," was the answer. "i suppose we'll see some if we stay long enough. but i'm going to serve notice on mr. pertell now that i refuse to drive any of the sea cows to pasture." "i don't blame you!" laughed ruth. "oh, look at mr. towne! he's fallen again!" and so the unfortunate actor had, but this time into a clump of rough bushes that tore his now nearly ruined white flannels. "that's good!" cried mr. pertell, approvingly. "you did that very well, mr. towne!" "well, i didn't do it on purpose," the actor protested, as he managed, not without some difficulty, to extricate himself from the briars. then he ran on, russ making picture after picture, while the manager rapidly changed some of the other scenes on the typewritten sheets to conform to the accident of which he had so cleverly made use. "mr. bunn, i have a new part for you, in this same play," the manager said, when mr. towne was finally allowed to rest. "what is it?" asked the older actor. "i hope you can put in something about shakespeare. i have not had a shakespearean part in so long that i have almost forgotten how to do it properly." "i can't promise you that this time," said the manager. "but it just occurred to me that you could also try to trace the escaping lovers, and get stuck in a bog-hole." "who, the lovers get stuck in a bog?" "no, you!" "me? never! i refuse--" "now hold on, mr. bunn!" said mr. pertell, quickly. "i am not asking you to do much. you need not get in the bog deeper than up to your knees. that will answer very well. you can pretend it is a sort of quicksand bog and that you are sinking deeper and deeper. you call for help, and mr. switzer comes to get you out." "i refuse to do it!" cried the actor. "and i insist!" declared mr. pertell, sharply. "your contract calls for any reasonable amount of work, and to wade into a bog knee-deep is not unreasonable." "but i will spoil my shoes and trousers." "no matter, i will provide you with new ones. you need not sacrifice your tall hat this time." "that is one comfort," sighed the old actor. "well, i suppose there is no help for it. where is the bog hole?" "i think this one will do," said the manager, pointing to one where mr. towne had fallen into the mud. "you will come along, pretending to look for the fleeing lovers, and you will unwittingly wade out into the bog. there you will struggle to release yourself, but you will be unable to, and will call for help. mr. switzer, who is also on the trail, will respond and he will wade out and save you." "excuse me," remarked the german actor, softly, "but vy iss it necessary dot i rescue him?" "why he can't rescue himself," declared mr. pertell. "you've got to do it." "no, dot i did not mean. i meant dot as herr towne iss alretty wet and muddy, dot he could as vell do der rescue act." "that's so. it will be better!" said the manager. "i didn't think of that. i'll have towne do it. he can come along on the film right after he's pulled himself out of the ditch. fix it up that way, russ." "all right, mr. pertell." "have i got to go in more mud and water?" demanded the fastidious actor. "yes," replied the manager. "but it won't be much. just a few feet or so of film." mr. towne groaned, but there was no help for it. and really he could not get much muddier. accordingly, after some intervening scenes had been filmed to make the action of the story, as revised, more plausible, russ moved his camera near the bog hole, ready to get views of mr. bunn, when he should stumble into it, and also mr. towne, when the latter came to the rescue. "all ready now--let her go!" called the manager. "come along, mr. bunn." the old actor advanced, but evidently with very little liking for his part. "oh, be more natural!" cried mr. pertell. "you are supposed to be the father of the young man who is eloping, and you want to prevent him. put some spirit into your work!" thereupon mr. bunn tried, and with better success. but when he came to the edge of the bog hole he hesitated. "hold on! stop the camera!" cried the manager, sharply. "that won't do at all. this must be spontaneous. run right along, and don't stop when you see the bog hole. plunge right into it. why, it isn't up to your knees, mr. bunn, and the weather is hot." "all right, here i go!" he said, resignedly. "wait! go back and do that last bit over again," ordered the manager. "russ, cut out the last few pictures and substitute these that are to come. now, mr. bunn!" the shakespearean actor started over again, and he was "game" enough to pretend that he did not in the least mind floundering into the bog hole. as he came to the edge of it, in he plunged. he went down much deeper than to his knees, and as he felt himself sinking he called out: "help! help! save me! save me!" "that's it! that's the way to do it! that's being what i call realistic!" shouted mr. pertell, who always waxed enthusiastic over a new idea. mr. bunn continued to sink in the bog. he pulled and struggled to get out, apparently without success. then his tall hat fell off from the violence of his exertions, and he barely saved it from a muddy bath. "help! help! i'm sinking!" he cried. "good! that's the way to act it!" encouraged mr. pertell. "now, mr. towne, you come up to the rescue in a few seconds. don't mind the mud, either. go right out to him. you can't be much worse off." "indeed i cannot," agreed the other, as he glanced at his soiled suit. "wait just a minute more," said mr. pertell to the prospective rescuer. "give him a chance to struggle more. it will look better." "no, let him come at once and save me! save me at once!" "why?" the manager wanted to know. "because i really am sinking! this isn't play! the quicksand has me in its grip!" and, as mr. pertell looked about, unable to tell whether the actor was saying that as part of the "business," or because he was in earnest, the unfortunate man cried out in real anguish: "save me! save me! i am in the quicksand and it's sucking me down!" "that's right! he is in a quicksand bog!" cried one of the steamer hands who had helped hew a path through the swamp. "he'll never get out if you don't help him quick!" chapter xvi a strange attack it was true, then. the frantic appeals of mr. bunn were not in the interests of acting for moving pictures, but because he felt himself in actual danger. none of his friends had thought of that, until the man from the steamer offered confirmation. they had all thought the actor was doing a realistic bit of work. "quicksand! do you mean it?" gasped mr. pertell. "i certainly do," answered the steamer hand. "there are a lot of those bogs around here, and he's stumbled into one. he's going down every minute, too, and if you don't get him out soon you never will." "oh, mercy!" screamed miss pennington. "how horrible!" "to be buried alive!" gasped miss dixon. "quiet!" commanded mr. pertell, sternly. "come on, gentlemen!" he called to the male members of the company. "we must save him!" "oh, do get me out!" cried the unfortunate mr. bunn. "we'll save you!" shouted the manager, as he made a dash toward the bog hole. he was followed by mr. devere, paul and some of the others. "keep back!" yelled the man from the steamer. "if you get in you won't get out either." "but they must save him!" cried alice, who had gone forward with her father. "they can't save him by getting into the quicksand themselves!" pointed out the man who seemed to know the deadly nature of the bog. "the only way is to fling him a rope." "a rope! there isn't one nearer than the steamer!" cried mr. pertell. "i'll go get it!" offered mr. switzer. "i am a goot runner!" "it will be too late, i'm afraid," objected the steamer hand. "he is sinking faster now." this was indeed but too true. whereas at first the clinging mud and sand of the bog hole had only been up to mr. bunn's knees, he was now engulfed to his waist. "we'll have to make a rope!" cried mr. towne. "tear up our coats, or something like that." "i know a way, ruth," declared alice. "we have on two skirts. the under one is of heavy cloth. couldn't we tear those into strips--?" "of course! how wise of you to think of it!" replied the other girl. "daddy, we can provide a rope!" she cried, and she quickly whispered to him what alice had suggested. "the very thing!" he agreed. "quick, slip behind the bushes there and remove your underskirts. i'll have my knife ready to slit it into strips." while the two moving picture girls retired for a moment their father quickly explained their plan. "and you may have our skirts, too," said miss pennington. "only mine is of such thin material--" "so is mine, unfortunately," added miss dixon. "fortunately i think the two skirts of my daughters will be sufficient," said mr. devere, as he opened his keen-bladed knife. "oh, i am going down!" cried mr. bunn, in anguished tones. "here are the skirts!" cried alice, as she came out with her own and ruth's over her arm. ready hands aided mr. devere in cutting the stout material into strips that were quickly knotted together, making a strong rope. "it's a shame to spoil your suit," said paul to alice. "it doesn't matter. the skirts were only cheap ones, of khaki cloth, but they are very strong. i am glad we wore them." "and i guess mr. bunn will be, too," added the young actor. "now we'll have you out!" cried mr. devere, as he flung one end of the novel rope to the actor in the bog. mr. bunn caught it, and, at the direction of mr. pertell, looped it about his chest, just under his arms. "now, all pull together!" cried the manager. "but take it gradually, until we see what strain this rope will stand." indeed a slow, gradual pull was the only feasible method of releasing mr. bunn. but with the rope around him, he felt that he was going to be saved, and did not struggle so violently. often when one gets into a quicksand bog the more one struggles the faster and deeper one sinks. only it is almost impossible not to struggle against the impending fate. with the skirt-rope about him, and his friends pulling on it, mr. bunn's hand were free. seeing this, and realizing that the more force that was applied, up to a certain point, the sooner would the actor be freed, ruth cried: "if we had another rope we girls could help, and mr. bunn could hold on to it with his hands," for she and her sister, as well as miss pennington and miss dixon, were doing nothing. "let's go to the steamer and get one," proposed miss dixon. "it would be too late," declared alice. then, as she looked about the little clearing where the accident had taken place she saw, dangling from a tree, a long vine of some creeping plant. there were several stems twined together. "there's our rope!" she cried. "that vine!" "oh, alice! how splendid!" exclaimed her sister. "you think of everything!" "well, let's stop thinking, and work!" suggested the younger girl. "they need all the help they can get to pull mr. bunn out of that bog." together the girls managed to get off a long piece of the stout vine, which made a most excellent substitute for a rope. "i suppose if i had thought of this first we needn't have cut our skirts," said alice. "i'm not sorry we didn't," was her sister's reply. "nor am i!" "catch this, mr. bunn!" called alice, as with the vine rope she went as near the bog hole as was safe. "good idea! great!" cried mr. pertell. "you moving picture girls are as good as men!" "better!" declared mr. bunn, who was over his fright now. he caught the end of the vine alice flung to him, and held on grimly as the four girls prepared to tug on their portion. with this added strength the plight of the actor was soon relieved. slowly but surely he was pulled from the sticky mud, and, a little later, he was safely hauled out on the firm bank. "thank the lord for that!" exclaimed mr. pertell, reverently, as he saw that his employe was safe. "i should never have forgiven myself if--if anything had happened to you. for it was my suggestion that you go in the bog. my dear man, can you forgive me?" and he held out his hand to mr. bunn, while his voice grew husky, and there was a suspicious moisture in his eye. "that's all right," responded mr. bunn, generously, and he seemed to have added something to his nature through his nerve-racking experience. he had been near death, or at least the possibility of it, and it had meant much to him. "don't blame yourself, mr. pertell," he went on. "i went into the hole with my eyes open. neither of us knew the quicksand was there. and i suppose we must accept with this business the risks that go with it." "yes, it is part of the game," admitted the manager; "but i want none of my players to take unnecessary risks. i shall be more careful in the future." mr. bunn was quite exhausted from his experience, and, as the affair had tried the nerves of all, it was decided to give up picture work for the rest of the day. "i can't help regretting, though," said mr. pertell, as they were on their way back to the steamer, "that we didn't get a moving picture of that. it would have made a great film--better even than the one i had planned." "oh, but i did get views of it!" cried russ, with a laugh, that did much to relieve the strain they were all under. "you did!" exclaimed the manager, in surprise. "yes," went on the young operator, "when i saw that there were enough of you hauling mr. bunn out, i thought i might as well take advantage of the situation and get pictures. so i have the whole rescue scene here," and he tapped his moving picture camera. "i am glad you have!" exclaimed the shakespearean actor, heartily. "as long as i had to go through with it we might as well have the comet company get the benefit of it." back through the tropical forest and swamp they went, until they reached the steamer. there mr. bunn and mr. towne enjoyed the luxury of a good bath, and their clothes were cleaned. alice came in for much praise, for it was her quick wit, in a way, that had enabled mr. bunn to be so promptly saved. "and to replace your daughters' spoiled skirts, mr. devere," said the manager, in speaking of the matter later, "i beg that i may be allowed to get them whole new suits." "oh, that is too much," protested the actor. "indeed it is not!" declared mr. pertell. "i am also going to give each player a bonus on his or her salary, and to mr. bunn, for what he suffered, a special bonus." a day or so later the film, in which mr. bunn had figured in the quicksand, was finished, and then came the announcement that they would proceed on down the river to a new location, so as to get a different scenic background for the filming of a new drama. some of the scenes of this took place on the steamer, and then, when the captain announced that he would have to tie up for half a day to enable the "roustabouts" to go ashore and cut wood for the boiler, mr. pertell said: "then we'll go ashore, too. i want to get some pictures in which a small boat will figure. so we'll take the camera along, russ, and get some of those views i spoke of." some scenes ashore were filmed, and then, carrying out the idea of the drama, ruth and alice, with paul ardite, got into a small boat. they were to go down stream a little way, and there go through certain "business" called for in the play. paul was to row. the boat floated under the arching moss and vines that trailed from the trees on the bank. now and then a snag would be struck, and on such occasions ruth would start nervously, and cry out: "alligators!" "oh, please stop!" begged alice, after two or three of these scares. "i don't believe there's an alligator within ten miles of us." "of course not," agreed paul. all this while russ was getting films of the boat containing the two moving picture girls. he was following in another boat. "steady there!" he called, at a certain point. "better toss over your anchor, and stay there a while. i want a long film of this scene." "all right," agreed paul, and with a splash the little anchor went over the side. the boat swung around and then became stationary. russ was grinding away at the camera when, suddenly, the boat he was filming, with its occupants, began moving up stream. "hold on!" he warned. "i don't want you to move yet!" "i'm not moving!" retorted paul. "but the boat is going--and up stream!" cried alice. "oh, paul!" exclaimed ruth. "what has happened?" at the same moment the craft careened violently, and a bulky object rose partly from the water in front of it. "an alligator has attacked us!" screamed alice. chapter xvii out of a tree paul sprang to his feet with such suddenness that he nearly upset the boat, and the girls shrieked in even greater fright. "sit down! oh, sit down!" alice begged him. "russ! russ!" cried ruth. "it's an alligator!" "it can't be!" declared the young moving picture operator. he had stopped working his camera, and was urging the two men from the steamer, who were rowing his boat, to make better progress. "deed an' dere am 'gators in dish yeah ribber!" declared one of the colored men. "don't let the girls hear you say that!" cautioned russ. paul had obeyed the request of the girls to sit down, but he crawled toward the bow of the boat, which was now moving through the water, up stream, at a fair rate of speed. "what is it? oh, what is it?" implored alice. "can you see anything?" ruth wanted to know. "some sort of animal has got hold of our anchor, or the rope," declared paul, "and it's towing us. i don't think it can be an alligator, though." "oh, what will become of us?" gasped ruth. "don't be in the least alarmed!" exclaimed paul. "all i'll have to do will be to cut the rope, and we'll be free. but i don't want to lose the anchor." "don't cut loose! don't!" cried russ, whose boat was now up to that containing the two girls and the young actor. "i want to get a film of that. you're not in any real danger; are you?" "oh, yes indeed we are!" said ruth. "nonsense! we aren't at all!" protested her sister. "only i'd like to see what sort of a fish is towing us." "it isn't a fish at all!" paul suddenly exclaimed. "it's a manatee--a sea cow!" "oh, a sea cow! i want to look at it!" alice cried. "you must keep quiet in the boat!" insisted ruth, who seemed greatly afraid. "silly! i won't upset you," was the answer. "but i want to get a glimpse of that creature. there is no danger; is there, paul?" "sea cows are considered gentle, and seldom attack," he replied. "you can see it quite plainly now. it is swimming near the top of the water." alice made her way forward, and even ruth was induced to come and look at the strange creature, while russ, from his boat, took views of the occurrence. "the anchor seems to be caught under one of its flippers," said paul. "that's why it's towing us. probably the manatee wants to get rid of us as much as you girls want to get rid of it." "i hope it doesn't get away for a few minutes!" called out russ. "this will make a dandy film!" much reassured now by the gentle movements of the manatee, ruth lost nearly all of her fear. alice really had felt very little. "i thought it surely was an alligator," the latter said, as the boat continued to be towed by the manatee. "nebber knowed one ob dem t'ings t' come so far up de ribber," declared one of the colored men. "he's a big one, too!" he added, as his eyes bulged. "how large is it, russ?" asked paul. "you can see better than we can." "oh, about twelve feet long, i guess. there, i got a good view of him then!" he cried, as the manatee, probably in an effort to get rid of the rope, rose partly from the water. "oh, what a horrid looking thing!" cried ruth. "i don't think so at all," alice said. "i wish i could see it from in front." she had her wish a moment later, and it was rather more than she bargained for since the sea cow, in an effort to get rid of the rope that was twisted about its flipper, turned about with a swirl in the water, not unlike that made by the propeller of a motor boat, and came head-on for the craft it was unwittingly towing. "oh, it will upset us!" cried ruth. "never mind! they don't bite, and we'll rescue you!" russ reassured her. "oh, i--i'd die, sure, if i were to be thrown into the water with that terrible creature!" gasped ruth, clinging to alice for protection. and there did seem some likelihood of the manatee upsetting the boat, not so much through a vindictive spirit, as by accident, and because of its huge bulk. on it surged toward the craft, and paul, seizing an oar, prepared to attack. russ called to his rowers to be ready to rescue the girls and the young actor if necessary, and then, with the desire for a good film ever uppermost in his mind, he continued to grind away at the camera crank. "this will be a peach of a film!" he exulted. "oh, paul! is it going to attack us?" asked ruth. paul did not answer, but jabbed with his oar at the manatee and struck it on the head. the sea cow dived, and this produced the desired result, for the rope slipped off its flipper, and it was free. it went under the boat, rubbed along on the keel with its back a short distance, causing ruth and alice to scream as their craft careened, and then vanished for good. "oh, thank goodness! it's gone!" gasped ruth. their boat began to drop down stream, until the dragging anchor caught and held it. russ now ceased to work the camera. "i don't know just how we can incorporate that scene in this drama," he admitted; "but i suppose mr. pertell can find a way. he generally does. now, if you girls are up to it, we'll finish with the regular play. i'll have to slip in some new film, though." "oh, i guess we can go on, after we quiet down a bit," ruth said, and a little later she and her sister, with paul, went through with the business of the play as originally laid down in the scenario. "what a strange experience!" observed ruth, as they were returning to the steamer. "wasn't it?" agreed alice. mr. pertell, after properly sympathizing with the girls, declared himself delighted with the unexpected film of the manatee. "i tell you we didn't make any mistake coming to florida," he said. "we'll get pictures here that no other company can touch." and later this was found to be so, for the films made under the palms created quite a sensation when shown in new york. mr. devere, as usual, was somewhat perturbed when he learned what his daughters had gone through, and again expressed his doubts as to the advisability of keeping them in moving picture work. "oh, but that might have happened to anyone--if we were out after orchids, instead of being filmed," protested alice. "i don't ever want to think of giving up this work." "nor do i!" added ruth, with more energy than she usually exhibited. the players were out in the palm forest. it was several days after the episode of the manatee, and the steamer, with a plentiful supply of wood fuel, had gone up another sluggish stream, some miles farther on. quite an elaborate drama was to be filmed and the "full strength of the company," as paul laughingly said, was required. even little tommy and nellie were to used in some of the scenes. "isn't it wild and desolate in here?" remarked ruth, with a little shudder as they penetrated deeper and deeper into the forest, for mr. pertell wanted a certain background. "it _is_ lonesome," agreed alice. "whenever i get to a place like this i think of those two missing girls." "so do i! isn't it too bad about them? i wonder if they can have been found by this time?" "let us hope so," said alice, in a low voice. it took some little time to arrange for making this new film, and in the first scenes neither ruth nor alice were required. they wandered off to one side, remaining within call, however. "there's an orchid!" exclaimed alice, as she pointed to a beautiful bloom, clinging to a tree. seemingly it drew its nourishment from the air alone. "how beautiful!" remarked ruth. "i wonder if we could get it?" "i can climb the tree," declared her sister. "i have on an old skirt. i'll get it." she did, after some little difficulty, and as she was bringing it to ruth, alice looked through an opening between the trees, and exclaimed: "oh, there are tommy and nellie. they are after flowers too, for they each have a handful. but i must call to them. they should not wander too far away." together she and alice, admiring the orchid, advanced toward the two children, who had come to a halt under a big sycamore. then, as alice was about to call, she uttered an exclamation of terror. "see!" she whispered hoarsely to ruth. "that creature in the tree--right over their heads, and it is crouching for a leap!" ruth looked and saw a tawny beast with laid-back ears and twitching tail, stretched on a big limb a short distance above the ground, and right over the two children, who were innocently prattling away, and looking at the flowers they had gathered. chapter xviii the animated logs for a moment alice and ruth were almost paralyzed with fear. they stood spellbound, and could only gaze horrifiedly at the tawny beast stretched out on the limb of the tree. "what--what shall we do?" asked alice. "what can we do?" ruth returned. "if we move toward them, or call out, the beast may spring on them. what is it--a tiger?" "i don't know. of course it's not a tiger, for there are none in this country except in circuses. maybe it's a wildcat." "oh, they are terrible. but this doesn't look like the wildcat flaming arrow shot in the backwoods." "no, it doesn't," agreed alice. "but we must do something to save those children!" tommy and nellie, all unconscious of their peril, were still sorting their blossoms beneath the tree. "if we could only get them out of the way--somehow," urged alice. "then we might hurry off before the beast could spring." "but it might chase after us--and them." "that's so. one of us had better go for help. you--you go, alice. i--i'll stay here," faltered ruth. "what! leave you alone with that beast? i will not!" "but what can we do?" alice thought for a moment. the animal in the tree had apparently not seen them--its attention was fixed on the two children. then, as the girls watched, they saw it move slightly, while its tail twitched faster. "it's getting ready to spring!" whispered alice. "oh, don't say that!" begged ruth, clasping her hands. they really did not know what to do. they were some distance from the others of the moving picture company, and to go to them, and summon help, might mean the death or injury of the children. on the other hand, to call out suddenly, or to rush toward the little ones, might precipitate the attack of the beast. and then fate, or luck, stepped in and changed the situation of affairs. tommy spied another blossom--a brighter one than any he had yet gathered and he cried out: "oh, look at that pretty flower! i'm going to get it!" "no, let me!" exclaimed his sister, and the two got up with that suddenness which seems so natural to children, and sped across a little glade, out from under the tree, with its dangerous beast toward a clump of ferns and flowers. it was the best, and perhaps the only thing, they could have done. "oh--oh!" gasped ruth. it was all she could say. "now they are safe," alice ventured. but not yet. the beast had been about to spring and now, with a snarl of disappointed rage, it bounded lightly from the limb of the tree to the ground, and began a slinking advance upon the children. "oh!" screamed ruth, and her cry of alarm was echoed by her sister. both girls instinctively started forward, but an instant later they were halted by a voice. "stand where ye are, young ladies. i'll attend to that critter!" before they had a chance to look and see who it was that had called, a shot rang out and the beast, which had been running along, crouched low like a cat after a bird, seemed to crumple up. then it turned a complete somersault, and a moment later lay motionless. tommy and nellie, hearing the report of the gun, paused in their rush after the bright flowers, and then, as they saw the big animal not far from them, they uttered cries of fear, and clung to each other. "it's all right, dears! there's no danger now!" called ruth, as she sped toward them. alice paused but a moment to look at the individual who had in such timely and effective fashion come to the rescue. she saw a tall, gaunt man, attired in ragged clothes, bending forward with ready rifle, to be prepared to take a second shot if necessary. "i don't reckon he'll bother any one no more," said this man, with a satisfied chuckle, as he leaned on his gun, the butt of which he dropped to the ground. "i got him right in the head." "oh--we--we can't thank you enough!" gasped alice. "the--the children--" but her voice choked, and she could not speak. "wa'al, i reckon he _might_ have clawed 'em a bit," admitted the man with the gun. "and perhaps it's jest as well i come along when i did. you folks live around here? don't seem like i've met you befo'." "we're a company of moving picture actresses and actors," explained alice, while ruth, making a detour to avoid the dead body of the animal, went to tommy and nellie, who were still holding on to each other. "picture-players; eh?" mused the hunter, for such he evidently was. "i seen a movin' picture once, and it looked as real as anything. be you folks on that steamer?" "the _magnolia_--yes," answered alice, as her sister led the children up to her. "you're all right now, dearies," said ruth. "the nice man killed the bad bear." "excuse me, miss; but that ain't a bear," said the hunter, with a pull at his ragged cap that was meant for a bow. "it's a bobcat--mountain lion some folks calls 'em--and i don't know as i ever saw one around this neighborhood before. mostly they're farther to the no'th. this must be a stray one." "oh, but it might have killed us all if you had not been here," ruth went on. "oh, no, miss, beggin' your pardon. it wouldn't have been as bad as that. most-ways these bobcats would rather run than fight. i reckon if it had seen you young ladies it would have run." "are we as scary as all that?" asked alice, with a nervous little laugh. "oh, no, miss. i didn't mean it that way at all," said the man. "i beg your pardon, i'm sure. but a bobcat won't hardly ever attack a grown person, unless it's cornered. i reckon this one must have been riled about suthin' and thought to claw up the tots a bit. i happened to be around, so i jest natcherally plunked him--beggin' your pardon for mentionin' the matter." "it was awfully good of you," murmured ruth, who had tommy's and nellie's hands now. "won't you tell us who you are?" asked alice, as she introduced herself and her sister. "who--me? oh, i'm jed moulton," replied the hunter. "i'm an alligator hunter by callin'. but they're gittin' a bit scarce now, so i'm on the move." "i wish you'd come back and meet our friends," suggested ruth. "mrs. maguire, the children's grandmother, will want to thank you for what you have done." "wa'al, i'm in no special rush, and i reckon i can spare a little time," agreed jed. "but i ain't much used to havin' a fuss made over me." "you can see how moving pictures are made," suggested alice. "can i, miss? then i'll come," and shouldering his gun he set off with them. "are you going to leave the bobcat there?" asked ruth. "yes, miss. its skin ain't really no good this time of year, and i don't want to bother with it. the buzzards'll make short work of it. leave it lie." there was considerable excitement among the other players when the girls and children came back, accompanied by jed, and told of their adventure. much was made over the alligator hunter, and mrs. maguire was profuse in her thanks. then, in the next breath, she scolded the tots for wandering so far away. "i think they won't do it again," said ruth, with a smile, as she recalled their fright. "no, sir! never no more!" declared tommy, earnestly. bad as the scare had been, its effects were not lasting, and ruth and alice were able to take their part in the drama that was being filmed. jed moulton looked on, his eyes big with wonder. "that beats shootin' bobcats!" he declared at the conclusion of the performance. jed at once became a favorite with all, and when mr. pertell learned that he was quite a successful hunter he made him an offer. "you come along with us," the manager urged. "i want to get a film of alligator hunting, and i'll make it worth your while to do some of your stunts before the camera. i'll pay you well, and you can have all the alligators you shoot." "say, that suits me--right down to the ground!" cried jed, heartily. "i'll take you up on that." so jed became attached to the moving picture outfit, and a cheerful and valuable addition he proved. for he knew the country like a book, and offered valuable suggestions as to where new and striking scenic backgrounds could be obtained. an uneventful week followed the episode of the bobcat. the _magnolia_ went up and down sluggish streams and bayous, while the company of players acted their parts, or rested beneath the palms and under the graceful spanish moss. "but it is getting lonesome and tiresome--being away from civilization so long," complained miss pennington one day. "we can't get any mail, or anything." "who wants mail, when you can sit out on deck and look at such a scene as that?" asked alice, pointing to a view down a beautiful river. "don't you want to come for a row?" asked paul of alice, after luncheon. "i think so," she answered. "where is ruth?" "we'll all go together," he proposed. "russ wants to get a few pictures, and jed moulton is going along to show us where there are some likely spots for novel scenes." "of course i'll come!" cried alice, enthusiastically, as she went to her stateroom to make ready. a little later the four young people, with the alligator hunter, set out in a big rowboat. russ took with him a small moving picture camera, as he generally did, even when he had no special object in view. they rowed up the stream in which the _magnolia_ was resting, her bow against a fern bank, and presently the party was in a solitude that was almost oppressive. there was neither sign nor sound of human being, and the steamer was lost to sight around a bend in the stream. "isn't it wonderful here?" murmured ruth. "it certainly is," agreed russ who, with paul, was rowing. "it sure is soothin'," said jed. "many a time when i ain't had no luck, and feel all tuckered out, i sneak off to a place like this and i feel jest glad to be alive." he put it crudely enough, but the others understood his homely philosophy. they rowed slowly, pausing now and then to gather some odd flower, or to look at some big tree almost hidden under the mass of spanish moss. alice, who had gone to the bow, was looking ahead, when suddenly she called out: "oh, look at the funny logs! they're bobbing up and down all over. see!" jed and the others looked to where she pointed, toward a sand bar in the stream. then the old hunter called out: "logs! them ain't logs! them's alligators! we've run into a regular nest of 'em! i'm glad i brought my gun along!" "oh! alligators!" gasped ruth, as one thrust his long and repulsive head from the water, just ahead of the boat. chapter xix into the wilds had there been any convenient mode of running away ruth and alice would certainly have taken advantage of it just then. but they were out in a boat, in the middle of a wide, sluggish stream, and all about them, swimming, diving, coming up and crawling over a long sand-bar, were alligators--alligators on all sides. they were surrounded by them now, and the girls would no more have gotten out of the boat, even if there had been a bridge nearby on which to walk to shore, than they would have dived overboard. "oh, isn't it awful!" gasped ruth, covering her eyes with her hands. "can they get at us?" asked alice, more practically. "not if you stay in the boat, i should say," declared paul. but he was not altogether sure in his own mind. as for russ he said nothing. but he was busy focusing the small moving picture camera on the unusual scene. true, he had views of the saurians at the alligator farm near st. augustine, but this was different. the views he was now getting showed the big, repulsive creatures in their natural haunts. "this sure is a big piece of luck!" cried jed moulton, as he brought his rifle up from the bottom of the boat. "it is a rare bit of luck! i didn't know there was so many 'gators in this neighborhood!" "oh, are you going to shoot?" cried ruth, as she saw the old hunter prepare to take aim. "well, that's what i was countin' on, miss," he replied. "i can't exactly get a 'gator without shootin' him. they won't come when you call 'em, you know. but if it's goin' to distress you, miss, why of course i can--" "oh, no!" she cried hastily. "of course i don't want to deprive you of making a living. that was selfish of me. only i was afraid if you shot from the boat it might upset, and if we were thrown into the water with all those horrid things--ugh!" she could not finish. "i guess you're right, miss," assented jed. "it will be better not to shoot from the boat, especially as we've got a pretty good load in, and my gun is a heavy one, though it don't recoil such an awful lot. now we'll take you girls back to the steamer, and then i'll come here and make a bag--an alligator bag, you might say," he added with grim humor. "oh, i want to stay and see you shoot!" cried alice, impulsively. "oh, no, alice!" cried her sister. "daddy wouldn't like it, you know." "well, perhaps not," admitted the younger girl, more readily than her sister had hoped. "shooting alligators is not exactly nice work, i suppose, however much it needs to be done, for we have to have their skins for leather." "then suppose you take us back," suggested ruth. "i'm sorry to make so much trouble--" "not at all!" interrupted paul. "i think it will be best. but if i can borrow a gun i'm going to get a 'gator myself." "and get one for me; will you, paul?" begged alice. "i'll have my valise after all!" "surely," he answered. "just a few minutes more," requested russ. "there's a big one over there i want to film. i guess he must be the grandfather of this alligator roost." "i never saw such a nest of 'em!" exclaimed jed. "i can make a pot of money out of this. none of the other hunters has stumbled on it. i'm in luck!" ruth and alice had lost much of their first fear, and really the only danger now was lest one of the big saurians upset the boat, which it might easily do, by coming up under it. the alligators showed no disposition to make an attack. indeed, most of them swam past the boat without noticing it, though a few of the smaller ones scuttled off when they came up and eyed the craft and its occupants. out on the sand bar, sunning themselves, were nearly a score of the big creatures. now and then one would crawl over the others, or plunge into the sluggish stream with a splash. "some fine skins here," commented jed, with a professional air. "when we come back, boys, we'll have a lively time." "isn't it dangerous?" asked ruth, with a shudder. "alligators ain't half so dangerous as folks think," said jed. "i've hunted 'em, boy and man, for years, and i never got much hurt. one i wounded once nipped me on the leg, and i've got the scar yet." "i thought it was the tail that was the dangerous part of an alligator," said russ, who now had all the pictures he wanted for the present, though he intended coming back with the larger camera and filming the alligator hunt. "well, i've read lots of stories to the effect that an alligator or crocodile could swing his tail around and knock a man or dog into his mouth with one sweep, but i don't believe it," the hunter said. "of course that big tail could do damage if it was properly used, and you didn't get out of the way in time. in india i reckon the crocodiles are dangerous, if what you read is true; but i don't reckon a florida alligator nor crocodile ever ate a man." "i thought there were no crocodiles in this country," said russ, who, with a skillful movement of the oars, avoided hitting a big alligator. "that's a mistake," said jed. "there are both alligators and crocodiles in florida, and some of the crocodiles grow to be nearly fifteen feet long. there ain't so much difference between crocodiles and alligators as folks think. the main point is that a crocodile's head is more pointed than an alligator's." "they're all horrid enough looking," observed alice. "wa'al, i grant you they ain't none of 'em beauties," returned the hunter, with a chuckle, "though i have heard of some folks takin' home little alligators for pets. i'd as soon have a pet bumblebee!" and he laughed heartily. the two girls were becoming almost indifferent to the alligators now, though in turning about for the return trip to the steamer they several times bumped into the clumsy creatures, and once the craft careened dangerously, causing alice and ruth to scream. and once, when they were almost out of the haunts of the saurians, an immense specimen reared itself out of the water and thrust its ugly nose over the bow. "oh!" cried alice, shrinking back. in an instant jed fired, aiming, however, along the keel of the boat, and not broadside across it, so there was no danger from the recoil. the alligator sank at once. "i hit him!" cried the hunter, "but it wasn't a mortal wound. i'll come back and get him." "please don't shoot again!" begged ruth. "i won't, miss, and i beg your pardon; but i really couldn't help it," he apologized. there was considerable excitement aboard the _magnolia_ when the party returned with word about the alligators, and when paul and russ went back with jed, russ taking a large camera, another boatload of men with guns was made up for the hunt. even jed was satisfied later with the day's work, and russ got a film that created quite a sensation when shown, for never before had an alligator hunt been given in moving pictures. "well, i can't go on with you folks any longer," said jed that night, as mr. pertell, aboard the _magnolia_, was talking of further plans. "i've got to stay and take care of my alligator skins," he added. "it means big money to me." "i wish you could come," said the manager. "for we are going into the wilds, and we may need your help." "into the wilds?" echoed mr. sneed. "do you think it safe?" "i don't know whether it is or not," responded mr. pertell, and he spoke half seriously. "but we have to go to get the views i want. i hope none of you refuse to come." no one did, but there was not a little apprehension. "those two girls went into the wilds--and did not come back, you know," said ruth to alice in a low voice. "oh, don't think of it," was the rejoinder. "we are a large party--we can't get lost." but neither ruth nor alice realized what was before them. chapter xx lost pushing her bow up sluggish streams--up rivers that flowed under arching trees, heavy with the gray moss, went the _magnolia_. the party of moving picture players had been on the move for three days now, without a stop for taking of pictures, save those russ made of the negroes cutting wood for the boilers. no dramas were to be made until they reached a certain wild and uninhabited part of florida, of which mr. pertell had heard, and which he thought would be just right for his purpose. they had left the vicinity of the alligator hunt, and were pushing on into the interior. in reality it was not so many miles from sycamore, but it seemed a great way, so lonely was it in the palm forests and cypress swamps. "seems to me this is lonely enough to suit anyone," observed miss pennington as she sat on deck with the others, and looked up stream. "it surely is--i feel like screaming just to know that there is something alive around here," added miss dixon. "go ahead!" laughed russ. "no one will stop you!" "really the silence does seem to get on one's nerves," put in mr. towne. "it--er--interferes with--er--thinking, you know." "didn't know you ever indulged in that habit!" chaffed paul. "oh, why--er--my deah fellah! of course i do--at times. i find--i really find i have to give a great deal of consideration--at times--to the suit samples my tailor sends me. and really i shall not be sorry to get back to deah old n'york and renew my wardrobe." "if he has any more suits he'll have to get a man to look after them," remarked alice. "oh, hush!" chided ruth. then silence once more settled down over the company on the upper deck of the _magnolia_. an awning protected them from the hot sun, and really it was very pleasant traveling that way. of course it was lonesome and the solitude was depressing. for days they would see nothing save perhaps the boat of some solitary fisherman, or alligator hunter. occasionally they saw some of the big saurians themselves, as they slipped into the water from some log, or sand bar, on the approach of the steamer. now and then some wild water fowl would dart across the bows of the boat, uttering its harsh cries. russ got a number of fine nature films, but the real work of making dramas would not take place for another day or two. meals were served aboard, though once or twice, when a long stop had to be made for the cutting of fuel, a shore party was made up. then they would take their luncheon with them, seek out some little palm-shaded glade, and there feast and make merry. ruth and alice, with paul and russ, always enjoyed these trips. "i think this will about suit us," said mr. pertell, one evening, as the _magnolia_ made a turn in the stream, and came to a place where another sluggish river joined it. "this is the spot spoken of by jed, and the surrounding country will give us just the scenery we want, i think. we will tie up here for the night, and you and i will make an examination to-morrow, russ." "all right, sir. it looks like a good location to me." it was so warm that supper really was almost a waste of effort on the part of the cook that evening, for few ate much. then came a comfortable time spent on the deck, while the night wind cooled the day-heated air. "oh, isn't this positively stifling!" complained miss pennington as she dropped into a chair beside ruth. "how do you ever stand it? i've bathed my face in cologne, and done everything i can think of to cool off." "perhaps if you didn't do so much you would keep cooler," ruth suggested with a smile. "and really that is a very warm gown you have on." "i know it, but it's so becoming to me--at least, i flatter myself it is," and she glanced in the direction of mr. towne, who as usual was attired "to the limit," as russ said. ruth and alice, in cool muslins or lawns, were quite in contrast to the rather overdressed former vaudeville actresses. "i can lend you a kimono," offered alice. "no, thank you!" replied miss pennington. "i believe in a certain refinement in dress, even if we are in the wilds of florida." "i believe in being comfortable," retorted alice. miss dixon came up on deck, redolent of a highly perfumed talcum powder. "it seems to keep away the mosquitoes," she murmured in explanation, though no one had said anything, even if russ did sniff rather ostentatiously. "i should think it would attract them," chuckled paul. "oh, indeed!" said miss dixon, and changed her mind about taking a seat near him. returning from a little exploring party next day russ and mr. pertell reported the locality to be just what was wanted. "we start work to-morrow," said the manager. "and i want everyone to do his or her best, for this will bring our florida stay to a close." "and what next?" asked mr. devere. "i haven't made up my mind yet. but there will be plenty of other pictures to make." during the next few days every member of the company, from mr. devere to tommy and nellie, had their share of work. there were romantic plays filmed, and in these ruth had good parts. as for alice she rejoiced when she had humorous "stunts" to do. "you are getting to be a regular 'cut-up'," laughed paul at the close of one of her performances. "yes, and i hope she doesn't get too much that way," said ruth. "no danger, sister mine, with you to keep me straight," was the answer, as alice put an arm around ruth. some comic films were made, and in a few of these mr. sneed and mr. towne had to do "stunts" such as falling in the mud and water, or toppling down hills head over heels. but mr. pertell was careful to warn them not to run dangerous risks. mr. devere, as usual, did more dignified work, and mr. bunn was delighted when told that he might do a bit of shakespeare. and to do him credit, he acted well, much better than some of his associates had supposed he could. "i have a new idea for to-day," said mr. pertell one morning, as the day's work was about to start. "in one drama i wish to show a little picnic scene, with two girls and their mother. you will be the mother, mrs. maguire, and with ruth and alice will go off up a side stream in a boat. russ will go along, of course, to manage the camera, and i think i'll send paul to help row the boat. take a gun along, paul, for you can pretend to shoot some game for the lunch. "you will also have a regular picnic lunch along--real food, by the way, and you will spread it out in some picturesque spot and eat." mr. pertell then went on giving directions for the acting of the drama that was to center around the little picnic. in due time the boat was loaded with the camera and provisions, and paul helped in ruth, alice and mrs. maguire. then he got in with the gun. "better take your raincoats along," advised mr. devere to his daughters, "it looks like a shower and you won't be back before night." accordingly the garments were tossed into the boat, and then, leaving the _magnolia_ moored to the bank, the small craft started off up a little side stream that was to be followed for a mile or two. russ picked out a likely spot for the picnic scene and after a bit of rehearsal ruth, alice, mrs. maguire and paul went through the little play. "this is more fun than acting," remarked alice, as she reached for another chicken sandwich. there was more to do after the meal, and when what food remained had been packed up for a luncheon later in the afternoon, they entered the boat again, and started still farther up stream. the last film had been made and as the shadows were lengthening the start back was made. "my, it's getting dark very quickly, and it's only three o'clock," said paul, as he looked at his watch. "going to rain, i guess," said russ. and rain it did a little later, the drops coming down with tropical violence. "oughtn't we to be at the steamer by this time?" asked mrs. maguire, when they could hardly see. "well, maybe we had," agreed paul. the light was set aglow, and then the young men shouted and called: "_magnolia_ ahoy!" echoes were their only answer, save the bellow or grunt of some distant alligator, or the screech of some disturbed wild fowl. "this is queer," observed russ. "i'm sure we have rowed back far enough to be at the place where we left the steamer. i wonder--" but he did not finish. "what do you wonder?" asked alice, searchingly. "oh--nothing," russ hesitated. "yes, it is something!" she insisted. "well, then, i was wondering if we possibly could have come down some wrong creek. there were a number of turns, you know." "do--do you mean, we are--lost?" faltered ruth. "well, i'm afraid i do." chapter xxi the long night ruth began to cry quietly--she really could not help it. alice felt like following her example, but the younger girl had the saving grace of humor. not that ruth actually lacked it, but it was not so near the surface, nor so easily called into action. "isn't it silly?" alice suddenly exclaimed. "what?" paul wanted to know. "getting lost like this! it's too funny--" "i wish i could see it, my dear," observed ruth. "try to," urged mrs. maguire. "it does seem a bit odd to be lost like this, and maybe the steamer only just around the corner." "probably she is," agreed russ. "we must call again!" this time they united their voices in a shout that carried far, but the only effect it had was to disturb some of the denizens of the forest. "but what are we going to do?" queried ruth. "we--we can't stay here all night." "we may have to," answered russ, grimly enough. "oh, please don't say that!" she faltered. "why, it won't be so bad," put in the jolly irish woman. "we've got a roomy boat, thank goodness. we can lie down on the rugs, with our rubber coats for protection against the dew. we have some food left, and the moon will soon be up, for it's clearing fast. then, in the morning, we can find our way back to the steamer." "of course!" exclaimed paul, who realized the necessity of keeping up the spirits of the girls. "we'll be laughing at this to-morrow." "do you really think so?" asked ruth, timorously. "i'm sure of it," he said. "now let's figure out what we'd better do." "how about going ashore?" suggested russ. "never!" cried ruth. "why not?" "oh, we don't know what sort of horrid things may be in the woods. it's safer in the boat." "you forget about the--" alice began, but she did not finish. she had been about to say "manatees and alligators," but thought better of it. instead she changed it to: "well, i guess it's about six of one and half a dozen of the other." "only, don't you think it's better to stay in the boat?" asked ruth. "i suppose it is," agreed alice. "it will be damp on the ground, and there is very little water in the boat." this was so because when it rained russ and paul had used a heavy canvas to cover up the provisions that were left, and this shed the water over the sides of the craft. "there's the moon!" suddenly called mrs. maguire, as she saw a flash of light between the trees. "i only wish it was the lantern of a searching party," sighed ruth. "they probably will hunt for us," said russ. "but whether they find us before morning is another matter." "well, let's take an account of things, and see how we stand, anyhow," suggested paul, practically. "if we've got to stay here all night we might as well make ourselves as comfortable as possible." "don't you think we could keep on rowing, and perhaps find the steamer, russ?" asked ruth. "i'm afraid not," he answered. "we would only get more lost, if that is possible. no, i think the best plan is to stay right where we are, and in the morning we can look about." "i don't understand how we came to get lost," remarked alice. "well, there were so many creeks and bayous that we probably took the wrong turn," russ answered. "we ought to have picked out a landmark, i suppose. i will next time." "yes, we didn't use as much care as we might have done," agreed paul. "well, let's make the ladies comfortable." "i'm hungry, more than uncomfortable," declared alice. "there are some sandwiches and other things left," russ told her. "luckily we didn't eat all of them. and i can make coffee." "then please do!" cried ruth. "i'm cold from the rain, and it may help my nerves!" "you shouldn't have them, sister mine!" mocked alice. they were all in better spirits now. the moon was higher, and gave a good illumination, being at the full. there were some heavy rugs in the boat, having been brought along to use in the picnic scene in the woods. while paul arranged these in the bottom of the craft, and put some cushions against the seats so that mrs. maguire and the two girls could lean against them, russ prepared the coffee. a jug of drinking water had been brought along, for the water of the creeks and river was not considered good. then, with an alcohol stove, set up on a seat, a steaming pot of coffee was soon made. with that and sandwiches the lost ones made a meal for which they were all grateful, and in which they stood in much need. "oh, how good that was!" sighed alice. "is there any more?" "well," hesitated russ, "i was thinking perhaps we'd better save some until morning. we will want breakfast, you know." "don't you think they'll find us--or we them--by breakfast time?" asked ruth, apprehensively. "it's possible that it may not happen," russ answered, slowly, and his words seemed rather ominous to the two girls, at least. "oh, don't worry," advised mrs. maguire. "we'll be all right, i'm sure. at the same time it might be a good plan not to eat all the food we have." "oh, i agree to that!" said alice, hastily. "i'll shoot a wild turkey to-morrow," promised paul, with a laugh. "then we will have a real thanksgiving feast." "i hope we don't have to stay as long as that," sighed ruth. "oh, how father will worry!" she said to alice. "probably, but it can't be helped. he will know we would come back if we could, and he'll know we will take care of ourselves." "still, he can't help worrying," insisted ruth. fortunately the boat was a roomy one, and the lost ones were not as uncomfortable as might have been imagined, with the rugs and cushions and the piece of canvas, as well as their raincoats, for covering. the craft was tied to a tree on shore, in a sort of little cove, and there the five prepared to spend the night. the moon came up higher over the trees, and shone down on the strange scene. "i wish it were light enough for some pictures," sighed russ. "nothing much gets away from you, old man," laughed paul. "are your ladies comfortable?" he asked, as he joined russ in the bow of the boat, the other three being in the broad stern. "very comfortable," answered alice. "only i wish we had brought a mosquito netting along. the little pests are after me with a vengeance." "i can build a smudge on shore, and that may keep them off," offered russ. "in fact, a smudge is about the only kind of a fire i could make, as everything is so damp." this proved to be the case. but a heavy smoke was soon floating over the boat, and this did seem to keep away the pests. "what had we better do?" asked russ of paul, as they piled more damp fuel on the smudge-fire. "well, we'll have to stand watch and watch, of course. and we will have the gun ready. it's all loaded. no telling what might happen. a bobcat might take a notion to come aboard, or an alligator might nose us out. we'll have to be on the watch." little or nothing could be told about the surrounding country in the darkness, even illuminated as it was by the moon. the river stretched away in either direction, and both banks were heavily wooded. "br-r-r! but it's creepy here!" sighed ruth, as the two young men got into the boat again. "is that a light--a lantern--off there?" asked alice, suddenly, as she sat up and pointed. for a moment they all hoped that it was, and they raised their voices in shouts: "here we are!" "look for our lantern!" then as the other light moved about erratically russ said: "it's only _ignis-fatuus_--will-o'-the-wisp. it's a sort of phosphorescent glow that appears at night over swamps. i've seen it in rotting stumps on hot nights." "too bad to disappoint you," said mrs. maguire. "now, girls, get comfortable, and we'll be all right in the morning. try to sleep." ruth and alice declared it was out of the question, and for a long time they remained wide awake. mrs. maguire, who had traveled with many road companies, and had often slept under adverse circumstances, did manage to doze off. russ had first watch, and paul was tired enough to fall into a slumber. finally ruth and alice also slumbered, leaning against each other, with mrs. maguire as partial support. russ found his head nodding as the long night wore on. "come, this won't do!" he told himself, sitting up with a jerk. but nature was insistent, and he became sleepy again. he was suddenly awakened by what seemed some horrid, human cry close to the boat. "oh!" screamed ruth, startling the others into wakefulness. "what was that?" the cry was repeated--a cry that brought a chill to the heart. chapter xxii ashore the boat rocked and trembled under the impulse of the moving bodies--swayed so and tilted, that russ sharply called: "steady all, or we'll upset!" "oh!" screamed ruth. "never! do be quiet, alice!" "i'm not moving; it's you!" "quiet, girls," called mrs. maguire, softly. she had really been sleeping soundly, and the sudden awakening rather confused her. "what's it all about?" she asked. "oh, didn't you hear it?" gasped ruth. "such a horrible cry!" "maybe it was some one calling to us--some of the searching party from the _magnolia_," suggested paul. "let's give an answer, then," came from russ. "_magnolia_ ahoy!" cried paul, and the young moving picture operator joined in with his powerful voice. there was no answer for a moment, and all about in the black woods was silence. off on shore glowed the faint sparks of the smudge-fire. "they didn't hear you," said alice, softly. and then, vibrating on the night, and echoing through the trees, came that dreadful cry again; weird, long-drawn-out, a howl--a fiendish laugh, ending in a choking giggle and then a shrill whine. "oh--oh!" gasped ruth, and she and alice clung together, leaning on mrs. maguire. "it's like the wail of a lost soul," whispered alice. "sure, and it must be an irish banshee!" murmured mrs. maguire. "i've heard my mother tell of 'em!" "it's a wild beast, that's all," said paul, though his voice was not steady as usual. for the cry, coming out of the darkness, perhaps from a spot where some animal crouched, ready to spring down on them, was not reassuring. "that's it--some animal," added russ. "hand me that gun, paul, i'll try--" "oh, you're not going after it--in the dark, are you?" interrupted ruth. "not much, little girl!" he exclaimed with a laugh, which showed that his nerves were steadying. "i'm only going to try a shot to frighten it. i don't want to be kept awake all night." "as if one could close an eye with that horrid creature loose in the woods," remarked alice. again came the weird cry, seemingly nearer than before. "we ought to have a fire," whispered paul. "wild animals are afraid of fire." "it's too damp to build one," remarked russ. "the lantern will have to answer." the beast kept up its howling longer than usual this time. then russ, who had a good ear for sound, and a fine sense of location, raised the gun and fired into the darkness. a jagged streak of flame lit up the blackness for a second, and following close after the echoes of the shot there sounded a howl that was unmistakably one of pain. "you winged him, russ!" cried paul. the howling continued. the girls screamed. mrs. maguire tried to calm them. "i believe i may have touched him," admitted russ, not a little proudly. "there was a big charge of shot in that cartridge, and it probably scattered. he can't be badly hurt though, but it may make him go serenade someone else. we've had enough." the howls grew fainter, and there was a crashing in the bushes and tree limbs that told of the retreat of some creature. finally these sounds ceased, and once more there was silence and darkness, illuminated only by the lantern and the faint glow of the smudge-fire. "do you really think it's gone?" asked ruth faintly, as she nestled closer to her sister and mrs. maguire. "i hope so," ventured alice. "i guess we've heard the last of it," russ assured them. "but don't worry. we'll be on the watch the rest of the night. i wish we could have a fire; but i'm afraid it's out of the question." "let's try, anyhow," suggested paul. "it will give us something to do. i'm cold and stiff. maybe we can find a bit of dry wood." "it is chilly," complained ruth, and she shivered. the night was cold and damp. nor were the piece of canvas and the raincoats much protection. still, it was better than nothing. "well, we'll try a fire," agreed russ, as he prepared to go ashore with paul. "oh--don't--don't go!" begged ruth, nervously. "why not?" asked the young actor. "because--that beast--!" "i fancy he's far enough off by now," answered russ. "a fire will be our best protection, if we can make one. come on, paul, let's try it, anyhow." "oh, i--i don't like them to go," protested ruth. "silly! it's the best thing to do," answered alice. "they probably need a little exercise. they haven't so much room in their end of the boat as we have." "oh, of course, i don't want them to be uncomfortable," returned ruth, quickly. searching about with the lantern russ and paul managed to get enough dry wood to start a blaze. it was a tiny one at first, but as the wood dried out the flames grew apace until there was a really good camp fire. "how's that?" called russ, as he dropped a pile of sticks into the flames. "lovely!" answered alice. "it isn't half so lonesome now," added ruth. she tried to be cheerful--as cheerful as alice seemed, though really both girls, in their hearts, were worrying over the effect their absence would have on their father. "now we've done this much, let's do a little more," suggested paul. "let's brew some coffee. i fancy the girls must be chilly. i know i am." "good idea! coffee for five!" cried russ, as though giving orders to a restaurant waiter. "i wouldn't sleep, anyhow, after hearing that beast scream," said ruth. "do make coffee." the alcohol stove was soon lighted and the aromatic odor of the hot beverage floated on the air. the little party made merry--as merry as possible under the circumstances. the moon sank below the trees again. it grew very dark, and somehow they dozed off again--fitfully. then a pale light suffused the east, filtering faintly through the trees. it grew brighter. "morning," announced russ, with a luxurious stretch. "it's morning." "the end of the long night," whispered ruth. "how glad--how very glad i am." "let's all go ashore and have breakfast--that is, whatever we have left for breakfast," proposed alice. "it will do us all good to run about a bit." and soon they were all ashore, using stiffened muscles gingerly at first, and then with increasing confidence. the sun was blazing hot overhead. "and now to find our mislaid steamer!" cried russ, gaily. chapter xxiii the palm hut breakfast, on the shore of the sluggish and swamp-like stream where the big rowboat was moored, was a meagre meal, indeed. for after a moment of consideration it was decided not to use up all the food that remained. "we may need some for luncheon," explained russ, who seemed to have taken command of the little party. "we may not be able to reach the steamer by noon." "do you think we'll _ever_ be able to reach it, old man?" asked paul, in a low voice. "oh, sure. we've just _got_ to find it!" whispered the young operator, with a quick glance at the girls. "that's so," agreed paul. but he knew, as well as did russ, that it would be no easy matter. and so the "rations" were divided into two parts, though with all there would not have been enough for one substantial meal. fortunately, however, the coffee was plentiful. the cook, when told to put up a lunch for the picnic party that was to figure in the moving pictures, had been very liberal, otherwise there would have been no food left now. and in the matter of coffee enough had been put in to make several large pots full. as for water, some had been brought along, but, luckily, after this was exhausted russ managed to find a spring on shore, not far from where the boat was moored. "we'll have to take a chance on it," he said. "anyhow, boiling the water for coffee will kill all the germs in it." "and we can't be too particular," agreed mrs. maguire. the embers of the camp fire kindled in the night were blown into flame, and soon a genial blaze was leaping upward under the big trees. the refugees gathered about it and ate the scanty meal, drinking several cups of coffee. "that will keep us up, and help to ward off fevers which may lurk in these swamps," said paul. the girls had freshened themselves by washing at the side of the brook which flowed from the spring, and then having arranged their hair, with the aid of their side combs, and a pocket mirror alice carried, they looked, as paul said, "as sweet as magnolia blossoms." "oh, magnolias!" cried ruth. "if we could only find our _magnolia_--the steamer!" "oh, we'll find her," said russ, easily--more easily than he felt. "we look like wrecks beside the girls," declared paul, as he ran his hand over his unshaven chin. "don't you dare desert us to look for a barber!" commanded ruth. "to be left alone in these woods--ugh!" and she shuddered as she looked about. certainly it was very lonely. "it isn't as bad as last night, though," said alice. "i feel quite at home, now. i wonder what became of that animal you shot, russ? i'd like to see what it was." "i wouldn't," declared ruth, decidedly. breakfast over, the blankets and cushions of the boat were spread out in the sun to dry, for they were damp from the rain and dew. "and now the question is--what are we to do?" asked mrs. maguire. "we don't want to spend another night in the woods if we can help it." "i should say not!" cried russ. "we'll start off in a little while and make our way back to the steamer." "can you find it?" asked ruth. "well, it can't be so very far off," spoke russ, evasively. "the trouble is there are so many twists and turns to these creeks and rivers that we lost our way. i wish i had thought to bring a compass but, since we didn't, we'll have to go by the sun. i think the steamer lies in that general neighborhood," and he pointed in a south-easterly direction. "i think so, too," agreed paul. "and if we row that way i think we'll get back." alice, who had gone over to the sunny spot where the blankets and cushions had been put to dry, uttered an exclamation. "look!" she cried, and when paul reached her side she pointed to some bright red spots on the leaves. "that's blood!" cried the young actor. "russ, you winged that beast last night, all right." "is that so? let's have a look for him! maybe i killed him. i'd like to see what sort of a creature it was." the two young men went a little way into the wood, and then came a call: "here he is--dead as a door nail." "oh, what is it? i want to see it!" cried alice, who had a good deal of the curious boy in her make-up. "don't go!" begged ruth. "i shall, too. it can't hurt me--if it's dead." "i know, dear, but--" alice went, however. "it's a lynx," said russ, as he looked at the dead beast. "i can tell by those queer little tufts of hair on the ears." "are they dangerous?" asked alice. "oh, i guess so, if you had one cornered. they can keep a fellow awake, anyhow, that's one sure thing. i must have fired better than i knew. but then the shot scattered so." "he must have been pretty close to us," remarked paul. "ugh! i don't like to think of it," murmured alice, with a little shiver. "suppose he had jumped into the boat?" "don't suppose," laughed russ. "come!" called mrs. maguire from where she had remained near the boat with ruth. "if we're going, we'd better start." "that's right," agreed russ. "the sooner we start the quicker we'll get there." the blankets and cushions were arranged in the craft to make comfortable places for the girls and mrs. maguire, and then the remains of the food, and the coffee outfit, having been stowed away, paul and russ took the oars, and once more the refugees were under way. as nearly as possible, allowing for the twists and turns of the stream, the course was in the direction russ and paul had agreed upon as being the best. from time to time, as they rowed on, they paused to listen for any hails which would probably be given by the searching party from the steamer. "for of course daddy will start out after us," said ruth. "poor daddy!" "i guess there's no doubt of that," agreed russ. "the only trouble is they won't know where to look for us." "wouldn't they go first to the place where we took the picnic films?" asked alice. "i suppose so, yes; but when we came away from there we left no trail they could follow. so it will be sort of hit or miss with them, as it will be with us." "we ought to fire the gun once in a while," suggested mrs. maguire. "that's what all lost persons do." "good idea!" commented russ. "i should have done it before. and they will probably fire to attract our attention, for there are several guns aboard the steamer." they now made up a definite program, to the effect that they would stop every half-hour to listen for possible shouts and shots and would also shout and fire in their turn. this was done, but the sun was nearly noon high, and they had heard no sounds save the natural ones of the swamp and forest. now and then they would see alligators in the waters up or down which they rowed, but the saurians showed no disposition to molest the boat. and russ had too few cartridges to wish to waste any on the creatures. "we may have to spend another night in the open," he confided to paul. "it doesn't look very hopeful," agreed the young actor. noon came, and as far as could be told from listening, and from looking about, they were as far off as ever from the steamer. "and yet it may be within a comparatively short distance of us," said russ, as cheerfully as he could. "only the woods are so dense that we can't see it, and if our voices and the sounds of the gun carry to the _magnolia_ those aboard can't tell from which direction they come." they had been keeping on in the course first decided on--southeast--and there were many twists and turns to the trail. "would it be any better to get out and walk?" asked ruth. "i think not," said russ. "the boat is really easiest and best for us." he did not say so, but he thought that if they had to spend another night in the open the boat would be absolutely necessary. so they remained aboard. at noon they tied up, and went ashore to eat the last of the food. only a little coffee remained, and as the final meagre crumbs were disposed of each one feared to look the others in the face. what would be next--where would the next meal come from? no one could answer. "well, we'd better move on, i suppose," suggested russ, after a pause. "no good staying here." "that's the idea," agreed paul, trying to speak cheerfully. he glanced at the two girls. ruth's lips were quivering, and she seemed on the verge of tears. alice was bearing up better, but she, too, showed the effects of the strain. mrs. maguire was a pillar of strength and courage. "whist! and it's laughin' we'll be at ourselves in a little while--to think we were scared!" she cried, with a forced irish brogue. "we'll be soon aboard the steamer tellin' what good times we had, an' the others will be wishin' they'd been along." "i--i wish i could believe so," faltered ruth. the boys rowed on, and they were glad of the exertion, for it kept them from brooding over the troubles of their situation, and a troublesome situation it was--they admitted that. the afternoon was half gone, and in spite of having traveled several miles, twisting this way and that, there were no signs of the steamer. the boat made a turn in a stream that seemed more sluggish and lonely than any of the others. but it was broader and this gave the boys hope. "we may get somewhere on this creek," observed russ, pulling hard at the oars. alice gave a startled cry, pointed toward the shore and said: "look!" they all gazed to where she indicated, and there, on the bank of the stream, was a small hut, made of palm leaves, while in front of it, tied to an overhanging tree, was a large motor boat! chapter xxiv the lost are found "what does it mean?" "a boat at last!" "human beings, anyhow!" thus came the excited calls from those in the rowing craft, as it drifted toward the hut on shore--a palm leaf hut that seemed crudely made. russ and paul had ceased rowing at the sight of the motor boat, and now their own craft was merely drifting. "hurry up, there!" begged alice. "there must be someone on shore who can put us on the right path. oh, what a relief!" "isn't it!" agreed ruth, with tears in her eyes. but they were tears of joy, now. "this came in the nick of time," murmured russ to paul. "i was about ready to give up." "yes?" agreed paul, half-questioningly. "and yet isn't it queer we don't see some sign of life?" he asked, in a low voice. "we have made noise enough, but no one has come out of that hut. and the hut itself doesn't seem like a very permanent sort of residence; does it?" "indeed it doesn't," spoke russ. "but it may be one just put up for a night or two by a hunter. anyhow, we'll soon find out what it means, and if anyone is there who can tell us which way to go." he and paul resumed their rowing and a little later were close beside the moored motor boat. it was a large craft, and well appointed, though now it showed signs of being weather-beaten; it was scratched and marred. but it seemed to be in good running order. "ahoy there!" called russ, as he made fast their own boat. "ahoy in the hut!" there was no answer. "maybe they're asleep," suggested ruth. "we can apologize for waking them up," said alice. "oh, to think we have help at last!" russ and paul looked at each other. they were not quite so sure, now, in view of the silence, that help was at hand. still, the fact that the boat was tied showed that it had not merely drifted to the spot. some human agency must have been about at some time or other. with russ and paul in the lead the little party made their way to the palm leaf hut. it was ingeniously made--a glance showed that. a palm tree had been taken for the centre pole, and about this had been tied layer after layer of palm leaves, so laid as to shed the rain. the hut was circular, and at the outer edge of the roof poles had been driven into the ground to support it. there was a small opening, which necessitated stooping to enter, and this doorway, if such it could be called, was covered by a sort of curtain of palm leaves, made in layers and fastened together with withes and wild leaves, laced in and out. "quite a piece of work!" commented paul. "now i wonder how one is to knock at a palm leaf door?" "don't knock--call," suggested russ, and, raising his voice, he fairly shouted: "is anyone here?" there was no answer. "i wonder if it would be impolite to open the door, or the curtain, and look in?" suggested alice. "under the circumstances--i think not," answered mrs. maguire. "we need help, and this is the first sign we have seen of it." russ stepped forward, and, after a moment of hesitation lifted the curtain of palm leaves. the interior of the hut was rather dark, and, for a moment he could see nothing. "anyone there?" asked paul. "not a soul," was the disappointing reply. "it's empty." "oh, dear!" sighed alice. "what are we to do?" ruth wanted to know. no one could answer her. russ was busy making a more thorough examination of the interior of the hut. "it's a good place to stay--if we have to," he said to paul, who had joined him inside. "and it looks as though we'd have to--eh?" "i'm afraid so." russ fastened the palm curtain back and this let in more light. then the others came up, though there was not room for them all inside. the hut would hold three comfortably--no more. "who has been here?" "what sort of a hut is it?" "has anyone been here lately?" ruth, alice, and mrs. maguire, in turn, asked these questions. "i don't know who has been here," said russ, "but it's the sort of a hut a native might build--possibly a seminole indian. or some hunters may have it to stay a few nights in a spot where they could get alligators, or whatever game they were after. the fact that the boat is here seems to show they haven't gone for good." "oh, then they may come back!" cried ruth. "very likely to, i should say," spoke russ. "we'll just stick around until they do." "i hope they come back before dark," ventured ruth, and her sister echoed the wish. a closer examination of the hut showed two rude bunks, made of sticks, raised slightly above the surface of the ground. the bunks were covered with thick layers of spanish moss, and were evidently far from being uncomfortable. a few blankets showed that the occupants did not lack for a little comfort. there were a few cooking utensils scattered about, and outside, the ashes of a camp fire, made between stones--a sort of oven--showed how the meals were prepared. but there was little evidence of food, save a few empty tins. "there are evidently two persons staying here," observed russ, as he looked at a packing box, which served as a table, and noted two tin plates, and two knives, forks and spoons. "it must be real jolly, camping this way." "i'd rather have a tent," said paul. "this palm leaf hut looks artistic, and all that, but not very secure." "it's secure enough in good weather," declared russ. "well, i guess the only thing to do is to wait until these folks come back. they won't remain away all night, i hardly think." "but if they don't come back until dark, what shall we do?" asked ruth. "we can't stay out all night again." "we may have to," declared practical alice. "that is so, and we may as well face the issue," said russ, somewhat gravely. "and now that we have found a sign of human beings, who can possibly tell us which way to go to find the steamer, it would be foolish to waste this chance. if we go off by ourselves again we may get farther and farther away from the _magnolia_." "that is so," agreed paul. "i think we had better stay." "that's what i say!" exclaimed mrs. maguire. "it seems like company just to look at that boat and the hut, and to know that someone has been here lately, and will come back." "oh, they'll be sure to come back," russ said. "that's is too good a boat to abandon. why, it must be worth a thousand dollars." he and paul went down to examine it, while the moving picture girls and mrs. maguire looked about the hut. "it seems almost like home, after what we have been through," remarked ruth. "i wish there was something to eat here," said alice, after a stroll about the vicinity of the hut. "whoever lives here must get their supplies in from day to day, and eat them all up." "or they may be out after supplies now," added mrs. maguire. the shadows were lengthening, but the sun was still bright, and it would not be night for several hours. there was a period of anxious waiting. "i wonder if we hadn't better shout again, and fire a few shots?" remarked paul. "we may be near our own steamer now, though it doesn't seem so. we might be in another country, for all we can tell." "i believe we will give a few signals," agreed russ. "and i can spare a couple of cartridges. i only wish i could see something worth eating to shoot at. then i could be killing two birds with one stone--giving a signal and providing a meal." but there seemed no suitable mark for the weapon to be aimed at, and, after they had united their voices in a chorus of calls, russ fired twice--at intervals. then came a period of anxious waiting and silence. "call once more," suggested ruth. "hark!" exclaimed alice, raising her hand to add to her injunction, for russ had been about to speak. "i heard something." they all listened intently. "there it is again!" whispered alice. unmistakably now they all heard voices calling--voices that increased in intensity--coming nearer. "oh, they've found us! they've found us!" half sobbed ruth. "call again, boys--i--i can't," faltered alice. russ and paul shouted. again came an unmistakable answer. now was heard a crashing in the underbrush that told of the approach of someone, and, a moment later there came into view, on the far side of the clearing, where stood the palm leaf hut, two girls, one with a gun over her shoulder, and the other with a brace of birds hanging from her waist. the two girls stopped for a moment, and then, with joyful shouts, rushed forward. as for our friends, they seemed paralyzed with astonishment. it was so different from what they had expected. then alice found her voice, and cried: "the two lost girls--we have found them!" chapter xxv out of the wilds for perhaps several seconds the two parties strangely met in that florida wild stood staring at one another. then the two girls hurried forward, and one of them exclaimed: "oh, have you come for us?" "not exactly, miss madison." "oh--you--you know us?" gasped the other. "certainly, mabel," laughed alice. "don't you remember us--the moving picture girls?" "ruth--alice devere!" came the simultaneous cry from the lost girls--now the _found_ girls. "oh, how did you ever get here?" asked helen madison, for it was really she and her sister. alice had recognized them first, and ruth knew them a moment later. "we are lost, like yourselves," said ruth. "oh, but can you tell us where our steamer is?" "your steamer--no!" half-sobbed mabel. "oh, it is awful! we have been lost a long time--it seems a month, but of course it isn't. we can't find our way out of this wilderness. it is a labyrinth, and we dare not go far from this hut for fear we shall never find it again. it has been terrible. but if you are lost you cannot help us. what shall we do?" "let us eat first," suggested russ, practically. "you have some birds there. i fancy you are as hungry as we are. we have some crackers and coffee. we'll get up a meal and then decide what to do. come, paul, we're the commissary department." "oh, but we must hear your story!" cried ruth to the lost girls, after she had presented mrs. maguire and the boys. "we read about you in the paper, and we heard of you from the hotel clerk in sycamore." "there isn't much to tell," said mabel. "we started off after wild orchids. well, we became lost, and in trying to find our way back we wandered farther and farther into the swamp. we had our motor boat, as you see, and quite a quantity of provisions, which was lucky for us. we tried our best to get out, but could not. "finally we found this spot--the hut was already here, built by alligator hunters, very likely. we appropriated it, and the small quantity of food it contained. since then we have lived on that and what we could shoot. fortunately game was plentiful, but we have so longed for some bread and coffee. i am dying for a cup." "dinner will soon be served," laughed russ, who, with paul, was preparing a rude meal, broiling the birds over a camp fire. "and now tell us about yourselves," suggested mabel to alice. "oh! to think of meeting you again this way," and she recalled the first meeting in the train going to the new england backwoods. by degrees, and with each one telling a part, the story of the moving picture players was related. they told how they had looked in vain for their steamer. mabel and helen madison also went more into details, giving some of their trying experiences in the swamps and bayous. "but for days we have not tried to find our way from here," said mabel. "our motor boat broke down, and we can't get it to go." "i fancy i can fix it," said russ, "but the question is: which way to go? we may only get to a worse place." "let us eat, anyhow," suggested paul. it was not a very elaborate meal, but it put new heart and courage into the lost ones. "we'll get back somehow--some time," declared alice, who was now almost her old self. "and then won't everybody be glad!" night was coming on, but before the advent of darkness russ had remedied the defect in the motor boat. there was trouble with the ignition system, and also with the carbureter. "now we could go, if we knew which way to go," he said, as he tested the craft. "hark!" exclaimed alice, suddenly. the sound of a cheerful whistle came through the screen of trees. "oh!" gasped ruth. "who can it be?" she had her answer a moment later. around a bend in the stream, rowing a battered boat, came an old colored man. it was he who was making the melody. cheerfully he whistled, and more happily was he listened to. "ahoy there, uncle!" called russ. "can you tell us where we are, and where the _magnolia_ is tied up?" the old colored man was so startled by the sudden hail, breaking in on his whistling, that he nearly went overboard. he recovered himself, however, and called out: "whut--whut yo' all doin' at mah cabin?" "is this your place, uncle?" asked russ. "it shore am. an'--an'--i bids yo' all welcome--i shore does, honey!" he added quickly, remembering his hospitality. "we've made ourselves at home," said mabel. "oh, whoever you are, can you show us the way out of this wilderness?" "kin i show yo' all a way outen dish yeah woods? i shore kin, honey lamb! i knows dish yeah place laik a book, even if i cain't read. where all does yo' all want t' go? oh, wait a minute, though. hole on! i done got t' ax yo' all some questions. hab yo' all seen any photographers round 'bout yeah?" "photographers?" repeated paul. "yais, sah! i done passed a steamer yist'day, an' dey all on board was monstrous peeved 'cause dey done lost der photographer. yo' all know--he takes dese pictures dat twinkle laik stars--yo' know, slidin' pictures, i guess dey calls 'em." "do you mean moving pictures?" asked russ, eagerly. "uh, huh! dat's what i means, honey. all on board dish yeah steamer was pow'ful worried case de moving picture man an' some oders got lost. yo' all didn't see 'em; did yo' all?" "we're them!" cried alice, with a justifiable disregard of grammar. "and can you take us to that steamer?" asked ruth, eagerly. "i shore can, honey lamb; but it's quite a far way t' row t'night." "we can go in the motor boat!" cried mabel. "oh, how glad i am that we have it. there's gasoline enough, i think, and there is a powerful searchlight. oh, helen, we're found--we're found!" and she fell to sobbing on her sister's shoulder. ruth and alice, too, clasped their arms about each other. all their troubles seemed over now. "do you think you can pilot us to that steamer?" asked russ. "i shore can, honey lamb!" chuckled the old negro. "i'se libbed in dese waters boy an' man all mah life. yo' can't lose me!" "and is this your place?" asked mrs. maguire, pointing to the palm hut. "dat's what it am, honey lamb. uh, huh! i comes heah t' hunt alligators an' sea cows. sometimes i stays fer a week at a time. i jest come up now t' see if dere any traces of 'gators. i'se gwine t' start in huntin' next week." "oh, isn't he a dear!" laughed alice, with tears of joy in her eyes. "well, i guess you can postpone your investigation for a while," suggested russ. "it's getting dark, uncle, and we'd like to get back to the steamer. now, if you'll pilot us we'll pay you well, and see that you get back in the morning. you can stay on the _magnolia_ to-night--if we find her." "oh, i'll find her, all right--don't yo' all let dat fret yo'!" chuckled the negro. "i knows jest where's she tied. it's a few miles from heah, but in dat choo-choo boat yo' all kin soon be dere." leaving his own boat on shore the colored man got into the motor boat with the others. the rowboat from the steamer was towed, and in it were left the rugs, blankets, moving picture camera and other things. the two madison sisters brought away with them a box of rare orchid specimens, the results of their search. "i wish i could get a moving picture of this; but i can't," sighed russ, as the motor boat started off in the twilight. soon it became so dark that the searchlight was set aglow, and this gave a fine illumination. but uncle joshua, which the negro said was his only name, seemed to need no light. in and out among the creeks, rivers, and bayous he directed russ to steer, until finally, making a turn in a stream, there burst out on the eager eyes of the refugees the lights of the steamer. "_magnolia_ ahoy!" "here we are!" "oh, daddy, daddy!" "on board the _magnolia_!" such joyful shouts as there were, and such joyful answers! and then--but i leave you to imagine the scene aboard the steamer when the lost ones stepped out of the motor launch. mr. devere, who was in a state of collapse through fear for his daughters, nearly fainted from joy, but he soon was himself again. and as for tommy and nellie, it is a wonder their grandmother was able to stand all the hugging and kissing they gave her. as for the other members of the picture company, they rejoiced to the extent of tears, and even mr. sneed whistled cheerfully. mabel and helen madison were really in need of food and rest, for they had fared worse than our friends, having been lost so long, and suffering so from exposure. they were put to bed, and ordered to rest, the assurance being given that early in the morning the start would be made for their home in sycamore. and then such a talking time as there was! it was almost morning before anyone thought of bed. "and all the while we were only a comparatively short distance from here," said russ, when everything had been explained. but the dense woods and the winding waterways were as effective a barrier as many miles would have been. "it's lucky uncle joshua came along," commented alice, and there was no dissent from this. "i declare, we seem to be getting into more and more strenuous adventures, the more moving picture business we do," said ruth. "but i think this is about the end." "indeed it isn't!" declared mr. pertell. "i don't want to crowd you too much, but i have an idea for some new moving pictures, and i'd like to keep this whole company together." "where this time?" alice asked. "out west," was the answer. "i am planning a big drama, to be called 'east and west,' and i think it will be our best effort." "out west," said ruth, softly. "i wonder what will happen to us out there?" and the answer may be found by reading the next book of this series, to be entitled "the moving picture girls at rocky ranch; or, great days among the cowboys." the day following the finding of the lost girls the _magnolia_ started back for sycamore. it was reached without accident, or incident of moment, and how the whole town rejoiced when it was known that the two madison girls were aboard the boat! there was a veritable holiday. the moving picture girls, too, came in for their share of attention, and had uncle joshua been there he probably would have been one of the centres of attraction. but, after being suitably rewarded, he went back to his palm hut, which had served the lost girls so well. russ made a few more films, to complete the set wanted, and then came a packing-up for the return to new york. before that, however, mr. madison insisted on being the host to the entire company at a garden fete in honor of his daughters' safe return. "oh, but it was lovely under the palms, even if we did get lost," said alice, as they started on their northward journey. "indeed it was," agreed ruth. "i wonder if we will like the west as well." "better!" predicted russ. "i'm going to be a cowboy!" declared paul. and now we will take leave of the moving picture girls and their friends. the end tom swift and his wizard camera or thrilling adventures while taking moving pictures by victor appleton contents chapter i a strange offer ii a man in the snow bank iii tom makes up his mind iv held fast v tom gets a warning vi trying the camera vii what the camera caught viii photos from the airship ix off for india x unexpected excitement xi an elephant stampede xii the lion fight xiii a shot in time xiv in a great gale xv snapping an avalanche xvi telegraph orders xvii suspicious strangers xviii the native battle xix a heavy loss xx after the englishmen xxi the jungle fire xxii a dangerous commission xxiii at the volcano xxiv the molten rim xxv the earthquake--conclusion tom swift and his wizard camera chapter i a strange offer "some one to see you, mr. tom." it was koku, or august, as he was sometimes called, the new giant servant of tom swift, who made this announcement to the young inventor. "who is it, koku?" inquired tom, looking up from his work-bench in the machine shop, where he was busy over a part of the motor for his new noiseless airship. "any one i know? is it the 'blessing man?'" for so koku had come to call mr. damon, an eccentric friend of tom's. "no, not him. a strange man. i never see before. he say he got quick business." "quick business; eh? i guess you mean important, koku," for this gigantic man, one of a pair that tom had brought with him after his captivity in "giant land," as he called it, could not speak english very well, as yet. "important business; eh, koku? did he send in his card?" "no, mr. tom. him say he have no card. you not know him, but he very much what you call--recited." "excited i guess you mean, koku. well, tell him to wait a few minutes, and i'll see him. you can show him in then. but i say, koku," and tom paused as he looked at the big man, who had attached himself to our hero, as a sort of personal helper and bodyguard. "yes, mr. tom; what is it?" "don't let him go poking around the shop. he might look at some of my machines that i haven't got fully patented yet. is he in the front office?" "that's where him am. he be lookin' at pictures on the walls." "oh, that's all right then. just keep him there. and, koku, don't let him come back in the shop here, until i get ready to see him. i'll ring the bell when i am." "all right, mr. tom." koku, very proud of his mission of keeping guard over the strange visitor, marched from the room with his big strides, his long arms and powerful hands swinging at his sides, for koku, or august, as tom had rechristened him, and as he often called him (for it was in the month of august that he had located the giants) was a very powerful man. a veritable giant, being extremely tall, and big in proportion. "be sure. don't let him in here, koku!" called tom, in an additional warning, as his new servant left the main shop. "sure not!" exclaimed koku, very earnestly. "i don't know who he may be," mused tom, as he began putting away the parts to his new noiseless motor, so that the stranger could not see them, and profit thereby. "it looks rather funny, not sending in his name. it may be some one who thinks he can spring a trick on me, and get some points about my inventions, or dad's. "it may even be somebody sent on by andy foger, or his father. i can't be too careful. i'll just put everything away that isn't fully covered by patents, and then if he wants to infringe on any of the machines i can sue him." tom looked about the shop, which was filled with strange machinery, most of which had been made by himself, or his father, or under their combined directions. there was a big biplane in one corner, a small monoplane in another, parts of a submarine boat hanging up overhead, and a small, but very powerful, electric auto waiting to have some repairs made to it, for on his last trip in it tom swift had suffered a slight accident. "there, i guess he can't see anything but what i want him to," mused tom, as he put away the last part of a new kind of motor, from which he hoped great things. "let's see, yes, it's out of sight now. i wish ned newton, or mr. damon were here to be a witness in case he starts anything. but then i have koku, even if he doesn't speak much english yet. if it comes to blows--well, i wouldn't want that giant to hit me," finished tom with a laugh, as he rang the bell to announce to his servant that the visitor might be shown in. there was a sound outside the door that separated the business office from the main shop, and tom heard koku exclaim: "hold on! wait! i go first. you wait!" "what's the matter with me going ahead?" demanded a quick, snappy voice. "i'm in a hurry, and--" "you wait! i go first," was the giant's reply, and then came the sound of a scuffle. "ouch! say! hold on there, my man! take your hand off my shoulder! you're crushing me with those big fingers of yours!" this was evidently the visitor remonstrating with the giant. "humph! i guess koku must have grabbed him," said tom softly. "i don't like that sort of a visitor. what's his hurry getting in here?" and our hero looked about, to see if he had a weapon at hand in case of an attack. often cranks had forced their way into his shop, with pet inventions which they wanted him to perfect after they had themselves failed. tom saw a heavy iron bar at hand, and knew this would serve to protect him. "you come after me!" exclaimed koku, when the voice of the other had ceased. "do you stand under me?" "oh, yes, i understand all right. i'll keep back. but i didn't mean anything. i'm just in a hurry to see tom swift, that is all. i'm always in a hurry in fact. i've lost nearly a thousand dollars this morning, just by this delay. i want to see mr. swift at once; and have a talk with him." "another crank, i guess," mused tom. "well, i'm not going to waste much time on him." a moment later the door opened, and into the shop stepped koku, followed by a short, stout, fussy little man, wearing a flaming red tie, but otherwise his clothes were not remarkable. "is this mr. tom swift?" asked the stranger, as he advanced and held out his hand to the young man. "yes," answered tom, looking carefully at the visitor. he did not seem to be dangerous, he had no weapon, and, tom was relieved to note that he did not carry some absurd machine, or appliance, that he had made, hoping to get help in completing it. the youth was trying to remember if he had ever seen the stranger before, but came to the conclusion that he had not. "sorry to take up your time," went on the man, "but i just had to see you. no one else will do. i've heard lots about you. that was a great stunt you pulled off, getting those giants for the circus. this is one; isn't he?" and he nodded toward koku. "yes," replied tom, wondering if the little man was in such a hurry why he did not get down to business. "i thought so," the caller went on, as he shook hands with tom. "once you felt his grip you'd know he was a giant, even if you didn't see him. yes, that was a great stunt. and going to the caves of ice, too, and that diamond-making affair. all of 'em great. i--" "how did you know about them?" interrupted tom, wishing the man would tell his errand. "oh, you're better known than you have any idea of, tom swift. as soon as i got this idea of mine i said right away, to some of the others in my business, i says, says i, 'tom swift is the boy for us. i'll get him to undertake this work, and then it will be done to the queen's taste. tom's the boy who can do it,' i says, and they all agreed with me. so i came here to-day, and i'm sorry i had to wait to see you, for i'm the busiest man in the world, i believe, and, as i said, i've lost about a thousand dollars waiting to have a talk with you. i--" "i am sorry," interrupted tom, and he was not very cordial. "but i was busy, and--" "all right! all right! don't apologize!" broke in the man in rapid tones, while both tom, and his servant, koku, looked in surprise at the quick flow of language that came from him. "don't apologize for the world. it's my fault for bothering you. and i'll lose several thousand dollars, willingly, if you'll undertake this job. i'll make money from it as it is. it's worth ten thousand dollars to you, i should say, and i'm willing to pay that." he looked about, as though for a seat, and tom, apologizing for his neglect in offering one, shoved a box forward. "we don't have chairs in here," said the young inventor with a smile. "now if you will tell me what you--" "i'm coming right to it. i'll get down to business in a moment," interrupted the man as he sat down on the box, not without a grunt or two, for he was very stout. "i'm going to introduce myself in just a second, and then i'm going to tell you who i am. and i hope you'll take up my offer, though it may seem a strange one." the man took out a pocketbook, and began searching through it, evidently for some card or paper. "he's as odd as mr. damon is, when he's blessing everything," mused tom, as he watched the man. "i thought i had a card with me, but i haven't," the visitor went on. "no matter. i'm james period--promoter of all kinds of amusement enterprises, from a merry-go-'round to a theatrical performance. i want you to--" "no more going after giants," interrupted. tom. "it's too dangerous, and i haven't time--" "no, it has nothing to do with giants," spoke mr. period, as he glanced up at koku, who towered over him as he sat on the box near tom. "well?" returned tom. "this is something entirely new. it has never been done before, though if you should happen to be able to get a picture of giants don't miss the opportunity." "get a picture?" exclaimed tom, wondering if, after all, his visitor might not be a little insane. "pictures, yes. listen. i'm james period. jim, if you like it better, or just plain 'spotty.' that's what most of my friends call me. get the idea? a period is a spot. i'm a period, therefor i'm a spot. but that isn't the real reason. it's because i'm always johnny on the spot when anything is happening. if it's a big boxing exhibition, i'm there. if it's a coronation, i'm there, or some of my men are. if it's a durbar in india, you'll find spotty on the spot. that's me. if there's going to be a building blown up with dynamite--i'm on hand; or some of my men. if there's a fire i get there as soon as the engines do--if it's a big one. always on the spot--that's me--james period--spotty for short. do you get me?" and he drew a long breath and looked at tom, his head on one side. "i understand that you are--" "in the moving picture business," interrupted mr. period, who never seemed to let tom finish a sentence. "i'm the biggest moving picture man in the world--not in size, but in business. i make all the best films. you've seen some of 'em i guess. every one of 'em has my picture on the end of the film. shows up great. advertising scheme--get me?" "yes," replied tom, as he recalled that he had seen some of the films in question, and good ones they were too. "i see your point, but--" "you want to know why i come to you; don't you?" again interrupted "spotty," with a laugh. "well, i'll tell you. i need you in my business. i want you to invent a new kind of moving picture camera. a small light one--worked by electricity--a regular wizard camera. i want you to take it up in an airship with you, and then go to all sorts of wild and strange countries, africa, india--the jungles--get pictures of wild animals at peace and fighting--herds of elephants--get scenes of native wars--earthquakes--eruptions of volcanoes--all the newest and most wonderful pictures you can. you'll have to make a new kind of camera to do it. the kind we use won't do the trick. "now do you get me? i'm going to give you ten thousand dollars, above all your expenses, for some films such as i've been speaking of. i want novelty. got to have it in my business! you can do it. now will you?" "i hardly think--" began tom. "don't answer me now," broke in mr. period. "take four minutes to think it over. or even five. i guess i can wait that long. take five minutes. i'll wait while you make up your mind, but i know you'll do it. five minutes--no more," and hastily getting up off the box mr. period began impatiently pacing up and down the shop. chapter ii a man in the snow bank tom swift looked somewhat in surprise at his strange visitor. it had all happened so suddenly, the offer had been such a strange one, the man himself--mr. period--was so odd, that our hero hardly knew what to think. the moving picture agent continued pacing up and down the room now and then looking at his watch as if to note when the five minutes had passed. "no," said tom to himself. "i'm not going to take this offer. there's too much work and risk attached to it. i want to stay at home and work on my noiseless motor for the airship. after that--well--i don't know what i'll do. i'll tell mr. period that he needn't wait the five minutes. my mind is made up now!" but as tom was about to make this announcement, and dismiss his caller, he looked again at the visitor. there was something attractive about him--about his hasty way of talking, about his manner of interrupting, about the way he proposed matters. tom was interested in spite of himself. "well," he reflected, "i may as well wait until the five minutes are up, anyhow." koku, the giant servant, glanced at his young master, as if to ask if there was anything that he could do. tom shook his head, and then the big man strolled over to the other side of the machine shop, at the same time keeping a careful eye on mr. period. while tom is waiting for the time to expire, i will take a few minutes to tell you something more about him. those of my friends who have read the previous books in this series need no introduction to my hero, but those who may chance upon this as their first book in the tom swift series, will like to be more formally introduced. tom, whose mother had been dead some years, lived with his father, barton swift, in the town of shopton. mr. swift was an inventor of prominence, and his son was fast following in his footsteps. a mrs. baggert kept house for the swifts, and another member of the household was eradicate sampson, an aged colored man, who said he used to "eradicate" the dirt. he had been with tom on many trips, but of late was getting old and feeble. then there was garret jackson, an engineer employed by the swifts. these were all the immediate members of the household. tom had a chum, ned newton, who used to work in a bank, and there was a girl, mary nestor, a daughter of amos nestor, in which young lady tom was much interested. eradicate sampson had a mule, boomerang, of whom he thought almost as much as he did of tom. eradicate was a faithful friend and servant, but, of late, koku, or august, the giant, had rather supplanted him. i must not forget mr. wakefield damon, of waterfield, a village near shopton. mr. damon was an odd man, always blessing everything. he and tom were good friends, and had been on many trips together. the first book of the series was called "tom swift and his motor-cycle," and related how tom bought the cycle from mr. damon, after the latter had met with an accident on it, and it was in this way that our hero became acquainted with the odd man. tom had many adventures on his motor-cycle, and, later on he secured a motor-boat, in which he beat his enemy, andy foger, in a race. next tom built an airship, and in this he went on a wonderful trip. returning from this he and his father heard about a treasure sunken under the ocean. in his submarine boat tom secured the valuables, and made a large sum for himself. in his electric runabout, which was the swiftest car on the road, tom was able to save from ruin a bank in which his father was interested, and, a short time after that, he went on a trip in an airship, with a man who had invented a new kind. the airship was smashed, and fell to earthquake island, where there were some refugees from a shipwreck, among them being the parents of mary nestor. in the volume called "tom swift and his wireless message," i told how he saved these people. when tom went among the diamond makers he had more strange adventures, on that trip discovering the secret of phantom mountain. he had bad luck when he went to the caves of ice, for there his airship was wrecked. when tom made the trip in his sky racer he broke all records for an aerial flight, incidentally saving his father's life. it was some time after this when he invented an electric rifle, and went to elephant land, to rescue some missionaries from the red pygmies. the eleventh volume of the series is called "tom swift in the land of gold," and relates his adventures underground, while the next one tells of a new machine he invented--an air-glider--which he used to save the exiles of siberia, incidentally, on that trip, finding a valuable deposit of platinum. as i have said, it was on his trip to giant land that tom got his big servant. this book, the thirteenth of the series, is called "tom swift in captivity," for the giants captured him and his friends, and it was only by means of their airship that they made their daring escape. tom had been back from the strange land some time now. one giant he had turned over to the circus representative for whom he had undertaken the mission, and the other he retained to work around his shop, as eradicate was getting too old. it was now winter, and there had been quite a fall of snow the day before mr. period, the odd moving picture man, called on tom. there were many big drifts outside the building. tom had fitted up a well-equipped shop, where he and his father worked on their inventions. occasionally ned newton, or mr. damon, would come over to help them, but of late tom had been so busy on his noiseless motor that he had not had time to even see his friends. "well, i guess the five minutes have passed, and my mind is made up," thought tom, as he looked at his watch. "i might as well tell mr. period that i can't undertake his commission. in the first place it isn't going to be an easy matter to make an electric moving picture camera. i'd have to spend a lot of time studying up the subject, and then i might not be able to get it to work right. "and, again, i can't spare the time to go to all sorts of wild and impossible places to get the pictures. it's all well enough to talk about getting moving pictures of natives in battle, or wild beasts fighting, or volcanoes in action, but it isn't so easy to do it. then, too, i'd have to make some changes in my airship if i went on that trip. no, i can't go. i'll tell him he'll have to find some one else." mr. period pulled out his watch, opened it quickly, snapped it shut again, and exclaimed: "well, how about it, tom swift? when can you start! the sooner the better for me! you'll want some money for expenses i think. i brought my check book along, also a fountain pen. i'll give you a thousand dollars now, for i know making an electric moving picture camera isn't going to be cheap work. then, when you get ready to start off in your airship, you'll need more money. i'll be johnny-on-the-spot all right, and have it ready for you. now when do you think you can start?" he sat down at a bench, and began filling out a check. "hold on!" cried tom, amused in spite of himself. "don't sign that check, mr. period. i'm not going." "not going?" the man's face showed blank amazement. "no," went on tom. "i can't spare the time. i'm sorry, but you'll have to get some one else." "some one else? but who can i get?" "why, there are plenty who would be glad of the chance." "but they can't invent an electric moving picture camera, and, if they could, they wouldn't know enough to take pictures with it. it's got to be you or no one, tom swift. look here, i'll make it fifteen thousand dollars above expenses." "no, i'm sorry, but i can't go. my work here keeps me too busy. "oh, pshaw! now, look here, tom swift! do you know who sent me to see you?" "it was mr. nestor, who has a daughter named mary, i believe. mr. nestor is one of the directors in our company, and one day, when he told me about you sending a wireless message from earthquake island, i knew you would be the very man for me. so now you see you'll be doing mr. nestor a favor, as well as me, if you go on this trip." tom was somewhat surprised, yet he realized that mr. period was speaking the truth. mr. nestor was identified with many new enterprises. yet the youth was firm. "i really can't go," said our hero. "i'd like to, but i can't. i'd like to oblige mr. nestor, for--well, for more reasons than one," and tom blushed slightly. "but it is out of the question. i really can't go." "but you must!" insisted the camera man. "i won't take 'no' for an answer. you've got to go, tom swift, do you hear that? you've go to go?" mr. period was apparently very much excited. he strode over to tom and smote his hands together to emphasize what he said. then he shook his finger at tom, to impress the importance of the matter on our hero. "you've just got to go!" he cried. "you're the only one who can help me, tom. do go! i'll pay you well, and--oh, well, i know you don't need the money, exactly, but--say, you've got to go!" in his earnestness mr. period laid his hand on tom's arm. the next instant something happened. with a few big strides koku was beside the picture man. with great quickness he grasped mr. period by the coat collar, lifted him off his feet with one hand, and walked over to a window with him, easily lifting him above the floor. with one fling the giant tossed the short, stout gentleman out into a snow bank, while tom looked on, too surprised to do anything, even if he had had the chance. "there. you touch tom swift again, and i sit on you and keep you under snow!" cried the giant, while mr. period kicked and squirmed about in the drift, as tom made a leap forward to help him out. chapter iii tom makes up his mind "great scott!" yelled the picture man. "what in the world happened to me? did i get kicked by that mule boomerang of eradicate's, that i've heard so much about? or was it an earthquake, such as i want to get a picture of? what happened?" he was still floundering about in the deep bank of snow that was just outside the window. fortunately the sash had been up, and koku had tossed mr. period through the open window. otherwise, had there been glass, the well-meaning, but unreasoning giant would probably have thrown his victim through that, and he might have been badly cut. tom had the window open for fresh air, as it was rather close in the shop. "why, koku!" exclaimed the young inventor, as he leaned out of the window, and extended his hand to the moving picture man to help him out of the drift. "what do you mean by that? have you gone crazy?" "no, but no one shall lay hands on my master!" declared the giant half savagely. "i have vowed to always protect you from danger, in return for what you did for me. i saw this man lay his hand on you. in another moment he might have killed you, had not koku been here. there is no danger when i am by," and he stretched out his huge arms, and looked ferocious. "i have turned over that man, your enemy!" he added. "yes, you overturned me all right," admitted mr. period, as he got to his feet, and crawled in through the window to the shop again. "i went head over heels. i'm glad it was clean snow, and not a mud bank, tom. what in the world is the matter with him?" "i guess he thought you were going to harm me," said tom in a low voice, as the picture man came in the shop. "koku is very devoted to me, and sometimes he makes trouble," the youth went on. "but he means it all for the best. i am very sorry for what happened," and tom aided mr. period in brushing the snow off his garments. "koku, you must beg the pardon of this gentleman," tom directed. "what for?" the giant wanted to know. "for throwing him into the snow. it is not allowed to do such things in this country, even though it is in giant land. beg his pardon. "i shall not," said the giant calmly, for tom had taught him to speak fairly good english, though sometimes he got his words backwards. "the man was about to kill you, and i stopped him--i will stop him once more, though if he does not like the snow, i can throw him somewhere else." "no! no! you must not do it!" cried tom. "he meant no harm. he is my friend." "i am glad to hear you say that," exclaimed the picture man. "i have hopes that you will do what i want." "he your friend?" asked koku wonderingly. "certainly; and you must beg his pardon for what you did," insisted tom. "very well. i am glad you did not hurt yourself," said the giant, and with that "apology" he stalked out of the room, his feelings evidently very much disturbed. "ha! ha!" laughed mr. period. "i guess he can't see any one but you, tom. but never mind. i know he didn't mean anything, and, as i'm none the worse i'll forgive him. my necktie isn't spotted; is it?" "no, the snow didn't seem to do that any harm," replied the young inventor, as he looked at the brilliant piece of red silk around mr. period's collar. "i am very particular about my neckties," went on the picture man. "i always wear one color. my friends never forget me then." tom wondered how they could ever forget him, even though he wore no tie, for his figure and face were such as to not easily be forgotten. "i'm glad it's not soiled," went on "spotty" as he liked to be called. "now, tom, you said you were my friend. prove it by accepting my offer. build that wizard camera, and get me some moving pictures that will be a sensation. say you will!" he looked appealingly at tom, and, remembering the rather rude and unexpected treatment to which koku had submitted the gentleman, tom felt his mind changing. still he was not yet ready to give in. he rather liked the idea the more he thought of it, but he felt that he had other duties, and much to occupy him at home, especially if he perfected his silent motor. "will you go?" asked mr. period, picking up his fountain pen and check book, that he had laid aside when he walked over to tom, just before the giant grasped him. "say you will." the young inventor was silent a moment. he thought over the many adventures he had gone through--in the caves of ice, in the city of gold, escaping from the giants, and the red pygmies--he went over the details of his trips through the air, of the dangers under the seas, of those he had escaped from on earthquake island. surely he was entitled to a little rest at home. and yet there was a lure to it all. a certain fascination that was hard to resist. mr. period must have seen what was going on in tom's mind, for he said: "i know you're going. i can see it. why, it will be just the very thing you need. you'll get more fame out of this thing than from any of your other inventions. come, say you'll do it. "i'll tell you what i'll do!" he went on eagerly. "after you make the camera, and take a lot of films, showing strange and wonderful scenes, i'll put at the end of each film, next to my picture, your name, and a statement showing that you took the originals. how's that? talk about being advertised! why you can't beat it! millions of people will read your name at the picture shows every night." "i am not looking for advertisements," said tom, with a laugh. "well, then, think of the benefit you will be to science," went on mr. period quickly. "think of the few people who have seen wild animals as they are, of those who have ever seen an earthquake, or a volcano in action. you can go to japan, and get pictures of earthquakes. they have them on tap there. and as for volcanoes, why the andes mountains are full of 'em. think of how many people will be thankful to you for showing them these wonderful scenes." "and think of what might happen if i should take a tumble into a crack in the earth, or down a hot volcano, or fall into a jungle when there was a fight on among the elephants," suggested tom. "my airship might take a notion to go down when i was doing the photographing," he added. "no. nothing like that will happen to tom swift," was the confident answer of the picture man. "i've read of your doings. you don't have accidents that you can't get the better of. but come, i know you're thinking of it, and i'm sure you'll go. let me make you out this check, sign a contract which i have all ready, and then get to work on the camera." tom was silent a moment. then he said: "well, i admit that there is something attractive about it. i hoped i was going to stay home for a long time. but--" "then you'll go!" cried mr. period eagerly. "here's the money," and he quickly filled out a check for tom's first expenses, holding the slip of paper toward the young inventor. "wait a minute! hold on!" cried tom. "not so fast if you please. i haven't yet made up my mind." "but you will; won't you?" asked mr. period. "well, i'll make up my mind, one way or the other," replied the young man. "i won't say i'll go, but--" "i'll tell you what i'll do!" interrupted mr. period. "i'm a busy man, and every second is worth money to me. but i'll wait for you to make up your mind. i'll give you until to-morrow night. how's that? fair, isn't it?" "yes--i think so. i am afraid--" "i'm not!" broke in the picture man. "i know you'll decide to go. think of the fun and excitement you'll have. now i've taken up a lot of your time, and i'm going to leave you alone. i'll be back tomorrow evening for my answer. but i know you're going to get those moving pictures for me. is that giant of yours anywhere about?" he asked, as he looked cautiously around before leaving the shop. "i don't want to fall into his hands again." "i don't blame you," agreed tom. "i never knew him to act that way before. but i'll go to the gate with you, and koku will behave himself. i am sorry--" "don't mention it!" broke in the picture man. "it was worth all i suffered, if you go, and i know you will. don't trouble yourself to come out. i can find my way, and if your giant comes after me, i'll call for help." he hurried out before tom could follow, and, hearing the gate click a little later, and no call for help coming, our hero concluded that his visitor had gotten safely away. "well, what am i going to do about it?" mused tom, as he resumed work on his silent motor. he had not been long engaged in readjusting some of the valves, when he was again interrupted. this time it was his chum, ned newton, who entered, and, as ned was well known to the giant, nothing happened. "well, what's up, tom?" asked ned. "why, did you notice anything unusual?" asked tom. "i saw koku standing at the gate a while ago, looking down the road at a short stout man, with a red tie. your giant seemed rather excited about something." "oh, yes. i'll tell you about it," and tom related the details of mr. period's visit. "are you going to take his offer?" asked ned. "i've got until tomorrow to make up my mind. what would you do, ned?" "why, i'd take it in a minute, if i knew how to make an electric camera. i suppose it has to be a very speedy one, to take the kind of pictures he wants. wait, hold on, i've just thought of a joke. it must be a swift camera--catch on--you're swift, and you make a swift camera; see the point?" "i do," confessed tom, with a laugh. "well, ned, i've been thinking it over, but i can't decide right away. i will tomorrow night, though." "then i'm coming over, and hear what it is. if you decide to go, maybe you'll take me along." "i certainly will, and mr. damon, too." "how about the giant?" "well, i guess there'll be room for him. but i haven't decided yet. hand me that wrench over there; will you," and then tom and ned began talking about the new apparatus on which the young inventor was working. true to his promise mr. period called the next evening. he found tom, ned and mr. swift in the library, talking over various matters. "well, tom, have you made up your mind?" asked the caller, when mrs. baggert, the housekeeper, had shown him into the room. "i hope you have, and i hope it is favorable to me." "yes," said tom slowly, "i've thought it all over, and i have decided that i will--" at that moment there was a loud shouting outside the house, and the sound of some one running rapidly through the garden that was just outside the low library window--a garden now buried deep under snow. "what's that?" cried ned, jumping to his feet. "that was koku's voice," replied tom, "and i guess he was chasing after some one." "they'll need help if that giant gets hold of them," spoke mr. period solemnly, while the noise outside increased in volume. chapter iv held fast "here, tom! come back! where are you going?" cried aged mr. swift, as his son started toward the window. "i'm going to see what's up, and who it is that koku is chasing," replied the young inventor. as he spoke he opened the window, which went all the way down to the floor. he stepped out on a small balcony, put his hand on the railing, and was about to leap over. back of him was his father, mr. period and ned. "come back! you may get hurt!" urged mr. swift. he had aged rapidly in the last few months, and had been obliged to give up most of his inventive work. naturally, he was very nervous about his son. "don't worry, dad," replied the youth. "i'm not in much danger when koku is around." "that's right," agreed the moving picture man. "i'd sooner have that giant look after me than half a dozen policemen." the noise had now grown fainter, but the sound of the pursuit could still be heard. koku was shouting in his hearty tones, and there was the noise of breaking twigs as the chase wound in and out of the garden shrubbery. tom paused a moment, to let his eyes get somewhat used to the darkness. there was a crescent moon, that gave a little light, and the snow on the ground made it possible to notice objects fairly well. "see anything?" asked ned, as he joined his chum on the balcony. "no, but i'm going to have a closer look. here goes!" and tom leaped to the ground. "i'm with you," added ned, as he followed. then came another voice, shouting: "dat's de way! catch him! i'se comm', i is! ef we gits him we'll tie him up, an' let boomerang walk on him!" "here comes eradicate," announced tom, with a look back toward his chum, and a moment later the aged colored man, who had evidently started on the chase with koku, but who had been left far behind, swung totteringly around the corner of the house. "did ye cotch him, massa tom?" asked eradicate. "did ye cotch de raskil?" "not yet, rad. but koku is after him. who was he, and what did he do?" "didn't do nuffin yit, massa tom, 'case as how he didn't git no chance," replied the colored man, as he hurried along as rapidly as he could beside the two youths. "koku and i was too quick for him. koku an' me was a-sittin' in my shack, sort of talkin' togedder, when we hears a racket neah de chicken house. i'se mighty partial t' de chickens, an' i didn't want nobody t' 'sturb 'em. koku was jes' de same, an' when we hears dat noise, up we jumps, an' gits t' chasm.' he runned dis way, an' us was arter him, but land lub yo', ole eradicate ain't so spry as he uster be an' koku an' de chicken thief got ahead ob me. leastwise he ain't no chicken thief yit, 'case as how he didn't git in de coop, but he meant t' be one, jes' de same." "are you sure he was after the chickens?" asked tom, with quick suspicion in his mind, for, several times of late, unscrupulous persons had tried to enter his shop, to get knowledge of his valuable inventions before they were patented. "course he were arter de chickens," replied eradicate. "but he didn't git none." "come on, ned!" cried tom, breaking into a run. "i want to catch whoever this was. did you see him, rad?" "only jes' had a glimpse ob his back." "well, you go back to the house and tell father and mr. period about it. ned and i will go on with koku. i hope to get the fellow." "why, tom?" asked his chum. "because i think he was after bigger game than chickens. my noiseless motor, for the new airship, is nearly complete, and it may have been some one trying to get that. i received an offer from a concern the other day, who wished to purchase it, and, when i refused to sell, they seemed rather put out." the two lads raced on, while eradicate tottered back to the house, where he found mr. swift and the picture man awaiting him. "i guess he got away," remarked ned, after he and his chum had covered nearly the length of the big garden. "i'm afraid so," agreed tom. "i can't hear koku any more. still, i'm not going to give up." pantingly they ran on, and, a little later, they met the big man coming back. "did he get away?" asked tom. "yes, mr. tom, he scaped me all right." "escaped you mean, koku. well, never mind. you did your best." "i would like to have hold of him," spoke the giant, as he stretched out his big arms. "did you know who he was?" inquired ned. "no, i couldn't see his face," and he gave the same description of the affair as had eradicate. "was it a full grown man, or some one about my size?" tom wanted to know. "a man," replied the giant. "why do you ask that?" inquired ned, as the big fellow went on to resume his talk with eradicate, and the two chums turned to go into the house, after the fruitless chase. "because, i thought it might be andy foger," was tom's reply. "it would be just like him, but if it was a man, it couldn't be him. andy's rather short." "besides, he doesn't live here any more," said ned. "i know, but i heard sam snedecker, who used to be pretty thick with him, saying the other day that he expected a visit from andy. i hope he doesn't come back to shopton, even for a day, for he always tries to make trouble for me. well, let's go in, and tell 'em all about our chase after a chicken thief." "and so he got away?" remarked mr. swift, when tom had completed his story. "yes," answered the young inventor, as he closed, and locked, the low library window, for there was a chilly breeze blowing. "i think i will have to rig up the burglar alarm on my shop again. i don't want to take any chances." "do you remember what we were talking about, when that interruption came?" asked mr. period, after a pause. "you were saying, tom, that you had made up your mind, and that was as far as you got. what is your answer to my offer?" "well," spoke the lad slowly, and with a smile, "i think i will--" "now don't say 'no'"; interrupted the picture man. "if you are going to say 'no' take five minutes more, or even ten, and think it over carefully. i want you--" "i wasn't going to say 'no,'" replied tom. "i have decided to accept your offer, and i'll get right at work on the electrical camera, and see what i can do in the way of getting moving pictures for you." "you will? say, that's great! that's fine! i knew you would accept, but i was the least bit afraid you might not, without more urging." "of course," began tom, "it will take--" "not another word. just wait a minute," interrupted mr. period in his breezy fashion. "take this." he quickly filled out a check and handed it to tom. "now sign this contract, which merely says that you will do your best to get pictures for me, and that you won't do it for any other concern, and everything will be all right. sign there," he added, pointing to a dotted line, and thrusting a fountain pen into tom's hand. the lad read over the agreement, which was fair enough, and signed it, and ned affixed his name as a witness. "now when can you go?" asked mr. period eagerly. "not before spring, i'm afraid," replied torn. "i have first to make the camera, and then my airship needs overhauling if i am to go on such long trips as will be necessary in case i am to get views of wild beasts in the jungle." "well, make it as soon as you can," begged mr. period. "i can have the films early next fall then, and they will be in season for the winter runs at the theatres. now, i'm the busiest man in the world, and i believe i have lost five hundred dollars by coming here to-night. still, i don't regret it. i'm going back now, and i'll expect to hear from you when you are ready to start. there's my address. good-bye," and thrusting a card into tom's hand he hurried out of the room. "won't you stop all night?" called mr. swift after him. "sorry. i'd like to but can't. got a big contract i must close in new york to-morrow morning. i've ordered a special train to be at the shopton station in half an hour, and i must catch that. good night!" and mr. period hurried away. "say, he's a hustler all right!" exclaimed ned. "yes, and i've got to hustle if i invent that camera," added tom. "it's got to be a specially fast one, and one that can take pictures from a long distance. electricity is the thing to use, i guess." "then you are really going off on this trip. tom?" asked his father, rather wistfully. "i'm afraid i am," replied his son. "i thought i could stay at home for a while, but it seems not." "i was in hopes you could give me a little time to help me on my gyroscope invention," went on the aged man. "but i suppose it will keep until you come back. it is nearly finished." "yes, and i don't like stopping work on my noiseless motor," spoke tom. "but that will have to wait, too." "do you know where you are going?" inquired ned. "well, i'll have to do considerable traveling i suppose to get all the films he wants. but once i'm started i'll like it i guess. of course you're coming, ned." "i hope so." "of course you are!" insisted tom, as if that settled it. "and i'm sure mr. damon will go also. i haven't seen him in some time. i hope he isn't ill." tom started work on his wizard camera, as he called it, the next day--that is he began drawing the designs, and planning how to construct it. ned helped him, and koku was on hand in case he was needed, but there was little he could do, as yet. tom made an inspection of his shop the morning after the chicken thief scare, but nothing seemed to have been disturbed. a week passed, and tom had all the plans drawn for the camera. he had made several experiments with different forms of electricity for operating the mechanism, and had decided on a small, but very powerful, storage battery to move the film, and take the pictures. this storage battery, which would be inside the camera, would operate it automatically. that is, the camera could be set up any place, in the jungle, or on the desert, it could be left alone, and would take pictures without any one being near it. tom planned to have it operate at a certain set time, and stop at a certain time, and he could set the dials to make this time any moment of the day or night. for there was to be a powerful light in connection with the camera, in order that night views might be taken. besides being automatic the camera could be worked by hand. when it was not necessary to have the camera operate by the storage battery, it could be connected to wires and worked by an ordinary set of batteries, or by a dynamo. this was for use on the airship, where there was a big electrical machine. i shall tell you more about the camera as the story proceeds. one afternoon tom was alone in the shop, for he had sent koku on an errand, and eradicate was off in a distant part of the grounds, doing some whitewashing, which was his specialty. ned had not come over, and mr. swift, having gone to see some friends, and mrs. baggert being at the store, tom, at this particular time, was rather isolated. he was conducting some delicate electrical experiments, and to keep the measuring instruments steady he had closed all the windows and doors of his shop. the young inventor was working at a bench in one corner, and near him, standing upright, was a heavy shaft of iron, part of his submarine, wrapped in burlap, and padded, to keep it from rusting. "now," said tom to himself, as he mixed two kinds of acid in a jar, to produce a new sort of electrical current, "i will see if this is any better than the first way in which i did it." he was careful about pouring out the powerful stuff, but, in spite of this, he spilled a drop on his finger. it burned like fire, and, instinctively, he jerked his hand back. the next instant there was a series of happenings. tom's elbow came in contact with another jar of acid, knocking it over, and spilling it into the retort where he had been mixing the first two liquids. there was a hissing sound, as the acids combined, and a thick, white vapor arose, puffing into tom's face, and making him gasp. he staggered back, brushed against the heavy iron shaft in the corner, and it fell sideways against him, knocking him to the floor, and dropping across his thighs. the padding on it saved him from broken bones, but the shaft was so heavy, that after it was on him, tom could not move. he was held fast on the floor of his shop, unable to use his legs, and prevented from getting up. for a moment tom was stunned, and then he called: "help! help! eradicate! koku! help!" he waited a moment, but there was only a silence. and then tom smelled a strange odor--an odor of a choking gas that seemed to smother him. "it's the acids!" he cried. "they're generating gas! and i'm held fast here! the place is closed up tight, and i can't move! help! help!" but there was no one at hand to aid tom, and every moment the fumes of the gas became stronger. desperately the youth struggled to rid himself of the weight of the shaft, but he could not. and then he felt his senses leaving him, for the powerful gas was making him unconscious. chapter v tom gets a warning "bless my shoe buttons!" exclaimed a voice, as a man came toward tom's shop, a little later. "bless my very necktie! this is odd. i go to the house, and find no one there. i come out here, and not a soul is about. tom swift can't have gone off on another one of his wonderful trips, without sending me word. i know he wouldn't do that. and yet, bless my watch and chain, i can't find any one!" it was mr. damon who spoke, as my old readers have already guessed. he peered into one of the shop windows, and saw something like a fog filling the place. "that's strange," he went on. "i don't see tom there, and yet it looks as if an experiment was going on. i wonder--" mr. damon heard some one coming up behind him, and turned to see koku the giant, who was returning from the errand on which tom had sent him. "oh, koku, it's you; is it?" the odd man asked. "bless my cuff buttons! where is tom?" "in shop i guess." "i don't see him. still i had better look. there doesn't seem to be any one about." mr. damon opened the shop door, and was met by such an outward rush of choking gas that he staggered back. "bless my--" he began but he had to stop, to cough and gasp. "there must have been some sort of an accident," he cried, as he got his lungs full of fresh air. "a bad accident! tom could never work in that atmosphere. whew!" "accident! what is matter?" cried koku stepping to the doorway. he, too choked and gasped, but his was such a strong and rugged nature, and his lungs held such a supply of air, that it took more than mere gas to knock him out. he peered in through the wreaths of the acid vapor, and saw the body of his master, lying on the floor--held down by the heavy iron. in another instant koku had rushed in, holding his breath, for, now that he was inside the place, the gas made even him feel weak. "come back! come back!" cried mr. damon. "you'll be smothered! wait until the gas escapes!" "then mr. tom die!" cried the giant. "i get him--or i no come out." with one heave of his powerful right arm, koku lifted the heavy shaft from tom's legs. then, gathering the lad up in his left arm, as if he were a baby, koku staggered out into the fresh air, almost falling with his burden, as he neared mr. damon, for the giant was, well-nigh overcome. "bless my soul!" cried the odd man. "is he--is he--" he did not finish the sentence, but, as koku laid tom down on the overcoat of mr. damon, which the latter quickly spread on the snow, the eccentric man put his hand over the heart of the young inventor. "it beats!" he murmured. "he's alive, but very weak. we must get a doctor at once. i'll do what i can. there's no time to spare. bless my--" but mr. damon concluded that there was no time for blessing anything, and so he stopped short. "carry him up to the house, koku," he said. "i know where there are some medicines, and i'll try to revive him while we're waiting for the doctor hurry!" tom was laid on a lounge, and, just then, mrs. baggert came in. "telephone for the doctor!" cried mr. damon to the housekeeper, who kept her nerve, and did not get excited. "i'll give tom some ammonia, and other stimulants, and see if i can bring him around. koku, get me some cold water." the telephone was soon carrying the message to the doctor, who promised to come at once. koku, in spite of his size, was quick, and soon brought the water, into which mr. damon put some strong medicine, that he found in a closet. tom's eyelids fluttered as the others forced some liquid between his lips. "he's coming around!" cried the eccentric man. "i guess he'll be all right, koku." "koku glad," said the giant simply, for he loved tom with a deep devotion. "yes, koku, if it hadn't been for you, though, i don't believe that he would be alive. that was powerful gas, and a few seconds more in there might have meant the end of tom. i didn't see him lying on the floor, until after you rushed in. bless my thermometer! it is very strange." they gave tom more medicine, rubbed his arms and legs, and held ammonia under his nose. slowly he opened his eyes, and in a faint voice asked: "where--am--i?" "in your own house," replied mr. damon, cheerfully. "how do you feel?" "i'm--all--right--now," said tom slowly. he, felt his strength coming gradually back, and he remembered what had happened, though he did not yet know how he had been saved. the doctor came in at this moment, with a small medical battery, which completed the restorative work begun by the others. soon tom could sit up, though he was still weak and rather sick. "who brought me out?" he asked, when he had briefly told how the accident occurred. "koku did," replied mr. damon. "i guess none of the rest of us could have lifted the iron shaft from your legs." "it's queer how that fell," said tom, with a puzzled look on his face. "i didn't hit it hard enough to bring it down. beside, i had it tied to nails, driven into the wall, to prevent just such an accident as this. i must see about it when i get well." "not for a couple of days," exclaimed the doctor grimly. "you've got to stay in bed a while yet. you had a narrow escape, tom swift." "well, i'm glad i went to giant land," said the young inventor, with a wan smile. "otherwise i'd never have koku," and he looked affectionately at the big man, who laughed happily. in nature koku was much like a child. mr. swift came home a little later, and ned newton called, both being very much surprised to hear of the accident. as for eradicate, the poor old colored man was much affected, and would have sat beside tom's bed all night, had they allowed him. our hero recovered rapidly, once the fumes of the gas left his system, and, two days later, he was able to go out to the shop again. at his request everything had been left just as it was after he had been brought out. of course the fumes of the gas were soon dissipated, when the door was opened, and the acids, after mingling and giving off the vapor, had become neutralized, so that they were now harmless. "now i'm going to see what made that shaft fall," said tom to ned, as the two chums walked over to the bench where the young inventor had been working. "the tap i gave it never ought to have brought it down." together they examined the thin, but strong, cords that had been passed around the shaft, having been fastened to two nails, driven into the wall. "look!" cried tom, pointing to one of the cords. "what is it?" asked ned. "the strands were partly cut through, so that only a little jar was enough to break the remaining ones," went on tom. "they've been cut with a knife, too, and not frayed by vibration against the nail, as might be the case. ned, someone has been in my shop, meddling, and he wanted this shaft to fall. this is a trick!" "great scott, tom! you don't suppose any one wanted that shaft to fall on you; do you?" "no, i don't believe that. probably some one wanted to damage the shaft, or he might have thought it would topple over against the bench, and break some of my tools, instruments or machinery. i do delicate experiments here, and it wouldn't take much of a blow to spoil them. that's why those cords were cut." "who did it? do you think andy foger--" "no, i think it was the man koku thought was a chicken thief, and whom we chased the other night. i've got to be on my guard. i wonder if--" tom was interrupted by the appearance of koku, who came out of the shop with a letter the postman had just left. "i don't know that writing very well, and yet it looks familiar," said tom, as he tore open the missive. "hello, here's more trouble!" he exclaimed as he hastily read it. "what's up now?" asked ned. "this is from mr. period, the picture man," went on the young inventor. "it's a warning." "a warning?" "yes. he says: "'dear tom. be on your guard. i understand that a rival moving picture concern is after you. they want to make you an offer, and get you away from me. but i trust you. don't have anything to do with these other fellows. and, at the same time, don't give them a hint as to our plans. don't tell them anything about your new camera. there is a lot of jealousy and rivalry in this business and they are all after me. they'll probably come to see you, but be on your guard. they know that i have been negotiating with you. remember the alarm the other night.'" chapter vi trying the camera "well, what do you think of that?" cried ned, as his chum finished. "it certainly isn't very pleasant," replied tom. "i wonder why those chaps can't let me alone? why don't they invent cameras of their own? why are they always trying to get my secret inventions?" "i suppose they can't do things for themselves," answered ned. "and then, again, your machinery always works, tom, and some that your rivals make, doesn't." "well, maybe that's it," admitted our hero, as he put away the letter. "i will be on the watch, just as i have been before. i've got the burglar alarm wires adjusted on the shop now, and when these rival moving picture men come after me they'll get a short answer." for several days nothing happened, and tom and ned worked hard on the wizard camera. it was nearing completion, and they were planning, soon, to give it a test, when, one afternoon, two strangers, in a powerful automobile, came to the swift homestead. they inquired for tom, and, as he was out in the shop, with ned and koku, and as he often received visitors out there, mrs. baggert sent out the two men, who left their car in front of the house. as usual, tom had the inner door to his shop locked, and when koku brought in a message that two strangers would like to see the young inventor, tom remarked: "i guess it's the rival picture men, ned. we'll see what they have to say." "which of you is tom swift?" asked the elder of the two men, as tom and ned entered the front office, for our hero knew better than to admit the strangers to the shop. "i am," replied tom. "well, we're men of business," went on the speaker, "and there is no use beating about the bush. i am mr. wilson turbot, and this is my partner, mr. william eckert. we are in the business of making moving picture films, and i understand that you are associated with mr. period in this line. 'spotty' we call him." "yes, i am doing some work for mr. period," admitted tom, cautiously. "have you done any yet?" "no, but i expect to." "what kind of a camera are you going to use?" asked mr. eckert eagerly. "i must decline to answer that," replied tom, a bit stiffly. "oh, that's all right," spoke mr. turbot, good naturedly. "only 'spotty' was bragging that you were making a new kind of film for him, and we wondered if it was on the market." "we are always looking for improvements," added mr. eckert. "this camera isn't on the market," replied tom, on his guard as to how he answered. the two men whispered together for a moment, and then mr. turbot said: "well, as i remarked, we're men of business, and there's no use beating about the bush. we've heard of you, tom swift, and we know you can do things. usually, in this world, every man has his price, and we're willing to pay big to get what we want. i don't know what offer mr. period made to you, but i'll say this: we'll give you double what he offered, for the exclusive rights to your camera, whenever it's on the market, and we'll pay you a handsome salary to work for us." "i'm sorry, but i can't consider the offer," replied tom firmly. "i have given my word to mr. period. i have a contract with him, and i cannot break it." "offer him three times what period did," said mr. eckert, in a hoarse whisper that tom heard. "it would be useless!" exclaimed our hero. "i wouldn't go back on my word for a hundred times the price i am to get. i am not in this business so much for the money, as i am for the pleasure of it." the men were silent a moment. there were ugly looks on their faces. they looked sharply at tom and ned. then mr. eckert said: "you'll regret this, tom swift. we are the biggest firm of moving picture promoters in the world. we always get what we want." "you won't get my camera," replied tom calmly. "i don't know about that!" exclaimed mr. turbot, as he made a hasty stride toward tom, who stood in front of the door leading to the shop--the shop where his camera, almost ready for use, was on a bench. "i guess if we--" "koku!" suddenly called tom. the giant stepped into the front office. he had been standing near the door, inside the main shop. mr. turbot who had stretched forth his hand, as though to seize tom, and his companion, who had advanced toward ned, fairly jumped back in fright at the sight of the big man. "koku," went on tom, in even tones, "just show these gentlemen to the front door--and lock it after them," he added significantly, as he turned back into the shop, followed by ned. "yes, mr. tom," answered the giant, and then, with his big hand, and brawny fist, he gently turned the two men toward the outer door. they were gasping in surprise as they looked at the giant. "you'll be sorry for this, tom swift!" exclaimed mr. turbot. "you'll regret not having taken our offer. this period chat is only a small dealer. we can do better by you. you'll regret--" "you'll regret coming here again," snapped tom, as he closed the door of his shop, leaving koku to escort the baffled plotters to their auto. shortly afterward tom and ned heard the car puffing away. "well, they came, just as mr. period said they would," spoke tom, slowly. "yes, and they went away again!" exclaimed ned with a laugh. "they had their trip for nothing. say, did you see how they stared at koku?" "yes, he's a helper worth having, in cases like these." tom wrote a full account of what had happened and sent it to mr. period. he received in reply a few words, thanking him for his loyalty, and again warning him to be on his guard. in the meanwhile, work went on rapidly on the wizard camera. briefly described it was a small square box, with a lens projecting from it. inside, however, was complicated machinery, much too complicated for me to describe. tom swift had put in his best work on this wonderful machine. as i have said, it could be worked by a storage battery, by ordinary electric current from a dynamo, or by hand. on top was a new kind of electric light. this was small and compact, but it threw out powerful beams. with the automatic arrangement set, and the light turned on, the camera could be left at a certain place after dark, and whatever went on in front of it would be reproduced on the moving roll of film inside. in the morning the film could be taken out, developed, and the pictures thrown on a screen in the usual way, familiar to all who have been in a moving picture theatre. with the reproducing machines tom had nothing to do, as they were already perfected. his task had been to make the new-style camera, and it was nearly completed. a number of rolls of films could be packed into the camera, and they could be taken out, or inserted, in daylight. of course after one film had been made, showing any particular scene any number of films could be made from this "master" one. just as is done with the ordinary moving picture camera. tom had an attachment to show when one roll was used, and when another needed inserting. for some time after the visit of the rival moving picture men, tom was on his guard. both house and shop were fitted with burglar alarms, but they did not ring. eradicate and koku were told to be on watch, but there was nothing for them to do. "well," remarked tom to ned, one afternoon, when they had both worked hard, "i think it's about finished. of course it needs polishing, and there may be some adjusting to do, but my camera is now ready to take pictures--at least i'm going to give it a test." "have you the rolls of films?" "yes, half a dozen of 'em and i'm going to try the hardest test first." "which one is that?" "the night test. i'm going to place the camera out in the yard, facing my shop. then you and i, and some of the others, will go out, pass in front of it, do various stunts, and, in the morning we'll develop the films and see what we have." "why, are you going to leave the camera out, all night?" "sure. i'm going to give it the hardest kind of a test." "but are you and i going to stay up all night to do stunts in front of it?" "no, indeed. i'm going to let it take what ever pictures happen to come along to be taken after we get through making some special early ones. you see my camera will be a sort of watch dog, only of course it won't catch any one--that is, only their images will be caught on the film. "oh, i see," exclaimed ned, and then he helped tom fix the machine for the test. chapter vii what the camera caught "well, is she working, tom?" asked our hero's chum, a little later, when they had set the camera up on a box in the garden. it pointed toward the main shop door, and from the machine came a clicking sound. the electric light was glowing. "yes, it's all ready," replied tom. "now just act as if it wasn't there. you walk toward the shop. do anything you please. pretend you are coming in to see me on business. act as if it was daytime. i'll stand here and receive you. later, i'll get dad out here, koku and eradicate. i wish mr. period was here to see the test, but perhaps it's just as well for me to make sure it works before he sees it." "all right, tom, here i come." ned advanced toward the shop. he tried to act as though the camera was not taking pictures of him, at the rate of several a second, but he forgot himself, and turned to look at the staring lens. then tom, with a laugh, advanced to meet him, shaking hands with him. then the lads indulged in a little skylarking. they threw snowballs at each other, taking care, however to keep within range of the lens. of course when tom worked the camera himself, he could point it wherever he wanted to, but it was now automatic. then the lads went to the shop, and came out again. they did several other things. later koku, and eradicate did some "stunts," as tom called them. mr. swift, too, was snapped, but mrs. baggert refused to come out. "well, i guess that will do for now," said tom, as he stopped the mechanism. "i've just thought of something," he added. "if i leave the light burning, it will scare away, before they got in front of the lens, any one who might come along. i'll have to change that part of it." "how can you fix it?" asked ned. "easily. i'll rig up some flash lights, just ordinary photographing flashlights, you know. i'll time them to go off one after the other, and connect them with an electric wire to the door of my shop." "then your idea is--" began ned. "that some rascals may try to enter my shop at night. not this particular night, but any night. if they come to-night we'll be ready for them." "an' can't yo'-all take a picture ob de chicken coop?" asked eradicate. "dat feller may come back t' rob mah hens." "with the lens pointing toward the shop," spoke tom, "it will also take snap shots of any one who tries to enter the coop. so, if the chicken thief does come, rad, we'll have a picture of him." tom and ned soon had the flashlights in place, and then they went to bed, listening, at times, for the puff that would indicate that the camera was working. but the night passed without incident, rather to tom's disappointment. however, in the morning, he developed the film of the first pictures taken in the evening. soon they were dry enough to be used in the moving picture machine, which tom had bought, and set up in a dark room. "there we are!" he cried, as the first images were thrown on the white screen. "as natural as life, ned! my camera works all right!" "that's so. look! there's where i hit you with a snowball!" cried his chum, as the skylarking scene was reached. "mah goodness!" cried eradicate, when he saw himself walking about on the screen, as large as life. "dat shorely am wonderful." "it is spirits!" cried koku, as he saw himself depicted. "i wish we had some of the other pictures to show," spoke tom. "i mean some unexpected midnight visitors." for several nights in succession the camera was set to "snap" any one who might try to enter the shop. the flashlights were also in place. tom and ned, the latter staying at his chum's house that week, were beginning to think they would have their trouble for their pains. but one night something happened. it was very dark, but the snow on the ground made a sort of glow that relieved the blackness. the camera had been set as usual, and tom and ned went to bed. it must have been about midnight when they were both awakened by hearing the burglar alarm go off. at the same time there were several flashes of fire from the garden. "there she goes!" cried ned. "yes, they're trying to get into the shed," added tom, as a glance at the burglar-alarm indicator on the wall of the room, showed that the shop door was being tried. "come on!" "i'm with you!" yelled ned. they lost little time getting into their clothes, for they had laid them out in readiness for putting on quickly. down the stairs they raced, but ere they reached the garden they heard footsteps running along the wall toward the road. "who's there?" cried tom, but there was no answer. "koku! eradicate!" yelled ned. "yais, sah, i'se comm'!" answered the colored man, and the voice of the giant was also heard. the flashlights had ceased popping before this, and when the two lads and their helpers had reached the shop, there was no one in sight. "the camera's there all right!" cried tom in relief as he picked it up from the box. "now to see what it caught. did you see anything of the fellows, koku, or eradicate?" both said they had not, but eradicate, after examining the chicken house door by the aid of a lighted match, cried out: "somebody's been tryin' t' git in heah, massa tom. i kin see where de do's been scratched." "well, maybe we'll have the picture for you to look at in the morning," said tom. the films were developed in the usual way in the morning, but the pictures were so small that tom could not make out the features or forms of the men. and it was plain that at least three men had been around the coop and shop. by the use of alcohol and an electric fan tom soon had the films dry enough to use. then the moving picture machine was set up in a dark room, and all gathered to see what would be thrown on the screen, greatly enlarged. first came several brilliant flashes of light, and then, as the entrance to the shop loomed into view, a dark figure seemed to walk across the canvas. but it did not stop at the shop door. instead it went to the chicken coop, and, as the man reached that door, he began working to get it open. of course it had all taken place in a few seconds, for, as soon as the flashlights went off, the intruders had run away. but they had been there long enough to have their pictures taken. the man at the chicken coop turned around as the lights flashed, and he was looking squarely at the camera. of course this made his face very plain to the audience, as tom turned the crank of the reproducing machine. "why, it's a colored man!" cried ned in surprise. "yes, i guess it's only an ordinary chicken thief, after all," remarked tom. there was a gasp from eradicate. "fo' de land sakes!" he cried. "de raskil! ef dat ain't mah own second cousin, what libs down by de ribber! an' to t'ink dat samuel 'rastus washington jackson johnson, mah own second cousin, should try t' rob mah chicken coop! oh, won't i gib it t' him!" "are you sure, rad?" asked tom. "suah? sartin i'se suah, massa tom," was the answer as the startled colored man on the screen stared at the small audience. "i'd know dat face ob his'n anywhere." "well, i guess he's the only one we caught last night," said tom, as the disappointed chicken thief ran away, and so out of focus. but the next instant there came another series of flashlight explosions on the screen, and there, almost as plainly as if our friends were looking at them, they saw two men stealthily approaching the shop. they, too, as the chicken thief had done, tried the door, and then, they also, startled by the flashes, turned around. "look!" cried ned. "great scott!" exclaimed tom. "those are the two rivals of mr. period! they are mr. turbot and mr. eckert!" "same men i pushed out!" cried koku, much excited. there was no doubt of it, and, as the images faded from the screen, caused by the men running away, tom and ned realized that their rivals had tried to put their threat into execution--the threat of making tom wish he had taken their offer. "i guess they came to take my camera,--but, instead the camera took them," said the young inventor grimly. chapter viii photos from the airship "well, tom, how is it going?" asked a voice at the door of the shop where the young inventor was working. he looked up quickly to behold mr. nestor, father of mary, in which young lady, as i have said, tom was much interested. "how is the moving picture camera coming on?" "pretty good, mr. nestor. come in. i guess koku knew you all right. i told him to let in any of my friends, but i have to keep him there on guard." "so i understand. they nearly got in the other night, but i hear that your camera caught them." "yes, that proved that the machine is a success, even if we didn't succeed in arresting the men." "did you try?" "yes, i sent copies of the film, showing turbot and eckert trying to break into my shop, to mr. period, and he had enlarged photographs made, and went to the police. they said it was rather flimsy evidence on which to arrest anybody, and so they didn't act. however, we sent copies of the pictures to turbot and eckert themselves, so they know that we know they were here, and i guess they'll steer clear of me after this." "i guess so, tom," agreed mr. nestor with a laugh. "but what about the chicken thief?" "oh, eradicate attended to his second cousin. he went to see him, showed him a print from the film, and gave him to understand that he'd be blown up with dynamite, or kicked by boomerang, if he ever came around here again, and so samuel 'rastus washington jackson johnson will be careful about visiting strange chicken coops, after this." "i believe you, tom. but how is the camera coming on?" "very well. i am making a few changes in it, and i expect to get my biggest airship in readiness for the trip in about a week, and then i'll try taking pictures from her. but i understand that you are interested in mr. period's business, mr. nestor?" "yes, i own some stock in the company, and, tom, that's what i came over to see you about. i need a vacation. mary and her mother are going away this spring for a long visit, and i was wondering if you couldn't take me with you on the trips you will make to get moving pictures for our concern." "of course i can, mr. nestor. i'll be glad to do it." "and there is another thing, tom," went on mr. nestor, soberly. "i've got a good deal of my fortune tied up in this moving picture affair. i want to see you win out--i don't want our rivals to get ahead of us." "they shan't get ahead of us." "you see, tom, it's this way. there is a bitter fight on between our concern and that controlled by our rivals. each is trying to get the business of a large chain of moving picture theatres throughout the united states. these theatre men are watching us both, and the contracts for next season will go to the concern showing the best line of films. if our rivals get ahead of us--well, it will just about ruin our company,--and about ruin me too, i guess." "i shall do my very best," answered our hero. "is mr. damon going along?" "well, i have just written to ask him. i sent the letter yesterday. "doesn't he know what you contemplate?" "not exactly. you see when he came, that time i was overcome by the fumes from the acids, everything was so upset that i didn't get a chance to tell him. he's been away on business ever since, but returned yesterday. i certainly hope that he goes with us. ned newton is coming, and with you, and koku and myself, it will be a nicer party." "then you are going to take koku?" "i think i will. i'm a little worried about what these rival moving picture men might do, and if i get into trouble with them, my giant helper would come in very useful, to pick one up and throw him over a tree top, for instance." "indeed, yes," agreed mr. nestor, with a laugh. "but i hope nothing like that happens." "nothing like that happens?" suddenly asked a voice. "bless my bookcase! but there always seems to be something going on here. what's up now, tom swift?" "nothing much, mr. damon," replied our hero, as he recognized his odd friend. "we were just talking about moving pictures, mr. damon, and about you. did you get my letter?" "i did, tom." "and are you going with us?" "tom, did you ever know me to refuse an invitation from you? i guess not! of course i'm going. but, for mercy sakes, don't tell my wife! she mustn't know about it until the last minute, and then she'll be so surprised, when i tell her, that she won't think of objecting. don't let her know." tom laughed, and promised, and then the three began talking of the prospective trip. after a bit ned newton joined the party. tom showed the two men how his new camera worked. he had made several improvements on it since the first pictures were taken, and now it was almost perfect. mr. period had been out to see it work, and said it was just the apparatus needed. "you can get films with that machine," he said, "that will be better than any pictures ever thrown on a screen. my fortune will be made, tom, and yours too, if you can only get pictures that are out of the ordinary. there will be some hair-raising work, i expect, but you can do it." "i'll try," spoke tom. "i have--" "hold on! i know what you are going to say," interrupted mr. period. "you are going to say that you've gone through some strenuous times already. i know you have, but you're going to have more soon. i think i'll send you to india first." "to india!" exclaimed tom, for mr. period had spoken of that as if it was but a journey downtown. "yes, india. i want a picture of an elephant drive, and if you can get pictures of the big beasts in a stampede, so much the better. then, too, the durbar is on now, and that will make a good film. how soon can you start for calcutta?" "well, i've got to overhaul the airship," said tom. "that will take about three weeks. the camera is practically finished. i can leave in a month, i guess." "good. we'll have fine weather by that time. are you going all the way by your airship?" "no, i think it will be best to take that apart, ship it by steamer, and go that way ourselves. i can put the airship together in india, and then use it to get to any other part of europe, asia or africa you happen to want pictures from." "good! well, get to work now, and i'll see you again." in the days that followed, tom and ned were kept busy. there was considerable to do on the airship, in the way of overhauling it. this craft was tom's largest, and was almost like the one in which he had gone to the caves of ice, where it was wrecked. it had been, however, much improved. the craft was a sort of combined dirigible balloon, and aeroplane, and could be used as either. there was a machine on board for generating gas, to use in the balloon part of it, and the ship, which was named the flyer, could carry several persons. "bless my shoe laces!" cried mr. damon one day as he looked at koku. "if we take him along in the airship, will we be able to float, tom?" "oh, yes. the airship is plenty big enough. besides, we are not going to take along a very large party, and the camera is not heavy. oh, we'll be all right. i suppose you'll be on hand to-morrow, mr. damon?" "to-morrow? what for?" "we're going to take the picture machine up in the airship, and get some photos from the sky. i expect to make some films from high in the air, as well as some in the regular way, on the ground, and i want a little practice. come around about two o'clock, and we'll have a trial flight." "all right. i will. but don't let my wife know i'm going up in an airship again. she's read of so many accidents lately, that she's nervous about having me take a trip." "oh, i won't tell," promised tom with a laugh, and he worked away harder than ever, for there were many little details to perfect. the weather was now getting warm, as there was an early spring, and it was pleasant out of doors. the moving picture camera was gotten in readiness. extra rolls of films were on hand, and the big airship, in which they were to go up, for their first test of taking pictures from high in the air, had been wheeled out of the shed. "are you going up very far?" asked mr. nestor of tom, and the young inventor thought that mary's father was a trifle nervous. he had not made many flights, and then only a little way above the ground, with tom. "not very high," replied our hero. "you see i want to get pictures that will be large, and if i'm too far away i can't do it." "glad to hear it," replied mr. nestor, with a note of relief in his voice. "though i suppose to fall a thousand feet isn't much different from falling a hundred when you consider the results." "not much," admitted tom frankly. "bless my feather bed!" cried mr. damon. "please don't talk of falling, when we're going up in an airship. it makes me nervous." "we'll not fall!" declared tom confidently. mr. period sent his regrets, that he could not be present at the trial, stating in his letter that he was the busiest man in the world, and that his time was worth about a dollar a minute just at present. he, however, wished tom all success. tom's first effort was to sail along, with the lens of the camera pointed straight toward the earth. he would thus get, if successful, a picture that, when thrown on the screen, would give the spectators the idea that they were looking down from a moving balloon. for that reason tom was not going to fly very high, as he wanted to get all the details possible. "all aboard!" cried the young inventor, when he had seen to it that his airship was in readiness for a flight. the camera had been put aboard, and the lens pointed toward earth through a hole in the main cabin floor. all who were expected to make the trip with tom were on hand, koku taking the place of eradicate this time, as the colored man was too aged and feeble to go along. "all ready?" asked ned, who stood in the steering tower, with his hand on the starting lever, while tom was at the camera to see that it worked properly. "all ready," answered the young inventor, and, an instant later, they shot upward, as the big propellers whizzed around. tom at once started the camera to taking pictures rapidly, as he wanted the future audience to get a perfect idea of how it looked to go up in a balloon, leaving the earth behind. then as the flyer moved swiftly over woods and fields, tom moved the lens from side to side, to get different views. "say! this is great!" cried mr. nestor, to whom air-riding was much of a novelty. "are you getting good pictures, tom?" "i can't tell until we develop them. but the machine seems to be working all right. i'm going to sail back now, and get some views of our own house from up above." they had sailed around the town of shopton, to the neighboring villages, over woods and fields. now they were approaching shopton again. "bless my heart!" suddenly exclaimed mr. damon, who was looking toward the earth, as they neared tom's house. "what is it?" asked our hero, glancing up from the picture machine, the registering dial of which he was examining. "look there! at your shop, tom! there seems to be a lot of smoke coming from it!" they were almost over tom's shop now, and, as mr. damon had said, there was considerable smoke rolling above it. "i guess eradicate is burning up papers and trash," was ned's opinion. tom looked to where the camera pointed, he was right over his shop now, and could see a dense vapor issuing from the door. "that isn't eradicate!" cried the young inventor. "my shop is on fire! i've got to make a quick drop, and save it! there are a lot of valuable models, and machines in there! send us down, ned, as fast as she'll go!" chapter ix off for india "bless my hose reel!" cried mr. damon, as the airship took a quick lurch toward the earth. "things are always happening to you, tom swift! your shop on fire! how did it happen?" "look!" suddenly cried ned, before tom had a chance to answer. "there's a man running away from the shop, tom!" all saw him, and, as the airship rushed downward it could be seen that he was a fellow dressed in ragged garments, a veritable tramp. "i guess that fire didn't happen," said tom significantly. "it was deliberately set. oh, if we can only get there before it gains too much headway!" "i like to catch that fellow!" exclaimed koku, shaking his big fist at the retreating tramp. "i fix him!" on rushed the airship, and the man who had probably started the fire, glanced up at it. tom suddenly turned the lens of his wizard camera toward him. the mechanism inside, which had been stopped, started clicking again, as the young inventor switched on the electric current. "what are you doing?" cried ned, as he guided the airship toward the shop, whence clouds of smoke were rolling. "taking his picture," replied tom. "it may come in useful for evidence." but he was not able to get many views of the fellow, for the latter must have suspected what was going on. he quickly made a dive for the bushes, and was soon lost to sight. tom shut off his camera. "bless my life preserver!" cried mr. damon. "there comes your father, tom, and mrs. baggert! they've got buckets! they're going to put out the fire!" "why don't they think to use the hose?" cried the young inventor, for he had his shop equipped with many hose lines, and an electrically driven pump. "the hose! the hose, dad!" shouted tom, but it is doubtful if his father or mrs. baggert heard him, for the engine of the airship was making much noise. however, the two with the buckets looked up, and waved their hands to those on the flyer. "there's eradicate!" yelled ned. "he's got the hose all right!" the colored man was beginning to unreel a line. "that's what it needs!" exclaimed tom. "now there's some chance to save the shop." "we'll be there ourselves to take a hand in a few seconds!" cried mr. damon, forgetting to bless anything. "the scoundrel who started this fire, and those back of him, ought to be imprisoned for life!" declared mr. nestor. a moment later ned had landed the airship within a short distance of the shop. in an instant the occupants of the craft had leaped out, and tom, after a hasty glance to see that his valuable camera was safe, dashed toward the building crying: "never mind the pails, dad! use the hose! there's a nozzle at the back door. go around there, and play the water on from that end." eradicate, with his line of hose, had disappeared into the shop through the front door, and the others pressed in after him, heedless of the dense smoke. "is it blazing much, rad?" cried tom. "can't see no blaze at all, massa tom," replied the colored man. "dere's a heap of suffin in de middle ob de flo', an' dat's what's raisin' all de rumpus." they all saw it a moment later, a smoldering heap of rags and paper on the concrete floor of the shop. eradicate turned his hose on it, there was a hissing sound, a cloud of steam arose, and the fire was practically out, though much smoke remained. "jove! that was a lucky escape!" exclaimed tom, as he looked around when the vapor had partly cleared away. "no damage done at all, as far as i can see. i wonder what the game was? did you see anything of a tramp around here?" he asked of his father. "no, tom. i have been busy in the house. so has mrs. baggert. suddenly she called my attention to the smoke coming from the door, and we ran out." "i seen it, too," added eradicate. "i was doin' some whitewashin', an' i run up as soon as i could." "we saw the tramp all right, but he got away," said tom, and he told how he had taken pictures of him. "i don't believe it would be much use to look for him now, though." "me look," spoke koku significantly, as he hurried off in the direction taken by the tramp. he came back later, not having found him. "what do you think of it, tom?" asked ned, when the excitement had calmed down, and the pile of burned rags had been removed. it was found that oil and chemicals had been put on them to cause a dense smoke. "i think it was the work of those fellows who are after my camera," replied the young inventor. "they are evidently watching me, and when they saw us all go off in the airship they thought probably that the coast was clear." "but why should they start a fire?" "i don't know, but probably to create a lot of smoke, and excitement, so that they could search, and not be detected. maybe the fellow after he found that the camera was gone, wanted to draw those in the house out to the shop, so he could have a clear field to search in my room for any drawings that would give him a clew as to how my machine works. they certainly did not want to burn the shop, for that pile of rags could have smoldered all day on the concrete floor, without doing any harm. robbery was the motive, i think." "the police ought to be notified," declared mr. nestor. "develop those pictures, tom, and i'll take the matter up with the police. maybe they can identify the tramp from the photographs." but this proved impossible. tom had secured several good films, not only in the first views he took, giving the spectators the impression that they were going up in an airship, but also those showing the shop on fire, and the tramp running away, were very plain. the police made a search for the incendiary, but of course did not find him. mr. period came to shopton, and declared it was his belief that his rivals, turbot and eckert, had had a hand in the matter. but it was only a suspicion, though tom himself believed the same thing. still nothing could be accomplished. "the thing to do, now that the camera works all right, is for you to hit the trail for india at once," suggested the picture man. "they won't follow you there. get me some pictures of the durbar, of elephants being captured, of tiger fights, anything exciting." "i'll do my--" began tom. "wait, i'm not through," interrupted the excitable man. "then go get some volcanoes, earthquakes--anything that you think would be interesting. i'll keep in touch with you, and cable occasionally. get all the films you can. when will you start?" "i can leave inside of two weeks," replied tom. "then do it, and, meanwhile, be on your guard." it was found that a few changes were needed on the camera, and some adjustments to the airship. another trial flight was made, and some excellent pictures taken. then tom and his friends prepared to take the airship apart, and pack it for shipment to calcutta. it was to go on the same steamer as themselves, and of course the wizard camera would accompany tom. he took along many rolls of films, enough, he thought, for many views. he was also to send back to mr. period from time to time, the exposed rolls of film, so they could be developed, and printed in the united states, as tom would not have very good facilities for this on the airship, and to reproduce them there was almost out of the question. still he did fit up a small dark room aboard the flyer, where he could develop pictures if he wished. there was much to be done, but hard work accomplished it, and finally the party was ready to start for india. tom said good-bye to mary nestor, of course, and her father accompanied our hero from the nestor house to the swift homestead, where the start was to take place. eradicate bade his master a tearful good-bye, and there was moisture in the eyes of mr. swift, as he shook hands with his son. "take care of yourself, tom," he said. "don't run too many risks. this moving picture taking isn't as easy as it sounds. it's more than just pointing your camera at things. write if you get a chance, or send me a message." tom promised, and then bade farewell to mrs. baggert. all were assembled, koku, mr. damon, who blessed everything he saw, and some things he did not, ned, mr. nestor and tom. the five were to go by train to new york, there to go aboard the steamer. their journey to the metropolis was uneventful. mr. period met them at the steamship dock, after tom had seen to it that the baggage, and the parts of the airship were safely aboard. "i wish i were going along!" exclaimed the picture man. "it's going to be a great trip. but i can't spare the time. i'm the busiest man in the world. i lose about a thousand dollars just coming down to see you off, but it's a good investment. i don't mind it. now, tom, good luck, and don't forget, i want exciting views." "i'll try--" began our hero. "wait, i know what you're going to say!" interrupted mr. period. "you'll do it, of course. well, i must be going. i will-- great scott!" and mr. period interrupted himself. "he has the nerve to come here!" "who?" asked tom. "wilson turbot, the rascal! he's trying to balk me at the last minute, i believe. i'm going to see what he means!" and with this, the excited mr. period rushed down the gangplank, toward the man at whom he had pointed--one of the men who had tried to buy tom's picture taking camera. a moment later the steamer's whistle blew, the last belated passenger rushed up the gangplank, it was drawn in, and the vessel began to move away from the dock. tom and his friends were on their way to india, and the last glimpse they had of mr. period was as he was chasing along the pier, after mr. turbot. chapter x unexpected excitement "well, what do you know about that, tom?" asked ned, as they stood on deck watching the chase. "isn't he the greatest ever--mr. period, i mean?" "he certainly is. i'd like to see what happens when he catches that turbot chap." "bless my pocket handkerchief!" cried mr. damon. "i don't believe he will. mr. period's legs aren't long enough for fast running." "those scoundrels were after us, up to the last minute," spoke mr. nestor, as the ship moved farther out from the dock. tom and his friends could no longer see the excitable picture man after his rival, but there was a commotion in the crowd, and it seemed as if he had caught the fellow. "well, we're free of him now," spoke the young inventor, with a breath of relief. "that is, unless they have set some one else on our trail," and he looked carefully at the passengers near him, to detect, if possible, any who might look like spies in the pay of the rival moving picture concern, or any suspicious characters who might try to steal the valuable camera, that was now safely locked in tom's cabin. our hero, however, saw no one to worry about. he resolved to remain on his guard. friends and relatives were waving farewells to one another, and the band was playing, as the big vessel drew out into the north, or hudson, river, and steamed for the open sea. little of interest marked the first week of the voyage. all save koku had done much traveling before, and it was no novelty to them. the giant, however, was amused and delighted with everything, even the most commonplace things he saw. he was a source of wonder to all the other passengers, and, in a way, he furnished much excitement. one day several of the sailors were on deck, shifting one of the heavy anchors. they went about it in their usual way, all taking hold, and "heaving" together with a "chanty," or song, to enliven their work. but they did not make much progress, and one of the mates got rather excited about it. "here, shiver my timbers!" he cried. "lively now! lay about you, and get that over to the side!" "yo! heave! ho!" called the leader of the sailor gang. the anchor did not move, for it had either caught on some projection, or the men were not using their strength. "lively! lively!" cried the mate. suddenly koku, who was in the crowd of passengers watching the work, pushed his way to where the anchor lay. with a powerful, but not rough action, he shoved the sailors aside. then, stooping over, he took a firm grip of the big piece of iron, planted his feet well apart on the deck, and lifted the immense mass in his arms. there was a round of applause from the group of passengers. "where you want him?" koku calmly asked of the mate, as he stood holding the anchor. "blast my marlin spikes!" cried the mate. "i never see the like of this afore! put her over there, shipmate. if i had you on a voyage or two you'd be running the ship, instead of letting the screw push her along. put her over there," and he indicated where he wanted the anchor. koku calmly walked along the deck, laid the anchor down as if it was an ordinary weight, and passed over to where tom stood looking on in amused silence. there were murmurs of surprise from the passengers at the giant's strength, and the sailors went forward much abashed. "say, i'd give a good bit to have a bodyguard like that," exclaimed a well-known millionaire passenger, who, it was reported, was in constant fear of attacks, though they had never taken place. "i wonder if i could get him." he spoke to tom about it, but our hero would not listen to a proposition to part with koku. besides, it is doubtful if the simple giant would leave the lad who had brought him away from his south american home. but, if koku was wonderfully strong, and, seemingly afraid of nothing, there were certain things he feared. one afternoon, for the amusement of the passengers, a net was put overboard, sunk to a considerable depth, and hauled up with a number of fishes in it. some of the finny specimens were good for eating, and others were freaks, strange and curious. koku was in the throng that gathered on deck to look at the haul. suddenly a small fish, but very hideous to look at, leaped from the net and flopped toward the giant. with a scream of fear koku jumped to one side, and ran down to his stateroom. he could not be induced to come on deck until tom assured him that the fishes had been disposed of. thus koku was a mixture of giant and baby. but he was a general favorite on the ship, and often gave exhibitions of his strength. meanwhile tom and his friends had been on the lookout for any one who might be trailing them. but they saw no suspicious characters among the passengers, and, gradually, they began to feel that they had left their enemies behind. the weather was pleasant, and the voyage very enjoyable. tom and the others had little to do, and they were getting rather impatient for the time to come when they could put the airship together, and sail off over the jungle, to get moving pictures of the elephants. "have you any films in the camera now?" asked ned of his chum on day, as they sat on deck together. "yes, it's all ready for instant use. even the storage battery is charged. why?" "oh, i was just wondering. i was thinking we might somehow see something we could take pictures of." "not much out here," said tom, as he looked across the watery expanse. as he did so, he saw a haze of smoke dead ahead. "we'll pass a steamer soon," he went on, "but that wouldn't make a good picture. it's too common." as the two lads watched, the smoke became blacker, and the cloud it formed grew much larger. "they're burning a lot of coal on that ship," remarked ned. "must be trying for a speed record." a little later a sailor stationed himself in the crow's nest, and focused a telescope on the smoke. an officer, on deck, seemed to be waiting for a report from the man aloft. "that's rather odd," remarked ned. "i never knew them to take so much interest in a passing steamer before; and we've gone by several of late." "that's right," agreed tom. "i wonder--" at that moment the officer, looking up, called out: "main top!" "aye, aye, sir," answered the sailor with the glass. "she's a small steamer, sir, and she's on fire!" "that's what i feared. come down. i'll tell the captain. we must crowd on all steam, and go to the rescue." "did you hear that?" cried ned to tom, as the officer hurried to the bridge, where the captain awaited him. "a steamer on fire at sea, tom! why don't you--" "i'm going to!" interrupted the young inventor, as he started for his cabin on the run. "i'm going to get some moving pictures of the rescue! that will be a film worth having." a moment later the belchar, the vessel on which our friends had embarked, increased her speed, while sudden excitement developed on board. as the belchar approached the burning steamer, which had evidently seen her, and was making all speed toward her, the cloud of smoke became more dense, and a dull flame could be seen reflected in the water. "she's going fast!" cried mr. nestor, as he joined ned on deck. "bless my insurance policy!" cried mr. damon. "what a strange happening! where's tom swift?" "gone for his camera," answered his chum. "he's going to get some pictures of the rescue." "all hands man the life boats!" cried an officer, and several sailors sprang to the davits, ready to lower the boats, when the steamers should be near enough together. up on deck came tom, with his wonderful camera. "here you go, ned!" he called. "give me a hand. i'm going to start the film now." chapter xi an elephant stampede "lower away!" "stand by the life boats!" "let go! pull hearty!" these and other commands marked the beginning of the rescue, as the sailors manned the davit-falls, and put the boats into the water. the burning steamer had now come to a stop, not far away from the belchar, which was also lay-to. there was scarcely any sea running, and no wind, so that the work of rescuing was not difficult from an ordinary standpoint. but there was grave danger, because the fire on the doomed vessel was gaining rapidly. "that's oil burning," remarked an officer, and it seemed so, from the dense clouds of smoke that rolled upward. "is she working, tom?" asked ned, as he helped his chum to hold the wonderful camera steady on the rail, so that a good view of the burning steamer could be had. "yes, the film is running. say, i wonder if they'll get 'em all off?" "oh, i think so. there aren't many passengers. i guess it's a tramp freighter." they could look across the gap of water, and see the terrified passengers and crew crowding to the rail, holding out their hands appealingly to the brave sailors who were lustily and rapidly, pulling toward them in life boats. at times a swirl of smoke would hide those on the doomed vessel from the sight of the passengers on the belchar, and on such occasions the frightened screams of women could be heard. once, as the smoke cleared away, a woman, with a child in her arms, giving a backward glance toward the flames that were now enveloping the stern of the vessel, attempted to leap overboard. many hands caught her, however, and all this was registered on the film of tom's camera, which was working automatically. as the two vessels drifted along, tom and ned shifted the lens so as to keep the burning steamer, and the approaching lifeboats, in focus. "there's the first rescue!" cried ned, as the woman who had attempted to leap overboard, was, with her child, carefully lowered into a boat. "did you get that, tom?" "i certainly did. this will make a good picture. i think i'll send it back to mr. period as soon as we reach port." "maybe you could develop it on board here, and show it. i understand there's a dark room, and the captain said one of his officers, who used to be in the moving picture business, had a reproducing machine." "then that's what i'll do!" cried tom. "i'll have our captain charge all the belchar passengers admission, and we'll get up a fund for the fire sufferers. they'll probably lose all their baggage." "that will be great!" exclaimed ned. the rescue was now in full swing, and, in a short time all the passengers and crew had been transferred to the life boats. tom got a good picture of the captain of the burning steamer being the last to leave his vessel. then the approaching life boats, with their loads of sailors, and rescued ones, were caught on the films. "are you all off?" cried the captain of the belchar to the unfortunate skipper of the doomed ship. "all off, yes, thank you. it is a mercy you were at hand. i have a cargo of oil. you had better stand off, for she'll explode in a few minutes." "i must get a picture of that!" declared tom as the belchar got under way again. "that will cap the climax, and make a film that will be hard to beat." a few moments later there was a tremendous explosion on the tramp oiler. a column of wreckage and black smoke shot skyward, and tom secured a fine view of it. then the wreck disappeared beneath the waves, while the rescuing steamer sailed on, with those who had been saved. they had brought off only the things they wore, for the fire had occurred suddenly, and spread rapidly. kind persons aboard the belchar looked after the unfortunates. luckily there was not a large passenger list on the tramp. and the crew was comparatively small, so it was not hard work to make room for them, or take care of them, aboard the belchar. tom developed his pictures, and produced them in one of the large saloons, on a machine he borrowed from the man of whom ned had spoken. a dollar admission was charged, and the crowd was so large that tom had to give two performances. the films, showing the burning steamer and the rescue, were excellent, and enough money was realized to aid, most substantially, the unfortunate passengers and crew. a few days later a new york bound steamer was spoken, and on it tom sent the roll of developed films to mr. period, with a letter of explanation. i will not give all the details of the rest of the voyage. sufficient to say that no accidents marred it, nor did tom discover any suspicious characters aboard. in due time our friends arrived at calcutta, and were met by an agent of mr. period, for he had men in all quarters of the world, making films for him. this agent took tom and his party to a hotel, and arranged to have the airship parts sent to a large open shed, not far away, where it could be put together. the wonderful scenes in the indian city interested tom and his companions for a time, but they had observed so many strange sights from time to time that they did not marvel greatly. koku, however, was much delighted. he was like a child. "what are you going to do first?" asked ned, when they had recovered from the fatigue of the ocean voyage and had settled themselves in the hotel. "put the airship together," replied our hero, "and then, after getting some durbar pictures, we'll head for the jungle. i want to get some elephant pictures, showing the big beasts being captured." mr. period's agent was a great help to them in this. he secured native helpers, who aided tom in assembling the airship, and in a week or two it was ready for a flight. the wonderful camera, too, was looked over, and the picture agent said he had never seen a better one. "it can take the kind of pictures i never could," he said. "i get calcutta street scenes for mr. period, and occasionally i strike a good one. but i wish i had your chance." tom invited him to come along in the airship, but the agent, who only looked after mr. period's interests as a side issue, could not leave his work. the airship was ready for a flight, stores and provisions had been put on board, there was enough gasoline for the motor, and gas for the balloon bag, to carry the flyer thousands of miles. the moving picture camera had been tested after the sea voyage, and had been found to work perfectly. many rolls of films were taken along. tom got some fine views of the durbar of india, and his airship created a great sensation. "now i guess we're all ready for the elephants," said tom one day as he came back from an inspection of the airship as it rested in the big shed. "we'll start to-morrow morning, and head for the jungle." amid the cries from a throng of wondering and awed natives, and with the farewells of mr. period's agent ringing in their ears, tom and his party made an early start. the flyer rose like a bird, and shot across the city, while on the house tops many people watched the strange sight. tom did not start his camera working, as mr. period's agent said he had made many pictures of the indian city, and even one taken from an airship, would not be much of a novelty. tom had made inquiries, and learned that by a day's travel in his airship (though it would have been much longer ordinarily) he could reach a jungle where elephants might be found. of course there was nothing certain about it, as the big animals roamed all over, being in one district one day, and on the next, many miles off. gradually the city was left behind, and some time later the airship was sailing along over the jungle. after the start, when ned and tom, with mr. damon helping occasionally, had gotten the machinery into proper adjustment, the flyer almost ran herself. then tom took his station forward, with his camera in readiness, and a powerful spyglass at hand, so that he might see the elephants from a distance. he had been told that, somewhere in the district for which he was headed, an elephant drive was contemplated. he hoped to be on hand to get pictures of it, and so sent his airship ahead at top speed. on and on they rode, being as much at ease in the air as they would have been if traveling in a parlor car. they did not fly high, as it was necessary to be fairly close to the earth to get good pictures. "well, i guess we won't have any luck to-day," remarked ned, as night approached, and they had had no sight of the elephants. they had gone over mile after mile of jungle, but had seen few wild beasts in sufficient numbers to make it worth while to focus the camera on them. "we'll float along to-night," decided tom, "and try again in the morning." it was about ten o'clock the next day, when ned, who had relieved tom on watch, uttered a cry: "what is it?" asked his chum, as he rushed forward. "has anything happened?" "lots!" cried ned. "look!" he pointed down below. tom saw, crashing through the jungle, a big herd of elephants. behind them, almost surrounding them, in fact, was a crowd of natives in charge of white hunters, who were driving the herd toward a stockade. "there's a chance for a grand picture!" exclaimed tom, as he got the camera ready. "take charge of the ship, ned. keep her right over the big animals, and i'll work the camera." quickly he focused the lens on the strange scene below him. there was a riot of trumpeting from the elephants. the beaters and hunters shouted and yelled. then they saw the airship and waved their hands to tom and his friends, but whether to welcome them, or warn them away, could not be told. the elephants were slowly advancing toward the stockade. tom was taking picture after picture of them, when suddenly as the airship came lower, in response to a signal to ned from the young inventor, one of the huge pachyderms looked up, and saw the strange sight. he might have taken it for an immense bird. at any rate he gave a trumpet of alarm, and the next minute, with screams of rage and fear, the elephants turned, and charged in a wild stampede on those who were driving them toward the stockade. "look!" cried ned. "those hunters and natives will be killed!" "i'm afraid so!" shouted tom, as he continued to focus his camera on the wonderful sight. chapter xii the lion fight crashing through the jungle the huge beasts turned against those who had, been driving them on toward the stockade. with wild shouts and yells, the hunters and their native helpers tried to turn back the elephant tide, but it was useless. the animals had been frightened by the airship, and were following their leader, a big bull, that went crashing against great trees, snapping them off as if they were pipe stems. "say, this is something like!" cried ned, as he guided the airship over the closely packed body of elephants, so tom could get good pictures, for the herd had divided, and a small number had gone off with one of the other bulls. "yes, i'll get some great pictures," agreed tom, as he looked in through a red covered opening in the camera, to see how much film was left. the airship was now so low down that tom, and the others, could easily make out the faces of the hunters, and the native helpers. one of the hunters, evidently the chief, shaking his fist at our hero, cried: "can't you take your blooming ship out of the way, my man? it's scaring the beasts, and we've been a couple of weeks on this drive. we don't want to lose all our work. take your bloody ship away!" "i guess he must be an englishman," remarked mr. nestor, with a laugh. "bless my dictionary, i should say so," agreed mr. damon. "bloody, blooming ship! the idea!" "well, i suppose we have scared the beasts," said tom. "we ought to get out of the way. put her up, ned, and we'll come down some distance in advance." "why, aren't you going to take any more views of the elephants?" "yes, but i've got enough of a view from above. besides, i've got to put in a fresh reel of film, and i might as well get out of their sight to do it. maybe that will quiet them, and the hunters can turn them back toward the stockade. if they do, i have another plan." "what is it?" his chum wanted to know. "i'm going to make a landing, set up my camera at the entrance to the stockade, and get a series of pictures as the animals come in. i think that will be a novelty. "that certainly will," agreed mr. nestor. "i am sure mr. period will appreciate that. but won't it be dangerous, tom?" "i suppose so, but i'm getting used to danger," replied our hero, with a laugh. ned put the ship high into the air, as tom shut off the power from the camera. then the flyer was sent well on in advance of the stampede of elephants, so they could no longer see it, or hear the throb of the powerful engines. tom hoped that this would serve to quiet the immense creatures. as the travelers flew on, over the jungle, they could still hear the racket made by the hunters and beaters, and the shrill trumpeting of the elephants, as they crashed through the forest. tom at once began changing the film in the camera, and ned altered the course of the airship, to send it back toward the stockade, which they had passed just before coming upon the herd of elephants. i presume most of my readers know what an elephant drive is like. a stockade, consisting of heavy trees, is made in the jungle. it is like the old fashioned forts our forefathers used to make, for a defense against the indians. there is a broad entrance to it, and, when all is in readiness, the beaters go out into the jungle, with the white hunters, to round up the elephants. a number of tame pachyderms are taken along to persuade the wild ones to follow. gradually the elephants are gathered together in a large body, and gently driven toward the stockade. the tame elephants go in first, and the others follow. then the entrance is closed, and all that remains to be done is to tame the wild beasts, a not very easy task. "are you all ready?" asked ned, after a bit, as he saw tom come forward with the camera. "yes, i'm loaded for some more excitement. you can put me right over the stockade now, ned, and when we see the herd coming back i'll go down, and take some views from the ground." "i think they've got 'em turned," said mr. damon. "it sounds as if they were coming back this way." a moment later they had a glimpse of the herd down below. it was true that the hunters had succeeded in stopping the stampede, and once more the huge beasts were going in the right direction. "there's a good place to make a landing," suggested tom, as he saw a comparatively clear place in the jungle. "it's near the stockade, and, in case of danger, i can make a quick get-away." "what kind of danger are you looking for?" asked ned, as he shifted the deflecting rudder. "oh, one of the beasts might take a notion to chase me." the landing was made, and tom, taking ned and mr. nestor with him, and leaving the others to manage the airship in case a quick flight would be necessary, made his way along a jungle trail to the entrance to the stockade. he carried his camera with him, for it was not heavy. on came the elephants, frightened by the shouts and cries of the beaters, and the firing of guns. the young inventor took his place near the stockade entrance, and, as the elephants advanced through the forest, tearing up trees and bushes, tom got some good pictures of them. suddenly the advance of the brutes was checked, and the foremost of them raised their trunks, trumpeted in anger, and were about to turn back again. "get away from that bloomin' gate!" shouted a hunter to tom. "you're scaring them as bad as your airship did." "yes, they won't go in with you there!" added another man. tom slipped around the corner of the stockade, out of sight, and from that vantage point he took scores of pictures, as the tame animals led the wild ones into the fenced enclosure. then began another wild scene as the gate was closed. the terrified animals rushed about, trying in vain to find a way of escape. tom managed to climb up on top of the logs, and got some splendid pictures. but this was nearly his undoing. for, just as the last elephant rushed in, a big bull charged against the stockade, and jarred tom so that he was on the point of falling. his one thought was about his camera, and he looked to see if he could drop it on the soft grass, so it would not be damaged. he saw koku standing below him, the giant having slipped out of the airship, to see the beasts at closer range. "catch this, koku!" cried tom, tossing the big man his precious camera, and the giant caught it safely. but tom's troubles were not over. a moment later, as the huge elephant again rammed the fence, tom fell off, but fortunately outside. then the large beast, seeing a small opening in the gate that was not yet entirely closed, made for it. a moment later he was rushing straight at tom, who was somewhat stunned by his fall, though it was not a severe one. "look out!" yelled ned. "take a tree, tom!" cried mr. nestor. the elephant paid no attention to any one but tom, whom he seemed to think had caused all his trouble. the young inventor dashed to one side, and then started to run toward the airship, for which ned and mr. nestor were already making. the elephant hunters at last succeeded in closing the gate, blocking the chance of any more animals to escape. "run, tom! run!" yelled ned, and tom ran as he had never run before. the elephant was close after him though, crashing through the jungle. tom could see the airship just ahead of him. suddenly he felt something grasp him from behind. he thought surely it was the elephant's trunk, but a quick glance over his shoulder showed him the friendly face of koku, the giant. "me run for you," said koku, as he caught tom up under one arm, and, carrying the camera under the other, he set off at top speed. now koku could run well at times, and this time he did. he easily outdistanced the elephant, and, a little later, he set tom down on the deck of the airship, with the camera beside him. then ned and mr. nestor came up panting, having run to one side. "quick!" cried tom. "we must get away before the elephant charges the flyer." "he has stopped," shouted mr. nestor, and it was indeed so. the big beast, seeing again the strange craft that had frightened him before, stood still for a moment, and then plunged off into the jungle, trumpeting with rage. "safe!" gasped tom, as he looked at his camera to see if it had been damaged. it seemed all right. "bless my latch key!" cried mr. damon. "this moving picture business isn't the most peaceful one in the world." "no, it has plenty of perils," agreed mr. nestor. "come on, let's get out of here while we have the chance," suggested tom. "there may be another herd upon us before we know it." the airship was soon ascending, and tom and his companions could look down and see the tame elephants in the stockade trying to calm the wild ones. then the scene faded from sight. "well, if these pictures come out all right i'll have some fine ones," exclaimed tom as he carried his camera to the room where he kept the films. "i fancy an elephant drive and stampede are novelties in this line." "indeed they are," agreed mr. nestor. "mr. period made no mistake when he picked you out, tom, for this work. what are you going to try for next?" "i'd like to get some lion and tiger pictures," said the young inventor. "i understand this is a good district for that. as soon as those elephants get quieted down, i'm going back to the stockade and have a talk with the hunters." this he did, circling about in the airship until nearly evening. when they again approached the stockade all was quiet, and they came to earth. a native showed them where the white hunters had their headquarters, in some bungalows, and tom and his party were made welcome. they apologized for frightening the big beasts, and the hunters accepted their excuses. "as long as we got 'em, it's all right," said the head man, "though for awhile, i didn't like your bloomin' machine." tom entertained the hunters aboard his craft, at which they marvelled much, and they gave him all the information they had about the lions and tigers in the vicinity. "you won't find lions and tigers in herds, like elephants though," said the head hunter. "and you may have to photograph 'em at night, as then is when they come out to hunt, and drink." "well, i can take pictures at night," said tom, as he showed his camera apparatus. the next day, in the airship, they left for another district, where, so the natives reported, several lions had been seen of late. they had done much damage, too, carrying off the native cattle, and killing several indians. for nearly a week tom circled about in his airship, keeping a sharp lookout down below for a sign of lions that he might photograph them. but he saw none, though he did get some pictures of a herd of indian deer that were well worth his trouble. "i think i'll have to try for a night photograph," decided tom at last. "i'll locate a spring where wild beasts are in the habit of coming, set the camera with the light going, and leave it there." "but will the lions come up if they see the light?" asked ned. "i think so," replied his chum. "i'll take a chance, anyhow. if that doesn't work then i'll hide near by, and see what happens." "bless my cartridge belt!" cried mr. damon. "you don't mean that; do you tom?" "of course. come to think of it, i'm not going to leave my camera out there for a lion to jump on, and break. as soon as i get a series of pictures i'll bring it back to the ship, i think." by inquiry among the natives they learned the location of a spring where, it was said, lions were in the habit of coming nightly to drink. "that's the place i want!" cried tom. accordingly the airship was headed for it, and one evening it came gently to earth in a little clearing on the edge of the jungle, while koku, as was his habit, got supper. after the meal tom and ned set the camera, and then, picking out a good spot nearby, they hid themselves to wait for what might happen. the lens was focused on the spring, and the powerful electric light set going. it glowed brightly, and our hero thought it might have the effect of keeping the beasts away, but tom figured that, after they had looked at it for a while, and seen that it did not harm them, they would lose their suspicions, and come within range of his machine. "the camera will do the rest," he said. in order not to waste films uselessly tom arranged a long electric wire, running it from the camera to where he and ned were hid. by pressing a button he could start or stop the camera any time he wished, and, as he had a view of the spring from his vantage point, he could have the apparatus begin taking pictures as soon as there was some animal within focus. "well, i'm getting stiff," said ned, after an hour or so had passed in silent darkness, the only light being the distant one on the camera. "so am i," said tom. "i don't believe anything will come to-night," went on his chum. "let's go back and--" he stopped suddenly, for there was a crackling in the underbrush, and the next moment the jungle vibrated to the mighty roar of a lion. "he's coming!" hoarsely whispered tom. both lads glanced through the trees toward the camera, and, in the light, they saw a magnificent, tawny beast standing on the edge of the spring. once more he roared, as if in defiance, and then, as if deciding that the light was not harmful, he stooped to lap up the water. hardly had he done so than there was another roar, and a moment later a second lion leaped from the dense jungle into the clearing about the spring. the two monarchs of the forest stood there in the glare of the light, and tom excitedly pressed the button that started the shutter to working, and the film to moving back of the lens. there was a slight clicking sound in the camera, and the lions turned startedly. then both growled again, and the next instant they sprang at each other, roaring mightily. "a fight!" cried tom. "a lion fight, and right in front of my camera! it couldn't be better. this is great! this will be a film." "quiet!" begged ned. "they'll hear you, and come for us. i don't want to be chewed up!" "no danger of them hearing me!" cried tom, and he had to shout to be heard above the roaring of the two tawny beasts, as they bit and clawed each other, while the camera took picture after picture of them. chapter xiii a shot in time "tom, did you ever see anything like it in your life?" "i never did, ned! it's wonderful! fearful! and to think that we are here watching it, and that thousands of people will see the same thing thrown on a screen. oh, look at the big one. the small lion has him down!" the two lads, much thrilled, crouched down behind a screen of bushes, watching the midnight fight between the lions. on the airship, not far distant, there was no little alarm, for those left behind heard the terrific roars, and feared tom and ned might be in some danger. but the lions were too much occupied with their battle, to pay any attention to anything else, and no other wild beasts were likely to come to the spring while the two "kings" were at each other. it was a magnificent, but terrible battle. the big cats bit and tore at each other, using their terrific claws and their powerful paws, one stroke of which is said to be sufficient to break a bullock's back. sometimes they would roll out of the focus of the camera, and, at such times, tom wished he was at the machine to swing the lens around, but he knew it would be dangerous to move. then the beasts would roll back into the rays of light again, and more pictures of them would be taken. "i guess the small one is going to win!" said tom, after the two lions had fought for ten minutes, and the bigger one had been down several times. "he's younger," agreed ned, "and i guess the other one has had his share of fights. maybe this is a battle to see which one is to rule this part of the jungle." "i guess so," spoke the young inventor, as he pressed the button to stop the camera, as the lions rolled out of focus. "oh, look!" he cried a moment later, as the animals again rolled into view. tom started the camera once more. "this is near the end," he said. the small lion had, by a sudden spring, landed on the back of his rival. there was a terrific struggle, and the older beast went down, the younger one clawing him terribly. then, so quickly did it happen that the boys could not take in all the details, the older lion rolled over and over, and rid himself of his antagonist. quickly he got to his feet, while the smaller lion did the same. they stood for a moment eyeing each other, their tails twitching, the hair on their backs bristling, and all the while they uttered frightful roars. an instant later the larger beast sprang toward his rival. one terrible paw was upraised. the small lion tried to dodge, but was not quick enough. down came the paw with terrific force, and the boys could hear the back bone snap. then, clawing his antagonist terribly, as he lay disabled, the older lion, with a roar of triumph, lapped up water, and sprang off through the jungle, leaving his dying rival beside the spring. "that's the end," cried tom, as the small lion died, and the young inventor pressed the button stopping his camera. there was a rustle in the leaves back of tom and ned, and they sprang up in alarm, but they need not have feared, for it was only koku, the giant, who, with a portable electrical torch, had come to see how they had fared. "mr. tom all right?" asked the big man, anxiously. "yes, and i got some fine pictures. you can carry the camera back now, koku. i think that roll of film is pretty well filled." the three of them looked at the body of the dead lion, before they went back to the airship. i have called him "small," but, in reality, the beast was small only in comparison with his rival, who was a tremendous lion in size. i might add that of all the pictures tom took, few were more highly prized than that reel of the lion fight. "bless my bear cage!" cried mr. damon, as tom came back, "you certainly have nerve, my boy." "you have to, in this business," agreed tom with a laugh. "i never did this before, and i don't know that i would want it for a steady position, but it's exciting for a change." they remained near the "lion spring" as they called it all night, and in the morning, after koku had served a tasty breakfast, tom headed the airship for a district where it was said there were many antelope, and buffaloes, also zebus. "i don't want to get all exciting pictures," our hero said to mr. nestor. "i think that films showing wild animals at play, or quietly feeding, will be good." "i'm sure they will," said mary's father. "get some peaceful scenes, by all means." they sailed on for several days, taking a number of pictures from the airship, when they passed over a part of the country where the view was magnificent, and finally, stopping at a good sized village they learned that, about ten miles out, was a district where antelope abounded. "we'll go there," decided tom, "and i'll take the camera around with me on a sort of walking trip. in that way i'll get a variety of views, and i can make a good film." this plan was followed out. the airship came to rest in a beautiful green valley, and ned and tom, with mr. damon, who begged to be taken along, started off. "you can follow me in about half an hour, koku," said tom, "and carry the camera back. i guess you can easily pick up our trail." "oh, sure," replied the giant. indeed, to one who had lived in the forest, as he had all his life, before tom found him, it was no difficult matter to follow a trail, such as the three friends would leave. tom found signs that showed him where the antelopes were in the habit of passing, and, with ned and mr. damon, stationed himself in a secluded spot. he had not long to wait before a herd of deer came past. tom took many pictures of the graceful creatures, for it was daylight now, and he needed no light. consequently there was nothing to alarm the herd. after having made several films of the antelope, tom and his two companions went farther on. they were fortunate enough to find a place that seemed to be a regular playground of the deer. there was a large herd there, and, getting as near as he dared, tom focused his camera, and began taking pictures. "it's as good as a play," whispered mr. damon, as he and ned watched the creatures, for they had to speak quietly. the camera made scarcely any noise. "i'm glad i came on this trip." "so am i," said ned. "look, tom, see the mother deer all together, and the fawns near them. it's just as if it was a kindergarten meeting." "i see," whispered tom. "i'm getting a picture of that." for some little time longer tom photographed the deer, and then, suddenly, the timid creatures all at once lifted up their heads, and darted off. tom and ned, wondering what had startled them, looked across the glade just in time to see a big tiger leap out of the tall grass. the striped animal had been stalking the antelope, but they had scented him just in time. "get him, tom," urged ned, and the young inventor did so, securing several fine views before the tiger bounded into the grass again, and took after his prey. "bless my china teacup! what's that!" suddenly cried mr. damon. as he spoke there was a crashing in the bushes and, an instant later as two-horned rhinoceros sprang into view, charging straight for the group. "look out!" yelled ned. "bless my--" began mr. damon, but he did not finish, for, in starting to run his foot caught in the grass, and he went down heavily. tom leaped to one side, holding his camera so as not to damage it. but he stumbled over mr. damon, and went down. with a "wuff" of rage the clumsy beast, came on, moving more rapidly than tom had any idea he was capable of. hampered by his camera our hero could not arise. the rhinoceros was almost upon him, and ned, catching up a club, was just going to make a rush to the rescue, when the brute seemed suddenly to crumple up. it fell down in a heap, not five feet from where tom and mr. damon lay. "good!" cried ned. "he's dead. shot through the heart! who did it?" "i did," answered koku quietly, stepping out of the bushes, with one of tom's swift's electric rifles in his hand. chapter xiv in a great gale tom swift rose slowly to his feet, carefully setting his camera down, after making sure that it was not injured. then he looked at the huge beast which lay dead in front of him, and, going over to the giant he held out his hand to him. "koku, you saved my life," spoke tom. "probably the life of mr. damon also. i can't begin to thank you. it isn't the first time you've done it, either. but i want to say that you can have anything you want, that i've got." "me like this gun pretty much," said the giant simply. "then it's yours!" exclaimed tom. "and you're the only one, except myself, who has ever owned one." tom's wonderful electric rifle, of which i have told you in the book bearing that name, was one of his most cherished inventions. he guarded jealously the secret of how it worked, and never sold or gave one away, for fear that unscrupulous men might learn how to make them, and to cause fearful havoc. for the rifle was a terrible weapon. koku seemed to appreciate the honor done him, as he handled the gun, and looked from it to the dead rhinoceros. "bless my blank cartridge!" exclaimed mr. damon, as he also got up and came to examine the dead beast. it was the first thing he had said since the animal had rushed at him, and he had not moved after he fell down. he had seemingly been in a daze, but when the others heard him use one of his favorite expressions they knew that he was all right again. "bless my hat!" went on the odd man. "what happened, tom? is that beast really dead? how did koku come to arrive in time?" "i guess he's dead all right," said tom, giving the rhinoceros a kick. "but i don't know how koku happened to arrive in the nick of time, and with the gun, too." "i think maybe i see something to shoot when i come after you, like you tell me to do," spoke the giant. "i follow your trail, but i see nothing to shoot until i come here. then i see that animal run for you, and i shoot." "and a good thing you did, too," put in ned. "well let's go back. my nerves are on edge, and i want to sit quiet for a while." "take the camera, koku," ordered tom, "and i'll carry the electric rifle--your rifle, now," he added, and the giant grinned in delight. they reached the airship without further incident, and, after a cup of tea, tom took out the exposed films and put a fresh roll in his camera, ready for whatever new might happen. "where is your next stopping place, tom?" asked ned, as they sat in the main room of the airship that evening, talking over the events of the day. they had decided to stay all night anchored on the ground, and start off in the morning. "i hardly know," answered the young inventor. "i am going to set the camera to-night, near a small spring i saw, to get some pictures of deer coming to drink. i may get a picture of a lion or a tiger attacking them. if i could it would be another fine film. to-morrow i think we will start for switzerland. but now i'm going to get the camera ready for a night exposure. "bless my check book!" cried mr. damon. "you don't mean to say that you are going to stay out at a spring again, tom, and run the chance of a tiger getting you." "no, i'm merely going to set the camera, attach the light and let it work automatically this time. i've put in an extra long roll of film, for i'm going to keep it going for a long while, and part of the time there may be no animals there to take pictures of. no, i'm not going to sit out to-night. i'm too tired. i'll conceal the camera in the bushes so it won't be damaged if there's a fight. then, as i said, we'll start for switzerland to-morrow." "switzerland!" cried ned. "what in the world do you want to go make a big jump like that for? and what do you expect to get in that mountain land?" "i'm going to try for a picture of an avalanche," said tom. "mr. period wants one, if i can get it. it is quite a jump, but then we'll be flying over civilized countries most of the time, and if any accident happens we can go down and easily make repairs. we can also get gasolene for the motor, though i have quite a supply in the tanks, and perhaps enough for the entire trip. at the same time we won't take any chances. so we'll be off for switzerland in the morning. "i think some avalanche pictures will be great, if you can get them," remarked mr. nestor. "but, tom, you know those big slides of ice, snow and earth aren't made to order." "oh, i know," agreed the young inventor with a smile. "i'll just have to take my chances, and wait until one happens." "bless my insurance policy!" exclaimed mr. damon. "and when it does happen, tom, are you going to stand in front of it, and snap-shot it?" "indeed i'm not. this business is risky and dangerous enough, without looking for trouble. i'm going to the mountain region, and hover around in the air, until we see an avalanche 'happen' if that is the right word. then i'll focus the camera on it, and the films and machinery will do the rest." "oh, that's different," remarked the odd man, with an air of relief. tom and ned soon had the camera set near the spring and then, everyone being tired with the day's work and excitement, they retired. in the morning there were signs around the spring that many animals had been there in the night. there were also marks as if there had been a fight, but of course what sort, or how desperate, no one could say. "if anything happened the camera got it, i'm sure of that much," remarked tom, as he brought in the apparatus. "i'm not going to develop the roll, for i don't want to take the time now. i guess we must have something, anyhow." "if there isn't it won't so much matter for you have plenty of other good views," said mr. nestor. i will not go into details of the long trip to switzerland, where, amid the mountains of that country, tom hoped to get the view he wanted. sufficient to say that the airship made good time after leaving india. sometimes tom sent the craft low down, in order to get views, and again, it would be above the clouds. "well, another day will bring us there," said tom one evening, as he was loading the camera with a fresh roll of films. "then we'll have to be on the lookout for an avalanche." "yes, we're making pretty good time," remarked ned, as he looked at the speed gage. "i didn't know you had the motor working so fast, tom." "i haven't," was the young inventor's answer, as he looked up in surprise. "why, we are going quite fast! it's the wind, ned. it's right with us, and it's carrying us along." tom arose and went to the anemometer, or wind-registering instrument. he gave a low whistle, half of alarm. "fifty miles an hour she's blowing now," he said. "it came on suddenly, too, for a little while ago it was only ten." "is there any danger?" asked mr. nestor, for he was not very familiar with airship perils. "well, we've been in big blows before, and we generally came out all right," returned tom. "still, i don't like this. why she went up five points since i've been looking at it!" and he pointed to the needle of the gage, which now registered fifty-five miles an hour. "bless my appendix!" gasped mr. damon. "it's a hurricane tom!" "something like that," put in ned, in a low voice. with a suddenness that was startling, the wind increased in violence still more. tom ran to the pilot house. "what are you going to do?" ned called. "see if we can't go down a bit," was tom's answer. "i don't like this. it may be calmer below. we're up too high as it is." he tried to throw over the lever controlling the deflecting rudder, which would send the flyer down, but he could not move it. "give me a hand!" he called to ned, but even the strength of the two lads was not sufficient to shift it. "call koku!" gasped tom. "if anybody can budge it the giant can!" meanwhile the airship was being carried onward in the grip of a mighty wind, so strong that its pressure on the surface of the deflecting rudder prevented it from being shifted. chapter xv snapping an avalanche "bless my thermometer!" gasped mr. damon. "this is terrible!" the airship was plunging and swaying about in the awful gale. "can't something be done, tom?" "what has happened?" cried mr. nestor. "we were on a level keel before. what is it?" "it's the automatic balancing rudder!" answered tom. "something has happened to it. the wind may have broken it! come on, ned!" and he led the way to the engine room. "what are you going to do? don't you want koku to shift the deflecting rudder? here he is," ned added, as the giant came forward, in response to a signal bell that tom's chum had rung. "it's too late to try the deflecting rudder!" tried tom. "i must see what is the matter with our balancer." as he spoke the ship gave a terrific plunge, and the occupants were thrown sideways. the next moment it was on a level keel again, scudding along with the gale, but there was no telling when the craft would again nearly capsize. tom looked at the mechanism controlling the equalizing and equilibrium rudder. it was out of order, and he guessed that the terrific wind was responsible for it. "what can we do?" cried ned, as the airship nearly rolled over. "can't we do anything, tom?" "yes. i'm going to try. keep calm now. we may come out all right. this is the worst blow we've been in since we were in russia. start the gas machine full blast. i want all the vapor i can get." as i have explained the flyer was a combined dirigible balloon and aeroplane. it could be used as either, or both, in combination. at present the gas bag was not fully inflated, and tom had been sending his craft along as an aeroplane. "what are you going to do?" cried ned, as he pulled over the lever that set the gas generating machine in operation. "i'm going up as high as i can go!" cried tom. "if we can't go down we must go up. i'll get above the hurricane instead of below it. give me all the gas you can, ned!" the vapor hissed as it rushed into the big bag overhead. tom carried aboard his craft the chemicals needed to generate the powerful lifting gas, of which he alone had the secret. it was more powerful than hydrogen, and simple to make. the balloon of the flyer was now being distended. meanwhile tom, with koku, mr. damon and mr. nestor to help him, worked over the deflecting rudder, and also on the equilibrium mechanism. but they could not get either to operate. ned stood by the gas machine, and worked it to the limit. but even with all that energy, so powerful was the wind, that the flyer rose slowly, the gale actually holding her down as a water-logged craft is held below the waves. ordinarily, with the gas machine set at its limit the craft would have shot up rapidly. at times the airship would skim along on the level, and again it would be pitched and tossed about, until it was all the occupants could do to keep their feet. mr. damon was continually blessing everything he could remember. "now she's going!" suddenly cried ned, as he looked at the dials registering the pressure of the gas, and showing the height of the airship above the earth. "going how?" gasped tom, as he looked over from where he was working at the equilibrium apparatus. "going down?" "going up!" shouted ned. "i guess we'll be all right soon!" it was true. now that the bag was filled with the powerful lifting gas, under pressure, the flyer was beginning to get out of the dangerous predicament into which the gale had blown her. up and up she went, and every foot she climbed the power of the wind became less. "maybe it all happened for the best," said tom, as he noted the height gage. "if we had gone down, the wind might have been worse nearer the earth." later they learned that this was so. the most destructive wind storm ever known swept across the southern part of europe, over which they were flying that night, and, had the airship gone down, she would probably have been destroyed. but, going up, she got above the wind-strata. up and up she climbed, until, when three miles above the earth, she was in a calm zone. it was rather hard to breathe at this height, and tom set the oxygen apparatus at work. this created in the interior of the craft an atmosphere almost like that on the earth, and the travelers were made more at their ease. getting out of the terrible wind pressure made it possible to work the deflecting rudder, though tom had no idea of going down, as long as the blow lasted. "we'll just sail along at this height until morning," he said, "and by then the gale may be over, or we may be beyond the zone of it. start the propellers, ned. i think i can manage to repair the equilibrium rudder now." the propellers, which gave the forward motion to the airship, had been stopped when it was found that the wind was carrying her along, but they were now put in motion again, sending the flyer forward. in a short time tom had the equilibrium machine in order, and matters were now normal again. "but that was a strenuous time while it lasted," remarked the young inventor, as he sat down. "it sure was," agreed ned. "bless my pen wiper!" cried mr. damon. "that was one of the few times when i wish i'd never come with you, tom swift," and everyone laughed at that. the flyer was now out of danger, going along high in the air through the night, while the gale raged below her. at tom's suggestion, koku got a lunch ready, for they were all tired with their labors, and somewhat nervous from the danger and excitement. "and now for sleep!" exclaimed tom, as he pushed back his plate. "ned, set the automatic steering gear, and we'll see where we bring up by morning." an examination, through a powerful telescope in the bright light of morning, showed the travelers that they were over the outskirts of a large city, which, later, they learned was rome, italy. "we've made a good trip," said tom. "the gale had us worried, but it sent us along at a lively clip. now for switzerland, and the avalanches!" they made a landing at a village just outside the "holy city," as rome is often called, and renewed their supply of gasolene. naturally they attracted a crowd of curious persons, many of whom had never seen an airship before. certainly few of them had ever seen one like tom swift's. the next day found them hovering over the alps, where tom hoped to be able to get the pictures of snow slides. they went down to earth at a town near one of the big mountain ranges, and there made inquiries as to where would be the best location to look for big avalanches. if they went but a few miles to the north, they were told, they would be in the desired region, and they departed for that vicinity. "and now we've just got to take our time, and wait for an avalanche to happen," remarked tom, as they were flying along over the mountain ranges. "as mr. damon said, these things aren't made to order. they just happen." for three days they sailed in and out over the great snow-covered peaks of the alps. they did not go high up, for they wanted to be near earth when an avalanche would occur, so that near-view pictures could be secured. occasionally they saw parties of mountain climbers ascending some celebrated peak, and for want of something better to photograph, tom "snapped" the tourists. "well, i guess they're all out of avalanches this season," remarked ned one afternoon, when they had circled back and forth over a mountain where, so it was said, the big snow slides were frequent. "it does seem so," agreed tom. "still, we're in no hurry. it is easier to be up here, than it is walking around in a jungle, not knowing what minute a tiger may jump out at you." "bless my rubbers, yes!" agreed mr. damon. the sky was covered with lowering clouds, and there were occasionally flurries of snow. tom's airship was well above the snow line on the mountains. the young inventor and ned sat in the pilot house, taking observations through a spyglass of the mountain chain below them. suddenly ned, who had the glass focused on a mighty peak, cried out: "there she is, tom!" "what?" "the avalanche! the snow is beginning to slide down the mountain! say, it's going to be a big one, too. got your camera ready?" "sure! i've had it ready for the last three days. put me over there, ned. you look after the airship, and i'll take the pictures!" tom sprang to get his apparatus, while his chum hurried to the levers, wheels and handles that controlled the flyer. as they approached the avalanche they could see the great mass of ice, snow, big stones, and earth sliding down the mountain side, carrying tall trees with it. "this is just what i wanted!" cried tom, as he set his camera working. "put me closer, ned." ned obeyed, and the airship was now hovering directly over the avalanche, and right in its path. the big landslide, as it would have been called in this country, met no village in its path, fortunately, or it would have wiped it out completely. it was in a wild and desolate region that it occurred. "i want to get a real close view!" cried tom, as he got some pictures showing a whole grove of giant trees uprooted and carried off. "get closer ned, and--" tom was interrupted by a cry of alarm from his chum. "we're falling!" yelled ned. "something has gone wrong. we're going down into the avalanche!". chapter xvi telegraph orders there was confusion aboard the airship. tom, hearing ned's cry, left his camera, to rush to the engine room, but not before he had set the picture apparatus to working automatically. mr. damon, mr. nestor and koku, alarmed by ned's cries, ran back from the forward part of the craft, where they had been watching the mighty mass of ice and earth as it rushed down the side of the mountain. "what's wrong, ned?" cried tom excitedly. "i don't know! the propellers have stopped! we were running as an aeroplane you know. now we're going down!" "bless my suspenders!" shouted mr. damon. "if we land in the midst of that conglomeration of ice it will be the end of us." "but we're not going to land there!" cried tom. "how are you going to stop it?" demanded mr. nestor. "by the gas machine!" answered tom. "that will stop us from falling. start it up, ned!" "that's right! i always forget about that! i'll have it going in a second!" "less than a second," called tom, as he saw how near to the mighty, rushing avalanche they were coming. ned worked rapidly, and in a very short time the downward course of the airship was checked. it floated easily above the rushing flood of ice and earth, and tom, seeing that his craft, and those on it, were safe, hurried back to his camera. meanwhile the machine had automatically been taking pictures, but now with the young inventor to manage it, better results would be obtained. tom aimed it here and there, at the most spectacular parts of the avalanche. the others gathered around him, after ned had made an inspection, and found that a broken electrical wire had caused the propellers to stop. this was soon repaired and then, as they were hanging in the air like a balloon, tom took picture after picture of the wonderful sight below them. forest after forest was demolished. "this will be a great film!" tom shouted to ned, as the latter informed him that the machinery was all right again. "send me up a little. i want to get a view from the top, looking down." his chum made the necessary adjustments to the mechanism and then, there being nothing more to slide down the mountainside the avalanche was ended. but what a mass of wreck and ruin there was! it was as if a mighty earthquake had torn the mountain asunder. "it's a good thing it wasn't on a side of the mountain where people lived," commented ned, as the airship rose high toward the clouds. "if it had been, there'd be nothing left of 'em. what hair-raising stunt are you going to try next, tom?" "i don't know. i expect to hear from mr. period soon. "hear from mr. period?" exclaimed mr. nestor. "how are you going to do that, tom?" "he said he would telegraph me at berne, switzerland, at a certain date, as he knew i was coming to the alps to try for some avalanche pictures. it's two or three days yet, before i can expect the telegram, which of course will have to come part way by cable. in the meanwhile, i think we'll take a little rest, and a vacation. i want to give the airship an overhauling, and look to my camera. there's no telling what mr. period may want next." "then he didn't make out your programme completely before you started?" asked mr. nestor. "no, he said he'd communicate with me from time to time. he is in touch with what is going on in the world, you know, and if he hears of anything exciting at any place, i'm to go there at once. you see he wants the most sensational films he can get." "yes, our company is out to give the best pictures we can secure," spoke mary's father, "and i think we are lucky to have tom swift working for us. we already have films that no other concern can get. and we need them." "i wonder what became of those men who started to make so much trouble for you, tom?" asked mr. damon. "well, they seem to have disappeared," replied our hero. "of course they may be after me any day now, but for the time being, i've thrown them off my track." "so then you don't know where you're going next?" asked ned. "no, it may be to japan, or to the north pole. well, i'm ready for anything. we've got plenty of gasolene, and the flyer can certainly go," said tom. they went down to earth in a quiet spot, just outside of a little village, and there they remained three days, to the no small wonder of the inhabitants. tom wanted to see if his camera was working properly. so he developed some of the avalanche pictures, and found them excellent. the rest of the time was spent in making some needed repairs to the airship, while the young inventor overhauled his wizard machine, that he found needed a few adjustments. their arrival in berne created quite a sensation, but they were used to that. tom anchored his airship just outside the city, and, accompanied by ned, made his way to the telegraph office. some of the officials there could speak english, though not very well. "i am expecting a message," said tom. "yes? who for?" asked the clerk. "tom swift. it will be from america." as tom said this he observed a man sitting in the corner of the office get up hurriedly and go out. all at once his suspicions were aroused. he thought of the attempts that had been made to get his wizard camera away from him. "who was that man?" he quickly asked the agent. "him? oh, he, too, is expecting a message from america. he has been here some time." "why did he go out so quickly?" ned wanted to know. "why, i can not tell. he is an englishman. they do strange things." "my telegram? is it here?" asked tom impatiently. he wanted to get whatever word there was from mr. period, and be on his way to whatever destination the picture man might select. perhaps, after all, his suspicions, against the man who had so suddenly left, were unfounded. "yes, there is a cablegram here for you, monsieur swift," said the man, who was french. "there are charges on it, however." "pay 'em, ned, while i see what this is," directed the young inventor, as he tore open the envelope. "whew!" he whistled a moment later. "this is going some." "where to now?" asked ned. "the north pole?" "no, just the opposite. mr. period wants me to go to africa--the congo free state. there's an uprising among the natives there, and he wants some war pictures. well, i guess i'll have to go." as tom spoke he looked toward the door of the telegraph office, and he saw the man, who had so hurriedly gone out a few moments before, looking in at him. chapter xvii suspicious strangers "off to africa; eh?" remarked ned, as tom put the envelope in his pocket. "that's another long jump. but i guess the flyer can do it." "yes, i think so. i say ned, not so loud," said tom, who had hurried to the side of his chum, whispered the last words. "what's up?" inquired ned quickly. "anything wrong?" "i don't know. but i think we are being watched. did you notice that fellow who was in here a minute ago, when i asked for a telegram?" "yes, what about him?" "well, he's looking in the door now i think. don't turn round. just look up into that mirror on the wall, and you can see his reflection." "i understand," whispered ned, as he turned his gaze toward the mirror in question, a large one, with advertisements around the frame. "i see him," he went on. "there's some one with him." "that's what i thought," replied tom. "take a good look. whom do you think the other chap is?" ned looked long and earnestly. by means of the mirror, he could see, perfectly plain, two men standing just outside the door of the telegraph office. the portal was only partly open. ned drew an old letter from his pocket, and pretended to be showing it to tom. but, all the while he was gazing earnestly at the two men. suddenly one of them moved, giving tom's chum a better view of his face. "by jove, tom!" the lad exclaimed in a tense whisper. "if it isn't that eckert fellow i'm a cow." "that's what i thought," spoke tom coolly. "not that you're a cow, ned, but i believe that this man is one of the moving picture partners, who are rivals of mr. period. i wasn't quite sure myself after the first glance i had of him, so i wanted you to take a look. do you know the other chap--the one who ran out when i asked for my telegram?" "no, i've never seen him before as far as i know." "same here. come on." "what are you going to do?" "go back to the airship, and tell mr. nestor. as one of the directors in the concern i'm working for. i want his advice." "good idea," replied ned, and they turned to leave the office. the spying stranger, and william eckert, were not in sight when the two lads came out. "they got away mighty quick," remarked tom, as he looked up and down the street. "yes, they probably saw us turn to come out, and made a quick get-away. they might be in any one of these places along here," for the street, on either side of the telegraph office, contained a number of hotels, with doors opening on the sidewalk. "they must be on your trail yet," decided mr. nestor when tom, reaching the anchored airship, told what had happened. "well, my advice is to go to africa as soon as we can. in that way we'll leave them behind, and they won't have any chance to get your camera." "but what i can't understand," said tom, "is how they knew i was coming here. it was just as if that one man had been waiting in the telegraph office for me to appear. i'm sorry, now, that i mentioned to ned where we were ordered to. but i didn't think." "they probably knew, anyway," was mr. nestor's opinion. "i think this may explain it. the rival concern in new york has been keeping track of mr. period's movements. probably they have a paid spy who may be in his employ. they knew when he sent you a telegram, what it contained, and where it was directed to. then, of course, they knew you would call here for it. what they did not know was when you would come, and so they had to wait. that one spy was on guard, and, as soon as you came, he went and summoned eckert, who was waiting somewhere in the neighborhood." "bless my detective story!" cried mr. damon. "what a state of affairs! they ought to be arrested, tom." "it would be useless," said mr. nestor. "they are probably far enough away by this time. or else they have put others on tom's track." "i'll fight my own battles!" exclaimed the young inventor. "i don't go much on the police in a case like this, especially foreign police. well, my camera is all right, so far," he went on, as he took a look at it, in the compartment where he kept it. "some one must always remain near it, after this. but we'll soon start for africa, to get some pictures of a native battle. i hope it isn't the red pygmies we have to photograph." "bless my shoe laces! don't suggest such a thing," begged mr. damon, as he recalled the strenuous times when the dwarfs held the missionaries captive. it was necessary to lay in some stores and provisions, and for this reason tom could not at once head the airship for the african jungles. as she remained at anchor, just outside the city, crowds of swiss people came out to look at the wonderful craft. but tom and his companions took care that no one got aboard, and they kept a strict lookout for americans, or englishmen, thinking perhaps that mr. eckert, or the spy, might try to get the camera. however, they did not see them, and a few days after the receipt of the message from mr. period, having stocked up, they rose high into the air, and set out to cross the mediterranean sea for africa. tom laid a route over tripoli, the sahara desert, the french congo, and so into the congo free state. in his telegram, mr. period had said that the expected uprising was to take place near stanley falls, on the congo river. "and supposing it does not happen?" asked mr. damon. "what if the natives don't fight, tom? you'll have your trip for nothing, and will run a lot of risk besides." "it's one of the chances i'm taking," replied the young inventor, and truly, as he thought of it, he realized that the perils of the moving picture business were greater than he had imagined. tom hoped to get a quick trip to the congo, but, as they were sailing over the big desert, there was an accident to the main motor, and the airship suddenly began shooting toward the sands. she was easily brought up, by means of the gas bags, and allowed to settle gently to the ground, in the vicinity of a large oasis. but, when tom looked at the broken machinery, he said: "this means a week's delay. it will take that, and longer, to fix it so we can go on." "too bad!" exclaimed mr. nestor. "the war may be over when we get there. but it can't be helped." it took tom and his friends even longer than he had thought to make the repairs. in the meanwhile they camped in the desert place, which was far from being unpleasant. occasionally a caravan halted there, but, for the most part, they were alone. "no danger of eckert, or any of his spies coming here, i guess," said tom grimly as he blew on a portable forge, to weld two pieces of iron together. in due time they were again on the wing, and without further incident they were soon in the vicinity of stanley falls. they managed to locate a village where there were some american missionaries established. they were friends of mr. and mrs. illington, the missionaries whom tom had saved from the red pygmies, as told in the "electric rifle" volume of this series, and they made our hero and his friends welcome. "is it true?" asked tom, of the missionaries who lived not far from stanley falls, "that there is to be a native battle? or are we too late for it?" "i am sorry to say, i fear there will be fighting among the tribesmen," replied mr. janeway, one of the christian workers. "it has not yet taken place, though." "then i'm not too late!" cried tom, and there was exultation in his voice. "i don't mean to be barbarous," he went on, as he saw that the missionaries looked shocked, "but as long as they are going to fight i want to get the pictures." "oh, they'll fight all right," spoke mrs. janeway. "the poor, ignorant natives here are always ready to fight. this time i think it is about some cattle that one tribe took from another." "and where will the battle take place?" asked tom. "well, the rumors we have, seem to indicate that the fight will take place about ten miles north of here. we will have notice of it before it starts, as some of the natives, whom we have succeeded in converting, belong to the tribe that is to be attacked. they will be summoned to the defense of their town and then it will be time enough for you to go. oh, war is a terrible thing! i do not like to talk about it. tell me how you rescued our friends from the red pygmies," and tom was obliged to relate that story, which i have told in detail elsewhere. several days passed, and tom and his friends spent a pleasant time in the african village with the missionaries. the airship and camera were in readiness for instant use, and during this period of idleness our hero got several fine films of animal scenes, including a number of night-fights among the beasts at the drinking pools. one tiger battle was especially good, from a photographic standpoint. one afternoon, a number of native bearers came into the town. they preceded two white men, who were evidently sportsmen, or explorers, and the latter had a well equipped caravan. the strangers sought the advice of the missionaries about where big game might be found, and tom happened to be at the cottage of mr. janeway when the strangers arrived. the young inventor looked at them critically, as he was introduced to them. both men spoke with an english accent, one introducing himself as bruce montgomery, and the other as wade kenneth. tom decided that they were of the ordinary type of globe-trotting britishers, until, on his way to his airship, he passed the place where the native bearers had set down the luggage of the englishmen. "whew!" whistled tom, as he caught sight of a peculiarly shaped box. "see that, ned?" "yes, what is it? a new kind of magazine gun?" "it's a moving picture camera, or i lose my guess!" whispered tom. "one of the old fashioned kind. those men are no more tourists, or after big game, than i am! they're moving picture men, and they're here to get views of that native battle! ned, we've got to be on our guard. they may be in the pay of that turbot and eckert firm, and they may try to do us some harm!" "that's so!" exclaimed ned. "we'll keep watch of them, tom." as they neared their airship, there came, running down what served as the main village street, an african who showed evidence of having come from afar. as he ran on, he called out something in a strange tongue. instantly from their huts the other natives swarmed. "what's up now?" cried ned. "something important, i'll wager," replied tom. "ned, you go back to the missionaries house, and find out what it is. i'm going to stand guard over my camera." "it's come!" cried ned a little later, as he hurried into the interior of the airship, where tom was busy working over a new attachment he intended putting on his picture machine. "what has?" "war! that native, whom we saw running in, brought news that the battle would take place day after to-morrow. the enemies of his tribe are on the march, so the african spies say, and he came to summon all the warriors from this town. we've got to get busy!" "that's so. what about those englishmen?" "they were talking to the missionaries when the runner came in. they pretended to have no interest in it, but i saw one wink to the other, and then, very soon, they went out, and i saw them talking to their native bearers, while they were busy over that box you said was a picture machine." "i knew it, ned! i was sure of it! those fellows came here to trick us, though how they ever followed our trail i don't know. probably they came by a fast steamer to the west coast, and struck inland, while we were delayed on the desert. i don't care if they are only straight out-and-out rivals--and not chaps that are trying to take an unfair advantage. i suppose all the big picture concerns have a tip about this war, and they may have representatives here. i hope we get the best views. now come on, and give me a hand. we've got our work cut out for us, all right." "bless my red cross bandage!" cried mr. damon, when he heard the news. "a native fight, eh? that will be something i haven't seen in some time. will there be any danger, tom, do you think?" "not unless our airship tumbles down between the two african forces," replied our hero, "and i'll take care that it doesn't do that. we'll be well out of reach of any of their blow guns, or arrows." "but i understand that many of the tribes have powder weapons," said mr. nestor. "they have," admitted tom, "but they are 'trader's' rifles, and don't carry far. we won't run any risk from such old-fashioned guns." "a big fight; eh?" asked koku when they told him what was before them. "me like to help." "yes, and i guess both sides would give a premium for your services," remarked tom, as he gazed at his big servant. "but we'll need you with us, koku." "oh, me stay with you, mr. tom," exclaimed the big man, with a grin. somewhat to tom's surprise the two englishmen showed no further interest in him and his airship, after the introduction at the missionaries' bungalow. with the stolidity of their race the britishers did not show any surprise, as, some time afterward, they strolled down toward tom's big craft, after supper, and looked it over. soon they went back to their own camp, and a little later, koku, who walked toward it, brought word that the englishmen were packing up. "they're going to start for the seat of war the first thing in the morning," decided tom. "well, we'll get ahead of them. though we can travel faster than they can, we'll start now, and be on the ground in good season. besides, i don't like staying all night in the same neighborhood with them. get ready for a start, ned." tom did not stop to say good-bye to the englishmen, though he bade farewell to the missionaries, who had been so kind to him. there was much excitement in the native town, for many of the tribesmen were getting ready to depart to help their friends or relatives in the impending battle. as dusk was falling, the big airship arose, and soon her powerful propellers were sending her across the jungle, toward stanley falls in the vicinity of which the battle was expected to take place. chapter xviii the native battle "by jove, tom, here they come!" "from over by that drinking pool?" "yes, just as the spies said they would. wow, what a crowd of the black beggars there are! and some of 'em have regular guns, too. but most of 'em have clubs, bows and arrows, blow guns, or spears." tom and ned were standing on the forward part of the airship, which was moving slowly along, over an open plateau, in the jungle where the native battle was about to take place. our friends had left the town where the missionaries lived, and had hovered over the jungle, until they saw signs of the coming struggle. they had seen nothing of their english rivals since coming away, but had no doubt but that the britishers were somewhere in the neighborhood. the two forces of black men, who had gone to war over a dispute about some cattle, approached each other. there was the beating of tom-toms, and skin drums, and many weird shouts. from their vantage point in the air, tom and his companions had an excellent view. the wizard camera was loaded with a long reel of film, and ready for action. "bless my handkerchief!" cried mr. damon, as he looked down on the forces that were about to clash. "i never saw anything like this before!" "i either," admitted tom. "but, if things go right, i'm going to get some dandy films!" nearer and nearer the rival forces advanced. at first they had stared, and shouted in wonder at the sight of the airship, hovering above them, but their anger soon drew their attention to the fighting at hand, and, after useless gestures toward the craft of the air, and after some of them had vainly fired their guns or arrows at it, they paid no more attention, but rushed on with their shouts and cries and amid the beating of their rude drums. "i think i'll begin to take pictures now," said tom, as ned, in charge of the ship, sent it about in a circle, giving a general view of the rival forces. "i'll show a scene of the two crowds getting ready for business, and, later on, when they're actually giving each other cats and dogs, i'll get all the pictures possible." the camera was started while, safe in the air those on the flyer watched what went on below them. suddenly the forward squads of the two small armies of blacks met. with wild, weird yells they rushed at each other. the air was filled with flying arrows and spears. the sound of the old-fashioned muzzle-loading guns could be heard, and clouds of smoke arose. tilting his camera, and arranging the newly attached reflecting mirrors so as to give the effect as if a spectator was looking at the battle from in front, instead of from above, tom swift took picture after picture. the fight was now on. with yells of rage and defiance the africans came together, giving blow for blow. it was a wild melee, and those on the airship looked on fascinated, though greatly wishing that such horrors could be stopped. "how about it, tom?" cried ned. "everything going good! i don't like this business, but now i'm in it i'm going to stick. put me down a little lower," answered the young inventor. "all right. i say tom, look over there." "where?" "by that lightning-struck gum tree. see those two men, and some sort of a machine they've got stuck up on stilts? see it?" "sure. those are the two englishmen--my rivals! they're taking pictures, too!" and then, with a crash and roar, with wild shouts and yells, with volley after volley of firearms, clouds of smoke and flights of arrows and spears, the native battle was in full swing, while the young inventor, sailing above it in his airship, reeled off view after view of the strange sight. chapter xix a heavy loss "bless my battle axe, but this is awful!" cried mr. damon. "war is always a fearful thing," spoke mr. nestor. "but this is not as bad as if the natives fought with modern weapons. see! most of them are fighting with clubs, and their fists. they don't seem to hurt each other very much." "that's so," agreed mr. damon. the two gentlemen were in the main cabin, looking down on the fight below them, while tom, with ned to help him change the reels of films, as they became filled with pictures, attended to the camera. koku was steering the craft, as he had readily learned how to manage it. "are those englishmen taking pictures yet?" asked tom, too busy to turn his head, and look for himself. "yes, they're still at," replied ned. "but they seem to be having trouble with their machine," he added as he saw one of the men leave the apparatus, and run hurriedly back to where they had made a temporary camp. "i guess it's an old-fashioned kind," commented tom. "say, this is getting fierce!" he cried, as the natives got in closer contact with each other. it was now a hand-to-hand battle. "i should say so!" yelled ned. "it's a wonder those englishmen aren't afraid to be down on the same level with the black fighters." "oh, a white person is considered almost sacred by the natives here, so the missionaries told me," said tom. "a black man would never think of raising his hand to one, and the englishmen probably know this. they're safe enough. in fact i'm thinking of soon going down myself, and getting some views from the ground." "bless my gizzard, tom!" cried mr. damon. "don't do it!" "yes, i think i will. why, it's safe enough. besides, if they attack us we have the electric rifles. ned, you tell koku to get the guns out, to have in readiness, and then you put the ship down. i'll take a chance." "jove! you've been doing nothing but take chances since we came on this trip!" exclaimed ned, admiringly. "all right! here we go," and he went to relieve koku at the wheel, while the giant, grinning cheerfully at the prospect of taking part in the fight himself, got out the rifles, including his own. meanwhile the native battle went on fiercely. many on both sides fell, and not a few ran away, when they got the chance, their companions yelling at them, evidently trying to shame them into coming back. as the airship landed, mr. damon, mr. nestor, ned and koku stood ready with the deadly electric rifles, in case an attack should be made on them. but the fighting natives paid no more attention to our friends than they did to the two englishmen. the latter moved their clumsy camera from place to place, in order to get various views of the fighting. "this is the best yet!" cried tom, as, after a lull in the fight, when the two opposing armies had drawn a little apart, they came together again more desperately than before. "i hope the pictures are being recorded all right. i have to go at this thing pretty much in the dark. say, look at the beggars fight!" he finished. but a battle, even between uncivilized blacks, cannot go on for very long at a time. many had fallen, some being quite severely injured it seemed, being carried off by their friends. then, with a sudden rush, the side which, as our friends learned later, had been robbed of their cattle, made a fierce attack, overwhelming their enemies, and compelling them to retreat. across the open plain the vanquished army fled, with the others after them. tom, meanwhile, taking pictures as fast as he could. "this ends it!" he remarked to ned, when the warriors were too far away to make any more good views. "now we can take a rest." "the englishmen gave up some time ago," said his chum, motioning to the two men who were taking their machine off the tripod. "guess their films gave out," spoke tom. "well, you see it didn't do any harm to come down, and i got some better views here." "here they come back!" exclaimed ned, as a horde of the black fellows emerged from the jungle, and came on over the plain. "hear 'em sing!" commented tom, as the sound of a rude chant came to their ears. "they must be the winners all right." "i guess so," agreed ned. "but what about staying here now? maybe they won't be so friendly to us when they haven't any fighting to occupy their minds." "don't worry," advised tom. "they won't bother us." and the blacks did not. they were caring for their wounded, who had not already been taken from the field, and they paid no attention to our friends, save to look curiously at the airship. "bless my newspaper!" cried mr. damon, with an air of relief. "i'm glad that's over, and we didn't have to use the electric rifles, after all." "here come the englishmen to pay us a visit," spoke ned a little later, as they sat about the cabin of the flyer. the two rival picture men soon climbed on deck. "beg pardon," said the taller of the two, addressing our hero, "but could you lend us a roll of film? ours are all used up, and we want to get some more pictures before going back to our main camp." "i'm sorry," replied tom, "but i use a special size, and it fits no camera but my own." "ah! might we see your camera?" asked the other englishman. "that is, see how it works?" "i don't like to be disobliging," was tom's answer, "but it is not yet patented and--well--" he hesitated. "oh, i see!" sneered the taller visitor. "you're afraid we might steal some of your ideas. hum! come on montgomery," and, swinging on his heels, with a military air, he hurried away, followed by his companion. "they don't like that, but i can't help it," remarked tom to his friends a little later. "i can't afford to take any chances." "no, you did just right," said mr. nestor. "those men may be all right, but from the fact that they are in the picture taking business i'd be suspicious of them." "well, what's next on the programme?" asked ned as tom put his camera away. "oh, i think we'll stay here over night," was our hero's reply. "it's a nice location, and the gas machine needs cleaning. we can do it here, and maybe i can get some more pictures." they were busy the rest of the day on the gas generator, but the main body of natives did not come back, and the englishmen seemed to have disappeared. everyone slept soundly that night. so soundly, in fact, that the sun was very high when koku was the first to awaken, his head felt strangely dizzy, and he wondered at a queer smell in the room he had to himself. "nobody up yet," he exclaimed in surprise, as he staggered into the main cabin. there, too, was the strange, sweetish, sickly smell. "mr. tom, where you be? time to get up!" the giant called to his master, as he went in, and gently shook the young inventor by the shoulder. "eh? what's that? what's the matter?" began tom, and then he suddenly sat up. "oh, my head!" he exclaimed, putting his hands to his aching temples. "and that queer smell!" added ned, who was also awake now. "bless my talcum powder!" cried mr. damon. "i have a splitting headache." "hum! chloroform, if i'm any judge!" called mr. nestor from his berth. "chloroform!" cried tom, staggering to his feet. "i wonder." he did not finish his sentence, but made his way to the room where his camera was kept. "it's gone!" he cried. "we have been chloroformed in the night, and some one has taken my wizard camera." chapter xx after the englishmen "the camera gone!" gasped ned. "did they chloroform us?" exclaimed mr. damon. "bless my--" but for one of the few times in his life, he did not know what to bless. "get all the fresh air you can," hastily advised mr. nestor. "koku, open all the doors and windows," for, though it was hot during the day in the jungle, the nights were cool, and the airship was generally closed up. with the inrush of the fresh air every one soon felt better. "is anything else gone?" asked ned, as he followed tom into the camera room. "yes, several rolls of unexposed films. oh, if only they haven't got too much of a start! i'll get it away from them!" declared tom with energy. "from who? who took it?" asked ned. "those englishmen, of course! who else? i believe they are in the pay of turbot and eckert. their taking pictures was only a bluff! they got on my trail and stuck to it. the delays we had, gave them a chance to catch up to us. they came over to the airship, to pretend to borrow films, just to get a look at the place, and size it up, so they could chloroform us, and get the camera." "i believe you're right," declared mr. nestor. "we must get after those scoundrels as quickly as possible!" "bless my shoulder braces!" cried mr. damon. "how do you imagine they worked that trick on us?" "easily enough," was mr. nestor's opinion. "we were all dead tired last night, and slept like tops. they watched their chance, sneaked up, and got in. after that it was no hard matter to chloroform each one of us in turn, and they had the ship to themselves. they looked around, found the camera, and made off with it." "well, i'm going to get right after them!" cried tom. "ned, start the motor. i'll steer for a while." "hold on! wait a minute," suggested mr. nestor. "i wouldn't go off in the ship just yet, tom." "why not?" "because you don't know which way to go. we must find out which trail the englishmen took. they have african porters with them, and those porters doubtless know some of the blacks around here. we must inquire of the natives which way the porters went, in carrying the goods of our rivals, for those englishmen would not abandon camp without taking their baggage with them." "that's so," admitted the young inventor. "that will be the best plan. once i find which way they have gone i can easily overtake them in the airship. and when i find 'em--" tom paused significantly. "me help you fix 'em!" cried koku, clenching his big fist. "they will probably figure it out that you will take after them," said mr. nestor, "but they may not count on you doing it in the flyer, and so they may not try to hide. it isn't going to be an easy matter to pick a small party out of the jungle though, tom." "well, i've done more difficult things in my airships," spoke our hero. "i'll fly low, and use the glass. i guess we can pick out their crowd of porters, though they won't have many. oh, my camera! i hope they won't damage it." "they won't," was ned's opinion. "it's too valuable. they want it to take pictures with, themselves." "maybe. i hope they don't open it, and see how it's made. and i'm glad i thought to hide the picture films i've taken so far. they didn't get those away from us, only some of the blank ones," and tom looked again in a secret closet, where he kept the battle-films, and the others, in the dark, to prevent them from being light-struck, by any possible chance. "well, if we're going to make some inquiries, let's do it," suggested mr. nestor. "i think i see some of the africans over there. they have made a temporary camp, it seems, to attend to some of their wounded." "do you think we can make them understand what we want?" asked ned. "i don't believe they speak english." "oh these blacks have been trading with white men," said tom, "for they have 'trader's' guns, built to look at, and not to shoot very well. i fancy we can make ourselves understood. if not, we can use signs." leaving koku and mr. damon to guard the airship, tom, ned and mr. nestor went to the african camp. there was a large party of men there, and they seemed friendly enough. probably winning the battle the day before had put them in good humor, even though many of them were hurt. to tom's delight he found one native who could speak a little english, and of him they made inquiries as to what direction the englishmen had taken. the black talked for a while among his fellows, and then reported to our friends that, late in the night, one of the porters, hired by montgomery and kenneth, had come to camp to bid a brother good-bye. this porter had said that his masters were in a hurry to get away, and had started west. "that's it!" cried mr. nestor. "they're going to get somewhere so they can make their way to the coast. they want to get out of africa as fast as they can." "and i'm going to get after 'em as fast as i can!" cried tom grimly. "come on!" they hurried back to the airship, finding koku and mr. damon peacefully engaged in talk, no one having disturbed them. "start the motor, ned!" called his chum. "we'll see what luck we have!" up into the air went the flyer, her great propellers revolving rapidly. over the jungle she shot, and then, when he found that everything was working well, and that the cleaned gas generator was operating as good as when it was new, the young inventor slowed up, and brought the craft down to a lower level. "for we don't want to run past these fellows, or shoot over their heads in our hurry," tom explained. "ned, get out the binoculars. they're easier to handle than the telescope. then go up forward, and keep a sharp lookout. there is something like a jungle trail below us, and it looks to be the only one around here. they probably took that." soon after leaving the place where they had camped after the battle, tom had seen a rude path through the forest, and had followed that lead. on sped the flyer, after the two englishmen, while tom thought regretfully of his stolen camera. chapter xxi the jungle fire "well, tom, i don't seem to see anything of them," remarked ned that afternoon, as he sat in the bow of the air craft, gazing from time to time through the powerful glasses. "no, and i can't understand it, either," responded the young inventor, who had come forward to relieve his chum. "they didn't have much the start of us, and they'll have to travel very slowly. it isn't as if they could hop on a train; and, even if they did, i could overtake them in a short time. but they have to travel on foot through the jungle, and can't have gone far." "maybe they have bullock carts," suggested mr. damon. "the trail isn't wide enough for that," declared tom. "we've come quite a distance now, even if we have been running at low speed, and we haven't seen even a black man on the trail," and he motioned to the rude path below them. "they may have taken a boat and slipped down that river we crossed a little while ago," suggested ned. "that's so!" cried tom. "why didn't i think of it? say! i'm going to turn back." "turn back?" "yes, and go up and down the stream a way. we have time, for we can easily run at top speed on the return trip. then, if we don't see anything of them on the water, we'll pick up the trail again. put her around, ned, and i'll take the glasses for a while." the flyer was soon shooting back over the same trail our friends had covered, and, as ned set the propellers going at top speed, they were quickly hovering over a broad but shallow river, which cut through the jungle. "try it down stream first," suggested tom, who was peering through the binoculars. "they'd be most likely to go down, as it would be easier." along over the stream swept the airship, covering several miles. "there's a boat!" suddenly exclaimed mr. nestor, pointing to a native canoe below them. "bless my paddle wheel! so it is!" cried mr. damon. "i believe it's them, tom!" "no, there are only natives in that craft," answered the young inventor a moment later, as he brought the binoculars into focus. "i wish it was them, though." a few more miles were covered down stream, and then tom tried the opposite direction. but all to no purpose. a number of boats were seen, and several rafts, but they had no white men on them. "maybe the englishmen disguised themselves like natives, tom," suggested ned. our hero shook his head. "i could see everything in the boats, through these powerful glasses," he replied, "and there was nothing like my camera. i'd know that a mile off. no, they didn't take to this stream, though they probably crossed it. we'll have to keep on the way we were going. it will soon be night, and we'll have to camp. then we'll take up the search to-morrow." it was just getting dusk, and tom was looking about for a good place to land in the jungle, when ned, who was standing in the bow, cried: "i say, tom, here's a native village just ahead. there's a good place to stop, and we can stay there over night." "good!" exclaimed tom. "and, what's more, we can make some inquiries as to whether or not the englishmen have passed here. this is great! maybe we'll come out all right, after all! they can't travel at night--or at least i don't believe they will--and if they have passed this village we can catch them to-morrow. we'll go down." they were now over the native town, which was in a natural clearing in the jungle. the natives had by this time caught sight of the big airship over them, and were running about in terror. there was not a man, woman or child in sight when the flyer came down, for the inhabitants had all fled in fright. "not much of a chance to make inquiries of these folks," said mr. nestor. "oh, they'll come back," predicted tom. "they are naturally curious, and when they see that the thing isn't going to blow up, they'll gather around. i've seen the same thing happen before." tom proved a true prophet. in a little while some of the men began straggling back, when they saw our friends walking about the airship, as it rested on the ground. then came the children, and then the women, until the whole population was gathered about the airship, staring at it wonderingly. tom made signs of friendship, and was lucky enough to find a native who knew a few french words. tom was not much of a french scholar, but he could frame a question as to the englishmen. "oui!" exclaimed the native, when he understood. then he rattled off something, which tom, after having it repeated, and making signs to the man to make sure he understood, said meant that the englishmen had passed through the village that morning. "we're on the right trail!" cried the young inventor. "they're only a day's travel ahead of us. we'll catch them to-morrow, and get my camera back." the natives soon lost all fear of the airship, and some of the chief men even consented to come aboard. tom gave them a few trifles for presents, and won their friendship to such an extent that a great feast was hastily gotten up in honor of the travelers. big fires were lighted, and fowls by the score were roasted. "say, i'm glad we struck this place!" exclaimed ned, as he sat on the ground with the others, eating roast fowl. "this is all to the chicken salad!" "things are coming our way at last," remarked tom. "we'll start the first thing in the morning. i wish i had my camera now. i'd take a picture of this scene. dad would enjoy it, and so would mrs. baggert. oh, i almost wish i was home again. but if i get my camera i've got a lot more work ahead of me." "what kind?" asked ned. "i don't know. i'm to stop in paris for the next instructions from mr. period. he is keeping in touch with the big happenings of the world, and he may send us to japan, to get some earthquake pictures." the night was quiet after the feast, and in the morning tom and his friends sailed off in their airship, leaving behind the wondering and pleased natives, for our hero handed out more presents, of small value to him, but yet such things as the blacks prized highly. once more they were flying over the trail, and they put on more speed now, for they were fairly sure that the men they sought were ahead of them about a day's travel. this meant perhaps twenty miles, and tom figured that he could cover fifteen in a hurry, and then go over the remaining five slowly, so as not to miss his quarry. "say, don't you smell something?" asked ned a little later, when the airship had been slowed down. "something like smoke?" "humph! i believe i do get an odor of something burning," admitted tom, sniffing the atmosphere. "bless my pocket book!" exclaimed mr. damon, "look down there, boys!" he pointed below, and, to the surprise of the lads, and no less of himself, he saw many animals hurrying back along the jungle trail. there were scores of deer, leaping along, here and there a tawny lion, and one or two tigers. off to one side a rhinoceros crashed his way through the tangle, and occasionally an elephant was seen. "that's queer," cried ned. "and they're not paying any attention to each other, either." "something is happening," was mr. nestor's opinion. "those animals are running away from something." "maybe it's an elephant drive," spoke tom. "i think--" but he did not finish. the smell of smoke suddenly became stronger, and, a moment later, as the airship rose higher, in response to a change in the angle of the deflecting rudder, which ned shifted, all on board saw a great volume of black smoke rolling toward the sky. "a jungle fire!" cried tom. "the jungle is burning! that's why the animals are running back this way." "we'd better not go on!" shouted ned, choking a bit, as the smoke rolled nearer. "no, we've got to turn back!" decided tom. "say, this will stop the englishmen! they can't go on. we'll go back to the village we left, and wait for them. they're trapped!" and then he added soberly: "i hope my camera doesn't get burnt up!" chapter xxii a dangerous commission "look at that smoke!" yelled ned, as he sent the airship about in a great circle on the backward trail. "and there's plenty of blaze, too," added tom. "see the flames eating away! this stuff is as dry as tinder for there hasn't been any rain for months." "much hot!" was the comment of the giant, when he felt the warm wind of the fire. "bless my fountain pen!" gasped mr. damon, as he looked down into the jungle. "see all those animals!" the trail was now thick with deer, and many small beasts, the names of which tom did not know. on either side could be heard larger brutes, crashing their way forward to escape the fire behind them. "oh, if you only had your camera now!" cried ned. "you could get a wonderful picture, tom." "what's the use of wishing for it. those englishmen have it, and--" "maybe they're using it!" interrupted ned. "no, i don't think they would know how to work it. do you see anything of them, ned?" "not a sight. but they'll surely have to come back, just as you said, unless they got ahead of the fire. they can't go on, and it would be madness to get off the trail in a jungle like this." "i don't believe they could have gotten ahead of the fire," spoke tom. "they couldn't travel fast enough for that, and see how broad the blaze is." they were now higher up, well out of the heat and smoke of the conflagration, and they could see that it extended for many miles along the trail, and for a mile or so on either side of it. "we're far enough in advance, now, to go down a bit, i guess," said tom, a little later. "i want to get a good view of the path, and i can't do that from up here. i have an idea that--" tom did not finish, for as the airship approached nearer the ground, he caught up a pair of binoculars, and focussed them on something on the trail below. "what is it?" cried ned, startled by something in his chum's manner. "it's them! the englishmen!" cried tom. "see, they are racing back along the trail. their porters have deserted them. but they have my camera! i can see it! i'm going down, and get it! ned, stand by the wheel, and make a quick landing. then we'll go up again!" tom handed the glasses to his chum, and ned quickly verified the young inventor's statement. there were the two rascally englishmen. the fire was still some distance in the rear, but was coming on rapidly. there were no animals to be seen, for they had probably gone off on a side trail, or had slunk deeper into the jungle. above the distant roar of the blaze sounded the throb of the airship's motor. the englishmen heard it, and looked up. then, suddenly, they motioned to tom to descend. "that's what i'm going to do," he said aloud, but of course they could not hear him. "they're waiting for us!" cried ned. "i wonder why?" for the rascals had come to a halt, setting down the packs they carried on the trail. one of the things they had was undoubtedly tom's camera. "they probably want us to save their lives," said tom. "they know they can't out-run this fire. they've given up! we have them now!" "are you going to save them?" asked mr. damon. "of course. i wouldn't let my worst enemy run the chances of danger in that terrible blaze. i'd save them even if they had smashed my camera. i'll go down, and get them, and take them back to the native village, but that's as far as i will carry them. they'll have to get away as best they can, after that." it was the work of but a few minutes to lower the airship to the trail. fortunately it widened a bit at this point, or tom could never have gotten his craft down through the trees. "hand up that camera!" ordered our hero curtly, when he had stopped near the englishmen. "yes, my dear chap," spoke the tall britisher, "but will you oblige us, by taking us--" "hand up the camera first!" sharply ordered tom again. they passed it to him. "i know we treated you beastly mean," went on kenneth, "but, my dear chap--" "get aboard," was all tom said, and when the rascals, with fearful glances back into the burning jungle, did so, our hero sent his craft high into the air again. "where are you taking us, my dear chap?" asked the tall rascal. "don't 'dear chap' me!" retorted tom. "i don't want to talk to you. i'm going to drop you at the native village." "but that will burn!" cried the englishman. "the wind is changing," was our hero's answer. "the fire won't get to the village. you'll be safe. have you damaged my camera?" he asked as he began to examine it, while ned managed the ship. "no, my dear chap. you mustn't think too hard of us. we were both down on our luck, and a chap offered us a big sum to get on your trail, and secure the camera. he said you had filched it from him, and that he had a right to it. understand, we wouldn't have taken it had we known--" "don't talk to me!" interrupted tom, as he saw that his apparatus had not been damaged. "the man who hired you was a rascal--that's all i'll say. put on a little more speed, ned. i want to get rid of these 'dear chaps' and take some pictures of the jungle fire." as tom had said, the wind had changed, and was blowing the flames away off to one side, so that the native village would be in no danger. it was soon reached, and the africans were surprised to see tom's airship back again. but he did not stay long, descending only to let the englishmen alight. they pleaded to be taken to the coast, making all sorts of promises, and stating that, had they known that turbot and eckert (for whom they admitted they had acted) were not telling the truth, they never would have taken tom's camera. "don't leave us here!" they pleaded. "i wouldn't have you on board my airship another minute for a fortune!" declared tom, as he signalled to ned to start the motor. then the flyer ascended on high, leaving the plotters and started back for the fire, of which tom got a series of fine moving pictures. a week later our friends were in paris, having made a quick trip, on which little of incident occurred, though tom managed to get quite a number of good views on the way. he found a message awaiting him, from mr. period. "well, where to now?" asked ned, as his chum read the cablegram. "great scott!" cried our hero. "talk about hair-raising jobs, this certainly is the limit!" "why, what's the matter?" "i've got to get some moving pictures of a volcano in action," was the answer. "say, if i'd known what sort of things 'spotty' wanted, i'd never have consented to take this trip. a volcano in action, and maybe an earthquake on the side! this is certainly going some!" chapter xxiii at the volcano "and you've got to snap-shot a volcano?" remarked ned to his chum, after a moment of surprised silence. "any particular one? is it vesuvius? if it is we haven't far to go. but how does mr. period know that it's going to get into action when we want it to?" "no, it isn't vesuvius," replied tom. "we've got to take another long trip, and we'll have to go by steamer again. the message says that the arequipa volcano, near the city of the same name, in peru, has started to 'erupt,' and, according to rumor, it's acting as it did many years ago, just before a big upheaval." "bless my pumice stones!" cried mr. damon. "and are you expected to get pictures of it shooting out flames and smoke, tom?" "of course. an inactive volcano wouldn't make much of a moving picture. well, if we go to peru, we won't be far from the united states, and we can fly back home in the airship. but we've got to take the flyer apart, and pack up again." "will you have time?" asked mr. nestor. "maybe the volcano will get into action before you arrive, and the performance will be all over with." "i think not," spoke tom, as he again read the cablegram. "mr. period says he has advices from peru to the effect that, on other occasions, it took about a month from the time smoke was first seen coming from the crater, before the fireworks started up. i guess we've got time enough, but we won't waste any." "and i guess montgomery and kenneth won't be there to make trouble for us," put in ned. "it will be some time before they get away from that african town, i think." they began work that day on taking the airship apart for transportation to the steamer that was to carry them across the ocean. tom decided on going to panama, to get a series of pictures on the work of digging that vast canal. on inquiry he learned that a steamer was soon to sail for colon, so he took passage for his friends and himself on that, also arranging for the carrying of the parts of his airship. it was rather hard work to take the flyer apart, but it was finally done, and, in about a week from the time of arriving in paris, they left that beautiful city. the pictures already taken were forwarded to mr. period, with a letter of explanation of tom's adventures thus far, and an account of how his rivals had acted. just before sailing, tom received another message from his strange employer. the cablegram read: "understand our rivals are also going to try for volcano pictures. can't find out who will represent turbot and eckert, but watch out. be suspicious of strangers." "that's what i will!" cried tom. "if they get my camera away from me again, it will be my own fault." the voyage to colon was not specially interesting. they ran into a terrific storm, about half way over, and tom took some pictures from the steamer's bridge, the captain allowing him to do so, but warning him to be careful. "i'll take koku up there with me," said the young inventor, "and if a wave tries to wash me overboard he'll grab me." and it was a good thing that he took this precaution, for, while a wave did not get as high as the bridge, one big, green roller smashed over the bow of the vessel, staggering her so that tom was tossed against the rail. he would have been seriously hurt, and his camera might have been broken, but for the quickness of the giant. koku caught his master, camera and all, in a mighty arm, and with the other clung to a stanchion, holding tom in safety until the ship was on a level keel once more. "thanks, koku!" gasped tom. "you always seem to be around when i need you." the giant grinned happily. the storm blew out in a few days, and, from then on, there was pleasant sailing. when tom's airship had been reassembled at colon, it created quite a sensation among the small army of canal workers, and, for their benefit, our hero gave several flying exhibitions. he then took some of the engineers on a little trip, and in turn, they did him the favor of letting him get moving pictures of parts of the work not usually seen. "and now for the volcano!" cried tom one morning, when having shipped to mr. period the canal pictures, the flyer was sent aloft, and her nose pointed toward arequipa. "we've got quite a run before us." "how long?" asked ned. "about two thousand miles. but i'm going to speed her up to the limit." tom was as good as his word, and soon the flyer was shooting along at her best rate, reeling off mile after mile, just below the clouds. it was a wild and desolate region over which the travelers found themselves most of the time, though the scenery was magnificent. they sailed over quito, that city on the equator, and, a little later, they passed above the cotopaxi and chimbarazo volcanoes. but neither of them was in action. the andes mountains, as you all know, has many volcanoes scattered along the range. lima was the next large city, and there tom made a descent to inquire about the burning mountain he was shortly to photograph. "it will soon be in action," the united states counsel said. "i had a letter from a correspondent near there only yesterday, and he said the people in the town were getting anxious. they are fearing a shower of burning ashes, or that the eruption may be accompanied by an earthquake." "good!" cried tom. "oh, i don't mean it exactly that way," he hastened to add, as he saw the counsel looking queerly at him. "i meant that i could get pictures of both earthquake and volcano then. i don't wish the poor people any harm." "well, you're the first one i ever saw who was anxious to get next door to a volcano," remarked the counsel. "hold on, though, that's not quite right. i heard yesterday that a couple of young fellows passed through here on their way to the same place. come to think of it, they were moving picture men, also." "great scott!" cried tom. "those must be my rivals, i'll wager. i must get right on the job. thanks for the information," and hurrying from the office he joined his friends on the airship, and was soon aloft again. "look, tom, what's that?" cried ned, about noon the next day when the flyer, according to their calculations must be nearing the city of arequipa. "see that black cloud over there. i hope it isn't a tornado, or a cyclone, or whatever they call the big wind storms down here." tom, and the others, looked to where ned pointed. there was a column of dense smoke hovering in the air, lazily swirling this way and that. the airship was rapidly approaching it. "why that--" began tom, but before he could complete the sentence the smoke was blown violently upward. it became streaked with fire, and, a moment later, there was the echo of a tremendous explosion. "the volcano!" cried tom. "the arequipa volcano! we're here just in time, for she's in eruption now! come on, ned, help me get out the camera! mr. damon, you and mr. nestor manage the airship! put us as close as you dare! i'm going to get some crackerjack pictures!" once more came a great report. "bless my toothpick!" gasped mr. damon. "this is awful!" and the airship rushed on toward the volcano which could be plainly seen now, belching forth fire, smoke and ashes. chapter xxiv the molten river "whew!" gasped ned, as he stood beside tom in the bow of the airship. "what's that choking us, tom?" "sulphur, i guess, and gases from the volcano. the wind blew 'em over this way. they're not dangerous, as long as there is no carbonic acid gas given off, and i don't smell any of that, yet. say, ned, it's erupting all right, isn't it?" "i should say so!" cried his chum. "put us a little to one side, mr. damon," called tom to his friend, who was in the pilot house. "i can't get good pictures through so much smoke. it's clearer off to the left." "bless my bath robe!" cried the odd man. "you're as cool about it, tom, as though you were just in an ordinary race, at an aeroplane meet." "and why shouldn't i be?" asked our hero with a laugh, as he stopped the mechanism of the camera until he should have a clearer view of the volcano. "there's not much danger up here, but i want to get some views from the level, later, and then--" "you don't get me down there!" interrupted mr. nestor, with a grim laugh. they were now hovering over the volcano, but high enough up so that none of the great stones that were being thrown out could reach them. the column of black smoke, amid which could be seen the gleams of the molten fires in the crater, rolled toward them, and the smell of sulphur became stronger. but when, in accordance with tom's suggestion, the airship had been sent over to one side, they were clear of the vapor and the noxious gas. then, too, a better view could be had of the volcano below them. "hold her down!" cried tom, as he got in a good position, and the propellers were slowed down so that they just overcame the influence of a slight wind. thus the flyer hovered in the air, while below her the volcano belched forth red-hot rocks, some of them immense in size, and quantities of hot ashes and cinders. tom had the camera going again now, and there was every prospect of getting a startling and wonderful, as well as rare series of moving pictures. "wow! that was a big one!" cried ned, as an unusually large mass of rocks was thrown out, and the column of fire and smoke ascended nearly to the hovering craft. a moment later came an explosion, louder than any that had preceded. "we'd better be going up; hadn't we tom?" his chum asked. "a little, yes, but not too far. i want to get as many near views as i can." "bless my overshoes!" gasped mr. damon, as he heard tom say that. then he sent some of the vapor from the generating machine into the gas bag, and the flyer arose slightly. ned looked in the direction of the town, but could not see it, on account of the haze. then he directed his attention to the terrifying sight below him. "it's a good thing it isn't very near the city," he said to tom, who was engaged in watching the automatic apparatus of the camera, to see when he would have to put in a fresh film. "it wouldn't take much of this sort of thing to destroy a big city. but i don't see any streams of burning lava, such as they always say come out of a volcano." "it isn't time for that yet," replied tom. "the lava comes out last, after the top layer of stones and ashes have been blown out. they are a sort of stopper to the volcano, i guess, like the cork of a bottle, and, when they're out of the way, the red-hot melted rock comes out. then there's trouble. i want to get pictures of that." "well, keep far enough away," advised mr. nestor, who had come forward. "don't take any chances. i guess your rivals won't get here in time to take any pictures, for they can't travel as fast as we did." "no," agreed the young inventor, "unless some other party of them were here ahead of us. they'll have their own troubles, though, making pictures anything like as good as we're getting." "there goes another blast!" cried ned, as a terrific explosion sounded, and a shower of hot stuff was thrown high into the air. "if i lived in arequipa i'd be moving out about now." "there isn't much danger i guess, except from showers of burning ashes, and volcanic dust," spoke mr. nestor, "and the wind is blowing it away from the town. if it continues this way the people will be saved." "unless there is so much of the red-hot lava that it will bury the city," suggested tom. "i hope that doesn't happen," and he could not repress a shudder as he looked down on the awful scene below him. after that last explosion the volcano appeared to subside somewhat, though great clouds of smoke and tongues of fire leaped upward. "i've got to put in a new reel of film!" suddenly exclaimed tom. "while i stop the camera, mr. damon, i think you and mr. nestor might put the airship down to the ground. i want some views on the level." "what! go down to earth with this awful volcano spouting fire?" cried mr. damon. "bless my comb and brush!" "we can get well down the side of the mountain," said tom. "i won't go into any danger, much less ask any one else to do so, and i certainly don't want my ship damaged. we can land down there," he said, pointing to a spot on the side of the volcanic mountain, that was some distance removed from the mouth of the crater. "it won't take me long to get one reel of views, and then i'll come up again." the two men finally gave in to tom's argument, that there was comparatively little danger, for they admitted that they could quickly rise up at the first sign of danger, and accordingly the flyer descended. tom quickly had a fresh reel of film inserted, and started his camera to working, standing it on a tripod some distance from the airship. once more the volcano was "doing its prettiest," as tom expressed it. he glanced around, as another big explosion took place, to see if any other picture men were on hand, but the terrible mountain seemed deserted, though of course someone might be on the other side. "what's that?" suddenly cried ned, looking apprehensively at his chum. at the same time tom jumped to his feet, for he had been kneeling near the camera. "bless my--" began mr. damon, but he got no farther, for suddenly the solid ground began to tremble and shake. "an earthquake!" shouted mr. nestor. "come, tom! get back to the ship!" the young inventor and ned had been the only ones to leave it, as it rested on a spur of the mountain. as tom and ned leaped forward to save the camera which was toppling to one side, there came a great fissure in the side of the volcano, and a stream of molten rock, glowing white with heat, gushed out. it was a veritable river of melted stone, and it was coming straight for the two lads. "run! run!" cried mr. nestor. "we have everything ready for a quick flight. run, tom! ned!" the lads leaped for the flyer, the molten rock coming nearer and nearer, and then with a cry koku sprang overboard and made a dash toward his master. chapter xxv the earthquake--conclusion "here, mr. tom. me carry you an' ned. you hold picture machine!" cried the giant. "me run faster." as he spoke he lifted ned up under one arm, and caught tom in the other. for they were but as children to his immense strength. tom held on to his camera, and, thus laden down, koku ran as he had never run before, toward the waiting airship. "come on! come on!" shouted mr. damon, for he could see what tom, ned and koku could not, that the stream of lava was nearing them rapidly. "it's hot!" cried ned, as a wave of warm air fanned his cheek. "i should say so!" cried tom. "the volcano is full of red-hot melted stone." there came a sickening shake of the earth. koku staggered as he ran on, but he kept his feet, and did not fall. again came a tremendous explosion, and a shower of fine ashes sifted over the airship, and on koku and his living burdens. "this is the worst ever!" gasped tom. "but i've got some dandy pictures, if we ever get away from here alive to develop them." "hurry, koku! hurry!" begged mr. nestor. "bless my shoe laces!" yelled mr. damon, who was fairly jumping up and down on the deck of the flyer. "i'll never go near a volcano again!" once more the ground shook and trembled, as the earthquake rent it. several cracks appeared in koku's path, but he leaped over them with tremendous energy. a moment later he had thrust tom and ned over the rail, to the deck, and leaped aboard himself. "let her go!" cried tom. "i'll do the rest of my moving picture work, around volcanoes and earthquakes, from up in the air!" the flyer shot upward, and scarcely a moment too soon, for, an instant after she left the ground, the stream of hot, burning and bubbling lava rolled beneath her, and those on board could feel the heat of it ascending. "say, i'm glad we got out of that when we did," gasped ned, as he looked down. "you're all right, koku." "that no trouble," replied the giant with a cheerful grin. "me carry four fellows like you," and he stretched out his big arms. tom had at once set his camera to working again, taking view after view. it was a terrifying but magnificent sight that our friends beheld, for the earth was trembling and heaving. great fissures opened in many places. into some of them streams of lava poured, for now the volcano had opened in several places, and from each crack the melted rocks belched out. the crater, however, was not sending into the air such volumes of smoke and ashes as before, as most of the tremendous energy had passed, or was being used to spout out the lava. the earthquake was confined to the region right about the volcano, or there might have been a great loss of life in the city. as it was, the damage done was comparatively slight. tom continued to take views, some showing the earth as it was twisted and torn, and other different aspects of the crater. then, as suddenly as the earthquake had begun, it subsided, and the volcano was less active. "my! i'm glad to see that!" exclaimed mr. damon. "i've had about enough of horrors!" "and i have too," added tom. "i'm on my last roll of film, and i can't take many more pictures. but i guess i have all mr. period needs, and we'll start for home, as soon as i finish the next roll. but i'm going to save that for a night view. that will be a novelty." the volcano became active again after dark, and presented a magnificent though terrifying aspect. as the airship hovered above it, tom got some of his best pictures, and then, as the last bit of film slipped along back of the lens, the airship was headed north. "now for shopton!" cried tom. "our trip is ended." "it's too had you didn't have more film," said ned. "i thought you had plenty." "well, i used more than i counted on, but there are enough pictures as it is." "plenty," agreed mr. nestor. "i'm sure our company will be very well satisfied with them, tom. we can't get home any too soon to suit me. i've had enough excitement." "and we didn't see anything of those other fellows whom we heard about," spoke mr. damon, as the big airship flew on. "no," said tom. "but i'm not worrying about them." they made another stop in lima, on their homeward trip, to renew their supply of gasolene, and there learned that the rival picture men had arrived at the volcano too late to see it in operation. this news came to a relative of one of the two men who lived in lima. "then our views of the earthquake and the smoking mountain will be the only ones, and your company can control the rights," said tom to mr. nestor, who agreed with him. in due time, and without anything out of the ordinary happening the flyer reached shopton, where tom found a warm welcome awaiting him, not only from his father, but from a certain young lady, whose name i do not need to mention. "and so you got everything you went after, didn't you, tom," exclaimed mr. period, a few days later, when he had come from new york to get the remainder of the films. "yes, and some things i didn't expect," replied tom. "there was--" "yes! yes! i know!" interrupted the odd picture man. "it was that jungle fire. that's a magnificent series. none better. and those scoundrels took your camera; eh?" "yes. could you connect them with turbot and eckert?" asked tom. "no, but i'm sure they were acting for them just the same. i had no legal evidence to act on, however, so i had to let it go. turbot and eckert won't be in it when i start selling duplicates of the films you have. and these last ought to be the best of all. i didn't catch that fellow when i raced after him on the dock. he got away, and has steered clear of me since," finished mr. period. "and our rivals didn't secure any views like ours," said tom. "i'm glad of it," spoke mr. period. "turbot and eckert bribed one of my men, and so found out where i was sending messages to you. they even got a copy of my cablegram. but it did them no good." "were all the films clear that i sent you?" asked our hero. "every one. couldn't be better. the animal views were particularly fine. you must have had your nerve with you to get some of 'em." "oh, tom always has his nerve," laughed ned. "well, how soon will you be ready to start out again?" asked the picture man, as he packed up the last of the films which tom gave him. "i'd like to get some views of a japanese earthquake, and we haven't any polar views. i want some of them, taken as near the north pole as you can get." tom gently shook his head. "what! you don't mean to say you won't get them for me?" cried mr. period. "with that wonderful camera of yours you can get views no one else ever could." "then some one else will have to take them," remarked the young inventor. "i'll lend you the camera, and an airship, and you can go yourself, mr. period. i'm going to stay home for a while. i did what i set out to do, and that's enough." "i'm glad you'll stay home, tom," said his father. "now perhaps i'll get my gyroscope finished." "and i, my noiseless airship," went on our hero. "no, mr. period, you'll have to excuse me this time. why don't you go yourself?" he asked. "you would know just what kind of pictures you wanted." "no, i'm a promoter of the moving picture business, and i sell films, but i don't know how to take them," was the answer. "besides i--er--well, i don't exactly care for airships, tom swift," he finished with a laugh. "well, i can't thank you enough for what you did for me, and i've brought you a check to cover your expenses, and pay you as i agreed. all the same i'm sorry you won't start for japan, or the north pole." "nothing doing," said tom with a laugh; and mr. period departed. "have you any idea what you will do next?" asked ned, a day or so later, when he and tom were in the workshop. "i can't tell until i finish my noiseless airship," was the answer. "then something may happen." something did, as i shall have the pleasure of telling you about in the next volume of this series, to be called, "tom swift and his great searchlight; or, on the border for uncle sam," and in it will be given an account of a great lantern our hero made, and how he baffled the smugglers with it. "oh, tom, weren't you dreadfully frightened when you saw that burning river of lava coming toward you?" asked mary nestor, when the young inventor called on her later and told her some of his adventures. "i should have been scared to death." "well, i didn't have time to get scared," answered tom. "it all happened so quickly, and then, too i was thinking of my camera. next i knew koku grabbed me, and it was all over." "but those wild beasts! didn't they frighten you, especially when the rhinoceros charged you?" "if you won't let it get out, i'll make a confession to you," said tom, lowering his voice. "i was scared stiff that time, but don't let ned know it." "i won't," promised mary with a laugh. and now, when tom is in such pleasant company, we will take leave of him for a while, knowing that, sooner or later, he will be seeking new adventures as exciting as those of the past. the end ----------------------------------------------------------------- the tom swift series by victor appleton mo. cloth. uniform style of binding. colored wrappers. these spirited tales convey in a realistic way the wonderful advances in land and sea locomotion. stories like these are impressed upon the memory and their reading is productive only of good. tom swift and his motor cycle or fun and adventure on the road tom swift and his motor boat or the rivals of lake carlopa tom swift and his airship or the stirring cruise of the red cloud tom swift and his submarine boat or under the ocean for sunken treasure tom swift and his electric runabout or the speediest car on the road tom swift and his wireless message or the castaways of earthquake island tom swift among the diamond makers or the secret of phantom mountain tom swift in the caves of ice or the wreck of the airship tom swift and his sky racer or the quickest flight on record tom swift and his electric rifle or daring adventures in elephant land tom swift in the city of gold or marvelous adventures underground tom swift and his air glider or seeking the platinum treasure tom swift in captivity or a daring escape by airship tom swift and his wizard camera or the perils of moving picture taking tom swift and his great searchlight or on the border for uncle sam tom swift and his giant cannon or the longest shots on record tom swift and his photo telephone or the picture that saved a fortune tom swift and his aerial warship or the naval terror of the seas tom swift and his big tunnel or the hidden city of the andes the bunny brown series by laura lee hope author of the popular "bobbsey twins" books wrapper and text illustrations drawn by florence england nosworthy mo. durably bound. illustrated. uniform style of binding these stories by the author of the "bobbsey twins" books are eagerly welcomed by the little folks from about five to ten years of age. their eyes fairly dance with delight at the lively doings of inquisitive little bunny brown and his cunning, trustful sister sue. bunny was a lively little boy, very inquisitive. when he did anything, sue followed his leadership. they had many adventures, some comical in the extreme. bunny brown and his sister sue bunny brown and his sister sue on grandpa's farm bunny brown and his sister sue playing circus bunny brown and his sister sue at camp rest-a-while bunny brown and his sister sue at aunt lu's city home bunny brown and his sister sue in the big woods bunny brown and his sister sue on an auto tour bunny brown and his sister sue and their shetland pony bunny brown and his sister sue giving a show bunny brown and his sister sue at christmas tree cove the bobbsey twins books for little men and women by laura lee hope author of "the bunny brown" series. etc. mo. durably bound. illustrated. uniform style of binding copyright publications which cannot be obtained elsewhere. books that charm the hearts of the little ones, and of which they never tire. the bobbsey twins the bobbsey twins in the country the bobbsey twins at the seashore the bobbsey twins at school the bobbsey twins at snow lodge the bobbsey twins on a houseboat the bobbsey twins at meadow brook the bobbsey twins at home the bobbsey twins in a great city the bobbsey twins on blueberry island the bobbsey twins on the deep blue sea the bobbsey twins in the great west the moving picture girls series by laura lee hope author of "the bobbsey twins series." mo. bound in cloth. illustrated. uniform style of binding the adventures of ruth and alice devere. their father, a widower, is an actor who has taken up work for the "movies." both girls wish to aid him in his work and visit various localities to act in all sorts of pictures. the moving picture girls or first appearance in photo dramas. having lost his voice, the father of the girls goes into the movies and the girls follow. tells how many "parlor dramas" are filmed. the moving picture girls at oak farm or queer happenings while taking rural plays. full of fun in the country, the haps and mishaps of taking film plays, and giving an account of two unusual discoveries. the moving picture girls snowbound or the proof on the film. a tale of winter adventures in the wilderness, showing how the photo-play actors sometimes suffer. the moving picture girls under the palms or lost in the wilds of florida. how they went to the land of palms, played many parts in dramas before the camera; were lost, and aided others who were also lost. the moving picture girls at rocky ranch or great days among the cowboys. all who have ever seen moving pictures of the rest west will want to know just how they are made. this volume gives every detail and is full of clean fun and excitement. the moving picture girls at sea or a pictured shipwreck that became real. a thrilling account of the girls' experiences on the water. the moving picture girls in war plays or the sham battles at oak farm. the girls play important parts in big battle scenes and have plenty of hard work along with considerable fun. the outdoor chums series by captain quincy allen the outdoor chums are four wide-awake lads, sons of wealthy men of a small city located on a lake. the boys love outdoor life, and are greatly interested in hunting, fishing, and picture taking. they have motor cycles, motor boats, canoes, etc., and during their vacations go everywhere and have all sorts of thrilling adventures. the stories give full directions for camping out, how to fish, how to hunt wild animals and prepare the skins for stuffing, how to manage a canoe, how to swim, etc. full of the spirit of outdoor life. the outdoor chums or the first tour of the rod, gun and camera club. the outdoor chums on the lake or lively adventures on wildcat island. the outdoor chums in the forest or laying the ghost of oak ridge. the outdoor chums on the gulf or rescuing the lost balloonists. the outdoor chums after big game. or perilous adventures in the wilderness. the outdoor chums on a houseboat or the rivals of the mississippi. the outdoor chums in the big woods or the rival hunters at lumber run. the outdoor chums at cabin point or the golden cup mystery. mo. averaging pages. illustrated. handsomely bound in cloth. the girls of central high series by gertrude w. morrison mo. bound in cloth. illustrated. uniform style of binding. here is a series full of the spirit of high school life of today. the girls are real flesh-and-blood characters, and we follow them with interest in school and out. there are many contested matches on track and field, and on the water, as well as doings in the classroom and on the school stage. there it plenty of fun and excitement, all clean, pure and wholesome. the girls of central high or rivals for all honors. a stirring tale of high school life, full of fun, with a tomb of mystery and a strange initiation. the girls of central high on lake luna or the crew that won. telling of water sports and fun galore, and of fine times in camp. the girls of central high at basketball or the great gymnasium mystery. here we have a number of thrilling contests at basketball and in addition, the solving of a mystery which had bothered the high school authorities for a long while. the girls of central high on the stage or the play that took the prize. how the girls went in for theatricals and how one of them wrote a play which afterward was made over for the professional stage and brought in some much-needed money. the girls of central high on track and field or the girl champions of the school league this story takes in high school athletics in their most approved and up-to-date fashion. full of fun and excitement. the girls of central high in camp or the old professor's secret the girls went camping on acorn island and had a delightful time at boating, swimming and picnic parties. the boys of columbia high series by graham b. forbes never was there a cleaner, brighter, more manly boy than frank allen, the hero of this series of boys' tales, and never was there a better crowd of lads to associate with than the students of the school. all boys will read these stories with deep interest. the rivalry between the towns along the river was of the keenest, and plots and counterplot to win the champions, at baseball, at football, at boat racing, at track athletics, and at ice hockey, were without number. any lad reading one volume of this series will surely want the others. the boys of columbia high or the all around rivals of the school the boys of columbia high on the diamond or winning out by pluck the boys of columbia high on the river or the boat race plot that failed the boys of columbia high on the gridiron or the struggle for the silver cup the boys of columbia high on the ice or out for the hockey championship the boys of columbia high in track athletics or a long run that won the boys of columbia high in winter sports or stirring doings on skates and iceboats mo. illustrated. handsomely bound in cloth, with cover design and wrappers in color. the moving picture boys series by victor appleton mo. bound in cloth. illustrated. uniform style of binding. moving pictures and photo plays are famous the world over, and in this line of books the reader is given a full description of how the films are made--the scenes of little dramas, indoors and out, trick pictures to satisfy the curious, soul-stirring pictures of city affairs, life in the wild west, among the cowboys and indians, thrilling rescues along the seacoast, the daring of picture hunters in the jungle among savage beasts, and the great risks run in picturing conditions in a land of earthquakes. the volumes teem with adventures and will be found interesting from first chapter to last. the moving picture boys or perils of a great city depicted. the moving picture boys in the west or taking scenes among the cowboys and indians. the moving picture boys on the coast or showing the perils of the deep. the moving picture boys in the jungle or stirring times among the wild animals. the moving picture boys in earthquake land or working amid many perils. the moving picture boys and the flood or perilous days on the mississippi. the moving picture boys at panama or stirring adventures along the great canal. the moving picture boys under the sea or the treasure of the lost ship. the outdoor girls series by laura lee hope author of the "bobbsey twin books" and "bunny brown" series. these tales take in the various adventures participated in by several bright, up-to-date girls who love outdoor life. they are clean and wholesome, free from sensationalism, absorbing from the first chapter to the last. the outdoor girls of deepdale or camping and tramping for fun and health. telling bow the girls organized their camping and tramping club, how they went on a tour, and of various adventures which befell them. the outdoor girls at rainbow lake or stirring cruise of the motor boat gem. one of the girls becomes the proud possessor of a motor boat and invites her club members to take a trip down the river to rainbow lake, a beautiful sheet of water lying between the mountains. the outdoor girls in a motor car or the haunted mansion of shadow valley. one of the girls has learned to run a big motor ear, and she invited the club to go on a tour to visit some distant relatives. on the way they stop at a deserted mansion and make a surprising discovery. the outdoor girls in a winter camp or glorious days on skates and ice boats. in this story, the scene is shifted to a winter season. the girls have some jolly times skating and ice boating, and visit a hunters ramp in the big woods. the outdoor girls in florida or wintering in the sunny south. the parents of one of the girls have bought an orange grove in florida, and her companions are invited to visit the place. they take a trip into the interior, where several unusual things happen. the outdoor girls at ocean view or the box that was found in the sand. the girls have great fun and solve a mystery while on an outing along the new england coast. the outdoor girls on pine island or a cave and what it contained. a bright, healthful story, full of good times at a bungalow camp on pine island. charming books for girls when patty went to college, by jean webster. illustrated by c. d. williams. one of the best stories of life in a girl's college that has ever been written. it is bright, whimsical and entertaining, lifelike, laughable and thoroughly human. just patty, by jean webster. illustrated by c. m. relyea. patty is full of the joy of living, fun-loving, given to ingenious mischief for its own sake, with a disregard for pretty convention which is an unfailing source of joy to her fellows. the poor little rich girl, by eleanor gates. with four full page illustrations. this story relates the experience of one of those unfortunate children whose early days are passed in the companionship of a governess, seldom seeing either parent, and famishing for natural love and tenderness. a charming play as dramatized by the author. rebecca of sunnybrook farm, by kate douglas wiggin. one of the most beautiful studies of childhood--rebecca's artistic, unusual and quaintly charming qualities stand out midst a circle of austere new englanders. the stage version is making a phenomenal dramatic record. new chronicles of rebecca, by kate douglas wiggin. illustrated by f. c. yohn. additional episodes in the girlhood of this delightful heroine that carry rebecca through various stages to her eighteenth birthday. rebecca mary, by annie hamilton donnell. illustrated by elizabeth shippen green. this author possesses the rare gift of portraying all the grotesque little joys and sorrows and scruples of this very small girl with a pathos that is peculiarly genuine and appealing. emmy lou: her book and heart, by george madden martin, illustrated by charles louis hinton. emmy lou is irresistibly lovable, because she is so absolutely real. she is just a bewitchingly innocent, hugable little maid. the book is wonderfully human. books by victor appleton the tom swift series tom swift and his motor-cycle or fun and adventures on the road tom swift and his motor-boat or the rivals of lake carlopa tom swift and his airship or the stirring cruise of the red cloud tom swift and his submarine boat or under the ocean for sunken treasure tom swift and his electric runabout or the speediest car on the road tom swift and his wireless message or the castaways of earthquake island tom swift among the diamond makers or the secret of phantom mountain tom swift in the caves of ice or the wreck of the airship tom swift and his sky racer or the quickest flight on record tom swift and his electric rifle or daring adventures in elephant land tom swift in the city of gold or marvelous adventures underground tom swift and his air glider or seeking the platinum treasure tom swift in captivity or a daring escape by airship tom swift and his wizard camera or thrilling adventures while taking moving pictures tom swift and his great searchlight or on the border for uncle sam the art of the moving picture by vachel lindsay intended, first of all, for the new art museums springing up all over the country. but the book is for our universities and institutions of learning. it contains an appeal to our whole critical and literary world, and to our creators of sculpture, architecture, painting, and the american cities they are building. being the revision of the book first issued in , and beginning with an ample discourse on the great new prospects of "hail, all ye gods in the house of the soul, who weigh heaven and earth in a balance, and who give celestial food." from the book of the scribe ani, translated from the original egyptian hieroglyphics by professor e.a. wallis budge dedicated to george mather richards in memory of the art student days we spent together when the metropolitan museum was our picture-drama contents a word from the director of the denver art association book i the general photoplay situation in america, january , , especially as viewed from the heights of the civic centre at denver, colorado, and the denver art museum, which is to be a leading feature of this civic centre book ii the outline which has been accepted as the basis of photoplay criticism in america, both in the studios of the los angeles region, and all the serious criticism which has appeared in the daily press and the magazines chapter i. the point of view ii. the photoplay of action iii. the intimate photoplay iv. the motion picture of fairy splendor v. the picture of crowd splendor vi. the picture of patriotic splendor vii. the picture of religious splendor viii. sculpture-in-motion ix. painting-in-motion x. furniture, trappings, and inventions in motion xi. architecture-in-motion xii. thirty differences between the photoplays and the stage xiii. hieroglyphics book iii more personal speculations and afterthoughts not brought forward so dogmatically xiv. the orchestra, conversation, and the censorship xv. the substitute for the saloon xvi. california and america xvii. progress and endowment xviii. architects as crusaders xix. on coming forth by day xx. the prophet-wizard xxi. the acceptable year of the lord a word from the director of the denver art association the art of the moving picture, as it appeared six years ago, possessed among many elements of beauty at least one peculiarity. it viewed art as a reality, and one of our most familiar and popular realities as an art. this should have made the book either a revelation or utter greek to most of us, and those who read it probably dropped it easily into one or the other of the two categories. for myself, long a propagandist for its doctrines in another but related field, the book came as a great solace. in it i found, not an appeal to have the art museum used--which would have been an old though welcome story--not this, but much to my surprise, the art museum actually at work, one of the very wheels on which our culture rolled forward upon its hopeful way. i saw among other museums the one whose destinies i was tenderly guiding, playing in lindsay's book the part that is played by the classic myths in milton, or by the dictionary in the writings of the rest of us. for once the museum and its contents appeared, not as a lovely curiosity, but as one of the basic, and in a sense humble necessities of life. to paraphrase the author's own text, the art museum, like the furniture in a good movie, was actually "in motion"--a character in the play. on this point of view as on a pivot turns the whole book. in the art of the moving picture the nature and domain of a new muse is defined. she is the first legitimate addition to the family since classic times. and as it required trained painters of pictures like fulton and morse to visualize the possibility of the steamboat and the telegraph, so the bold seer who perceived the true nature of this new star in our nightly heavens, it should here be recorded, acquired much of the vision of his seeing eye through an early training in art. vachel lindsay (as he himself proudly asserts) was a student at the institute in chicago for four years, spent one more at the league and at chase's in new york, and for four more haunted the metropolitan museum, lecturing to his fellows on every art there shown from the egyptian to that of arthur b. davies. only such a background as this could have evolved the conception of "architecture, sculpture, and painting in motion" and given authenticity to its presentation. the validity of lindsay's analysis is attested by freeburg's helpful characterization, "composition in fluid forms," which it seems to have suggested. to lindsay's category one would be tempted to add, "pattern in motion," applying it to such a film as the "caligari" which he and i have seen together and discussed during these past few days. pattern in this connection would imply an emphasis on the intrinsic suggestion of the spot and shape apart from their immediate relation to the appearance of natural objects. but this is a digression. it simply serves to show the breadth and adaptability of lindsay's method. the book was written for a visual-minded public and for those who would be its leaders. a long, long line of picture-readers trailing from the dawn of history, stimulated all the masterpieces of pictorial art from altamira to michelangelo. for less than five centuries now gutenberg has had them scurrying to learn their a, b, c's, but they are drifting back to their old ways again, and nightly are forming themselves in cues at the doorways of the "isis," the "tivoli," and the "riviera," the while it is sadly noted that "'the pictures' are driving literature off the parlor table." with the creative implications of this new pictorial art, with the whole visual-minded race clamoring for more, what may we not dream in the way of a new renaissance? how are we to step in to the possession of such a destiny? are the institutions with a purely literary theory of life going to meet the need? are the art schools and the art museums making themselves ready to assimilate a new art form? or what is the type of institution that will ultimately take the position of leadership in culture through this new universal instrument? what possibilities lie in this art, once it is understood and developed, to plant new conceptions of civic and national idealism? how far may it go in cultivating concerted emotion in the now ungoverned crowd? such questions as these can be answered only by minds with the imagination to see art as a reality; with faith to visualize for the little mid-western "home town" a new and living pallas athena; with courage to raze the very houses of the city to make new and greater forums and "civic centres." for ourselves in denver, we shall try to do justice to the new muse. in the museum which we build we shall provide a shrine for her. we shall first endeavor by those simple means which lie to our hands, to know the areas of charm and imagination which remain as yet an untilled field of her domain. plowing is a simple art, but it requires much sweat. this at least we know--to the expenditure we cheerfully consent. so much for the beginning. it would be boastful to describe plans to keep pace with the enlarging of the motion picture field before a real beginning is made. but with youth in its favor, the denver art museum hopes yet to see this art set in its rightful place with painting, sculpture, architecture, and the handicrafts--hopes yet to be an instrument in the great work of making this art real as those others are being even now made real, to the expanding vision of an eager people. george william eggers director the denver art association denver, colorado, new year's day, . book i--the general photoplay situation in america, january , especially as viewed from the heights of the civic centre at denver, colorado, and the denver art museum, which is to be a leading feature of this civic centre in the second chapter of book two, on page , the theoretical outline begins, with a discussion of the photoplay of action. i put there on record the first crude commercial films that in any way establish the principle. there can never be but one first of anything, and if the negatives of these films survive the shrinking and the warping that comes with time, they will still be, in a certain sense, classic, and ten years hence or two years hence will still be better remembered than any films of the current releases, which come on like newspapers, and as george ade says:--"nothing is so dead as yesterday's newspaper." but the first newspapers, and the first imprints of addison's spectator, and the first almanacs of benjamin franklin, and the first broadside ballads and the like, are ever collected and remembered. and the lists of films given in books two and three of this work are the only critical and carefully sorted lists of the early motion pictures that i happen to know anything about. i hope to be corrected if i am too boastful, but i boast that my lists must be referred to by all those who desire to study these experiments in their beginnings. so i let them remain, as still vivid in the memory of all true lovers of the photoplay who have watched its growth, fascinated from the first. but i would add to the list of action films of chapter two the recent popular example, douglas fairbanks in the three musketeers. that is perhaps the most literal "chase-picture" that was ever really successful in the commercial world. the story is cut to one episode. the whole task of the four famous swordsmen of dumas is to get the queen's token that is in the hands of buckingham in england, and return with it to paris in time for the great ball. it is one long race with the cardinal's guards who are at last left behind. it is the same plot as reynard the fox, john masefield's poem--reynard successfully eluding the huntsmen and the dogs. if that poem is ever put on in an art museum film, it will have to be staged like one of Æsop's fables, with a _man_ acting the fox, for the children's delight. and i earnestly urge all who would understand the deeper significance of the "chase-picture" or the "action picture" to give more thought to masefield's poem than to fairbanks' marvellous acting in the school of the younger salvini. the mood of the _intimate photoplay_, chapter three, still remains indicated in the current films by the acting of lillian gish and mary pickford, when they are not roused up by their directors to turn handsprings to keep the people staring. mary pickford in particular has been stimulated to be over-athletic, and in all her career she has been given just one chance to be her more delicate self, and that was in the almost forgotten film:--a romance of the redwoods. this is one of the serious commercial attempts that should be revived and studied, in spite of its crudities of plot, by our art museums. there is something of the grandeur of the redwoods in it, in contrast to the sustained botticelli grace of "our mary." i am the one poet who has a right to claim for his muses blanche sweet, mary pickford, and mae marsh. i am the one poet who wrote them songs when they were biograph heroines, before their names were put on the screen, or the name of their director. woman's clubs are always asking me for bits of delicious gossip about myself to fill up literary essays. now there's a bit. there are two things to be said for those poems. first, they were heartfelt. second, any one could improve on them. in the fourth chapter of book two i discourse elaborately and formally on the motion picture of fairy splendor. and to this carefully balanced technical discourse i would add the informal word, this new year's day, that this type is best illustrated by such fairy-tales as have been most ingratiatingly retold in the books of padraic colum, and dazzlingly illustrated by willy pogany. the colum-pogany school of thought is one which the commercial producers have not yet condescended to illustrate in celluloid, and it remains a special province for the art museum film. fairy-tales need not be more than one-tenth of a reel long. some of the best fairy-tales in the whole history of man can be told in a breath. and the best motion picture story for fifty years may turn out to be a reel ten minutes long. do not let the length of the commercial film tyrannize over your mind, o young art museum photoplay director. remember the brevity of lincoln's gettysburg address.... and so my commentary, new year's day, , proceeds, using for points of more and more extensive departure the refrains and old catch-phrases of books two and three. chapter v--the picture of crowd splendor, being the type illustrated by griffith's intolerance. chapter vi--the picture of patriotic splendor, which was illustrated by all the war films, the one most recently approved and accepted by the public being the four horsemen of the apocalypse. chapter vii--the picture of religious splendor, which has no examples, that remain in the memory with any sharpness in , except the faith healer, founded on the play by william vaughn moody, the poet, with much of the directing and scenario by mrs. william vaughn moody, and a more talked-of commercial film, the miracle man. but not until the religious film is taken out of the commercial field, and allowed to develop unhampered under the church and the art museum, will the splendid religious and ritualistic opportunity be realized. chapter viii--sculpture-in-motion, being a continuation of the argument of chapter two. the photoplay of action. like the action film, this aspect of composition is much better understood by the commercial people than some other sides of the art. some of the best of the william s. hart productions show appreciation of this quality by the director, the photographer, and the public. not only is the man but the horse allowed to be moving bronze, and not mere cowboy pasteboard. many of the pictures of charles ray make the hero quite a bronze-looking sculpturesque person, despite his yokel raiment. chapter ix--painting-in-motion, being a continuation on a higher terrace of chapter three, the intimate photoplay. charlie chaplin has intimate and painter's qualities in his acting, and he makes himself into a painting or an etching in the midst of furious slapstick. but he has been in no films that were themselves paintings. the argument of this chapter has been carried much further in freeburg's book, the art of photoplay making. chapter x--furniture, trappings, and inventions in motion, being a continuation of the chapter on fairy splendor. in this field we find one of the worst failures of the commercial films, and their utterly unimaginative corporation promoters. again i must refer them to such fairy books as those of padraic colum, where neither sword nor wing nor boat is found to move, except for a fairy reason. i have just returned this very afternoon from a special showing of the famous imported film, the cabinet of dr. caligari. some of the earnest spirits of the denver art association, finding it was in storage in the town, had it privately brought forth to study it with reference to its bearing on their new policies. what influence it will have in that most vital group, time will show. meanwhile it is a marvellous illustration of the meaning of this chapter and the chapter on fairy splendor, though it is a diabolical not a beneficent vitality that is given to inanimate things. the furniture, trappings, and inventions are in motion to express the haunted mind, as in griffith's avenging conscience, described pages through . the two should be shown together in the same afternoon, in the art museum study rooms. caligari is undoubtedly the most important imported film since that work of d'annunzio, cabiria, described pages through . but it is the opposite type of film. cabiria is all out-doors and splendor on the mediterranean scale. in general, imported films do not concern americans, for we have now a vast range of technique. all we lack is the sense to use it. the cabinet of caligari is indeed a cabinet, and the feeling of being in a cell, and smothered by all the oppressions of a weary mind, does not desert the spectator for a minute. the play is more important, technically, than in its subject-matter and mood. it proves in a hundred new ways the resources of the film in making all the inanimate things which, on the spoken stage, cannot act at all, the leading actors in the films. but they need not necessarily act to a diabolical end. an angel could have as well been brought from the cabinet as a murderous somnambulist, and every act of his could have been a work of beneficence and health and healing. i could not help but think that the ancient miracle play of the resurrection of osiris could have been acted out with similar simple means, with a mummy case and great sarcophagus. the wings of isis and nephthys could have been spread over the sky instead of the oppressive walls of the crooked city. lights instead of shadows could have been made actors and real hieroglyphic inscriptions instead of scrawls. as it was, the alleged insane man was more sensible than most motion picture directors, for his scenery acted with him, and not according to accident or silly formula. i make these points as an antidote to the general description of this production by those who praise it. they speak of the scenery as grotesque, strained, and experimental, and the plot as sinister. but this does not get to the root of the matter. there is rather the implication in most of the criticisms and praises that the scenery is abstract. quite the contrary is the case. indoors looks like indoors. streets are always streets, roofs are always roofs. the actors do not move about in a kind of crazy geometry as i was led to believe. the scenery is oppressive, but sane, and the obsession is for the most part expressed in the acting and plot. the fair looks like a fair and the library looks like a library. there is nothing experimental about any of the setting, nothing unconsidered or strained or over-considered. it seems experimental because it is thrown into contrast with extreme commercial formulas in the regular line of the "movie trade." but compare the cabinet of dr. caligari with a book of rackham or du lac or dürer, or rembrandt's etchings, and dr. caligari is more realistic. and eggers insists the whole film is replete with suggestions of the work of pieter breughel, the painter. hundreds of indoor stories will be along such lines, once the merely commercial motive is eliminated, and the artist is set free. this film is an extraordinary variation of the intimate, as expounded in chapter three. it is drawing-in-motion, instead of painting-in-motion. because it was drawing instead of painting, literary-minded people stepped to the hasty conclusion it was experimental. half-tone effects are, for the most part, eliminated. line is dominant everywhere. it is the opposite of vast conceptions like theodora--which are architecture-in-motion. all the architecture of the caligari film seems pasteboard. the whole thing happens in a cabinet. it is the most overwhelming contrast to griffith's intolerance that could be in any way imagined. it contains, one may say, all the effects left out of intolerance. the word cabinet is a quadruple pun. not only does it mean a mystery box and a box holding a somnambulist, but a kind of treasury of tiny twisted thoughts. there is not one line or conception in it on the grand scale, or even the grandiose. it is a devil's toy-house. one feels like a mouse in a mouse-trap so small one cannot turn around. in intolerance, griffith hurls nation at nation, race at race, century against century, and his camera is not only a telescope across the plains of babylon, but across the ages. griffith is, in intolerance, the ungrammatical byron of the films, but certainly as magnificent as byron, and since he is the first of his kind i, for one, am willing to name him with marlowe. but for technical study for art schools, the cabinet of dr. caligari is more profitable. it shows how masterpieces can be made, with the second-hand furniture of any attic. but i hope fairy-tales, not diabolical stories, will come from these attics. fairy-tales are inherent in the genius of the motion picture and are a thousand times hinted at in the commercial films, though the commercial films are not willing to stop to tell them. lillian gish could be given wings and a wand if she only had directors and scenario writers who believed in fairies. and the same can most heartily be said of mae marsh. chapter xi--architecture-in-motion, being a continuation of the argument about the splendor pictures, in chapters five, six, and seven. this is an element constantly re-illustrated in a magnificent but fragmentary way by the news films. any picture of a seagull flying so close to the camera that it becomes as large as a flying machine, or any flying machine made by man and photographed in epic flight captures the eye because it is architecture and in motion, motion which is the mysterious fourth dimension of its grace and glory. so likewise, and in kind, any picture of a tossing ship. the most superb example of architecture-in-motion in the commercial history of the films is the march of the moving war-towers against the walls of babylon in griffith's intolerance. but griffith is the only person so far who has known how to put a fighting soul into a moving tower. the only real war that has occurred in the films with the world's greatest war going on outside was griffith's war against babylon. the rest was news. chapter xii--thirty differences between the photoplays and the stage. the argument of the whole of the edition has been accepted by the studios, the motion picture magazines, and the daily motion picture columns throughout the land. i have read hundreds of editorials and magazines, and scarcely one that differed from it in theory. most of them read like paraphrases of this work. and of all arguments made, the one in this chapter is the one oftenest accepted in its entirety. the people who dominate the films are obviously those who grew up with them from the very beginning, and the merely stage actors who rushed in with the highest tide of prosperity now have to take second rank if they remain in the films. but most of these have gone back to the stage by this time, with their managers as well, and certainly this chapter is abundantly proved out. chapter xiii--hieroglyphics. one of the implications of this chapter and the one preceding is that the fewer words printed on the screen the better, and that the ideal film has no words printed on it at all, but is one unbroken sheet of photography. this is admitted in theory in all the studios now, though the only film of the kind ever produced of general popular success was the old swimmin' hole, acted by charles ray. if i remember, there was not one word on the screen, after the cast of characters was given. the whole story was clearly and beautifully told by photoplay hieroglyphics. for this feature alone, despite many defects of the film, it should be studied in every art school in america. meanwhile "title writing" remains a commercial necessity. in this field there is but one person who has won distinction--anita loos. she is one of the four or five important and thoroughly artistic brains in the photoplay game. among them is the distinguished john emerson. in combination with john emerson, director, producer, etc., she has done so many other things well, her talents as a title writer are incidental, but certainly to be mentioned in this place. the outline we are discussing continues through _book iii--more personal speculations and afterthoughts not brought forward so dogmatically_. chapter xiv--the orchestra, conversation, and the censorship. in this chapter, on page , i suggest suppressing the orchestra entirely and encouraging the audience to talk about the film. no photoplay people have risen to contradict this theory, but it is a chapter that once caused me great embarrassment. with christopher morley, the well-known author of shandygaff and other temperance literature, i was trying to prove out this chapter. as soon as the orchestra stopped, while the show rolled on in glory, i talked about the main points in this book, illustrating it by the film before us. almost everything that happened was a happy illustration of my ideas. but there were two shop girls in front of us awfully in love with a certain second-rate actor who insisted on kissing the heroine every so often, and with her apparent approval. every time we talked about that those shop girls glared at us as though we were robbing them of their time and money. finally one of them dragged the other out into the aisle, and dashed out of the house with her dear chum, saying, so all could hear: "well, come on, terasa, we might as well go, if these two talking _pests_ are going to keep this up behind us." the poor girl's voice trembled. she was in tears. she was gone before we could apologize or offer flowers. so i say in applying this chapter, in our present stage of civilization, sit on the front seat, where no one can hear your whisperings but mary pickford on the screen. she is but a shadow there, and will not mind. chapter xv--the substitute for the saloon. i leave this argument as a monument, just as it was written, in and ' . it indicates a certain power of forecasting on the part of the writer. we drys have certainly won a great victory. some of the photoplay people agree with this temperance sermon, and some of them do not. the wets make one mistake above all. they do not realize that the drys can still keep on voting dry, with intense conviction, and great battle cries, and still have a sense of humor. chapter xvi--california and america. this chapter was quoted and paraphrased almost bodily as the preface to my volume of verses, the golden whales of california. "i know all this when gipsy fiddles cry," a song of some length recently published in the new republic and the london nation, further expresses the sentiment of this chapter in what i hope is a fraternal way, and i hope suggests the day when california will have power over india, asia, and all the world, and plant giant redwood trees of the spirit the world around. chapter xvii--progress and endowment. i allow this discourse, also, to stand as written in and ' . it shows the condition just before the war, better than any new words of mine could do it. the main change now is the growing hope of a backing, not only from universities, but great art museums. chapter xviii--architects as crusaders. the sermon in this chapter has been carried out on a limited scale, and as a result of the suggestion, or from pure american instinct, we now have handsome gasoline filling stations from one end of america to the other, and really gorgeous ford garages. our union depots and our magazine stands in the leading hotels, and our big soda fountains are more and more attractive all the time. having recited of late about twice around the united states and, continuing the pilgrimage, i can testify that they are all alike from new york to san francisco. one has to ask the hotel clerk to find out whether it is new york or ----. and the motion picture discipline of the american eye has had a deal to do with this increasing tendency to news-stand and architectural standardization and architectural thinking, such as it is. but i meant this suggestion to go further, and to be taken in a higher sense, so i ask these people to read this chapter again. i have carried out the idea, in a parable, perhaps more clearly in the golden book of springfield, when i speak of the world's fair of the university of springfield, to be built one hundred years hence. and i would recommend to those who have already taken seriously chapter eighteen, to reread it in two towns, amply worth the car fare it costs to go to both of them. first, santa fe, new mexico, at the end of the santa fe trail, the oldest city in the united states, the richest in living traditions, and with the oldest and the newest architecture in the united states; not a stone or a stick of it standardized, a city with a soul, jerusalem and mecca and benares and thebes for any artist or any poet of america's future, or any one who would dream of great cities born of great architectural photoplays, or great photoplays born of great cities. and the other city, symbolized by the golden rain tree in the golden book of springfield, is new harmony, indiana. that was the greenwich village of america more than one hundred years ago, when it was yet in the heart of the wilderness, millions of miles from the sea. it has a tradition already as dusty and wonderful as abydos and gem aten. and every stone is still eloquent of individualism, and standardization has not yet set its foot there. is it not possible for the architects to brood in such places and then say to one another:--"build from your hearts buildings and films which shall be your individual hieroglyphics, each according to his own loves and fancies?" chapter xix--on coming forth by day. this is the second egyptian chapter. it has its direct relation to the hieroglyphic chapter, page . i note that i say here it costs a dime to go to the show. well, now it costs around thirty cents to go to a good show in a respectable suburb, sometimes fifty cents. but we will let that dime remain there, as a matter of historic interest, and pass on, to higher themes. certainly the hieroglyphic chapter is in words of one syllable and any kindergarten teacher can understand it. chapter nineteen adds a bit to the idea. i do not know how warranted i am in displaying egyptian learning. newspaper reporters never tire of getting me to talk about hieroglyphics in their relation to the photoplays, and always give me respectful headlines on the theme. i can only say that up to this hour, every time i have toured art museums, i have begun with the egyptian exhibit, and if my patient guest was willing, lectured on every period on to the present time, giving a little time to the principal exhibits in each room, but i have always found myself returning to egypt as a standard. it seems my natural classic land of art. so when i took up hieroglyphics more seriously last summer, i found them extraordinarily easy as though i were looking at a "movie" in a book. i think egyptian picture-writing came easy because i have analyzed so many hundreds of photoplay films, merely for recreation, and the same style of composition is in both. any child who reads one can read the other. but of course the literal translation must be there at hand to correct all wrong guesses. i figure that in just one thousand years i can read hieroglyphics without a pony. but meanwhile, i tour museums and i ride pharaoh's "horse," and suggest to all photoplay enthusiasts they do the same. i recommend these two books most heartily: elementary egyptian grammar, by margaret a. murray, london, bernard quaritch, grafton street, bond street, w., and the three volumes of the book of the dead, which are, indeed, the papyrus of ani, referred to in this chapter, pages - . it is edited, translated, and reproduced in fac-simile by the keeper of the egyptian and assyrian antiquities in the british museum, professor e.a. wallis budge; published by g.p. putnam's sons, new york, and philip lee warner, london. this book is certainly the greatest motion picture i ever attended. i have gone through it several times, and it is the only book one can read twelve hours at a stretch, on the pullman, when he is making thirty-six hour and forty-eight hour jumps from town to town. american civilization grows more hieroglyphic every day. the cartoons of darling, the advertisements in the back of the magazines and on the bill-boards and in the street-cars, the acres of photographs in the sunday newspapers, make us into a hieroglyphic civilization far nearer to egypt than to england. let us then accept for our classic land, for our standard of form, the country naturally our own. hieroglyphics are so much nearer to the american mood than the rest of the egyptian legacy, that americans seldom get as far as the hieroglyphics to discover how congenial they are. seeing the mummies, good americans flee. but there is not a man in america writing advertisements or making cartoons or films but would find delightful the standard books of hieroglyphics sent out by the british museum, once he gave them a chance. they represent that very aspect of visual life which europe understands so little in america, and which has been expanding so enormously even the last year. hallowe'en, for instance, lasts a whole week now, with mummers on the streets every night, october - . chapter xx--the prophet-wizard. who do we mean by the prophet-wizard? we mean not only artists, such as are named in this chapter, but dreamers and workers like johnny appleseed, or abraham lincoln. the best account of johnny appleseed is in harper's monthly for november, . people do not know abraham lincoln till they have visited the grave of anne rutledge, at petersburg, illinois, then new old salem a mile away. new old salem is a prophet's hill, on the edge of the sangamon, with lovely woods all around. here a brooding soul could be born, and here the dreamer abraham lincoln spent his real youth. i do not call him a dreamer in a cheap and sentimental effort to describe a man of aspiration. lincoln told and interpreted his visions like joseph and daniel in the old testament, revealing them to the members of his cabinet, in great trials of the civil war. people who do not see visions and dream dreams in the good old testament sense have no right to leadership in america. i would prefer photoplays filled with such visions and oracles to the state papers written by "practical men." as it is, we are ruled indirectly by photoplays owned and controlled by men who should be in the shoe-string and hook-and-eye trade. apparently their digestions are good, they are in excellent health, and they keep out of jail. chapter xxi--the acceptable year of the lord. if i may be pardoned for referring again to the same book, i assumed, in the golden book of springfield, illinois, that the acceptable year of the lord would come for my city beginning november , , and that up to that time, amid much of joy, there would also be much of thwarting and tribulation. but in the beginning of that mystic november, the soul of my city, named avanel, would become as much a part of the city as pallas athena was athens, and indeed i wrote into the book much of the spirit of the photoplay outlined, pages through . but in the golden book i changed the lady the city worshipped from a golden image into a living, breathing young girl, descendant of that great american, daniel boone, and her name, obviously, avanel boone. with her tribe she incarnates all the mystic ideals of the boones of kentucky. all this but a prelude to saying that i have just passed through the city of santa fe, new mexico. it is a santa fe full of the glory of the new architecture of which i have spoken, and the issuing of a book of cowboy songs collected, and many of them written, by n. howard thorp, a citizen of santa fe, and thrilling with the issuing of a book of poems about the glory of new mexico. this book is called red earth. it is by alice corbin henderson. and santa fe is full of the glory of a magnificent state capitol that is an art gallery of the whole southwest, and the glories of the studio of william penhallow henderson, who has painted our new arabia more splendidly than it was ever painted before, with the real character thereof, and no theatricals. this is just the kind of a town i hoped for when i wrote my first draft of the art of the moving picture. here now is literature and art. when they become one art as of old in egypt, we will have new mexico hieroglyphics from the hendersons and their kind, and their surrounding indian pupils, a basis for the american motion picture more acceptable, and more patriotic, and more organic for us than the egyptian. and i come the same month to denver, and find a new art museum projected, which i hope has much indeed to do with the acceptable year of the lord, when films as vital as the santa fe songs and pictures and architecture can be made, and in common spirit with them, in this new arabia. george w. eggers, the director of the newly projected denver art museum, assures me that a photoplay policy can be formulated, amid the problems of such an all around undertaking as building a great art museum in denver. he expects to give the photoplay the attention a new art deserves, especially when it affects almost every person in the whole country. so i prophesy denver to be the museum and art-school capital of new arabia, as santa fe is the artistic, architectural, and song capital at this hour. and i hope it may become the motion picture capital of america from the standpoint of pure art, not manufacture. what do i mean by new arabia? when i was in london in the fall of the editor of the landmark, the organ of the english speaking union, asked me to draw my map of the united states. i marked out the various regions under various names. for instance i called the coast states, washington, oregon, and california, new italy. the reasons may be found in the chapter in this book on california. then i named the states just west of the middle west, and east of new italy, new arabia. these states are new mexico, arizona, utah, colorado, wyoming, idaho, and montana. these are the states which carry the rocky mountains north toward the aurora borealis, and south toward the tropics. here individualism, andrew jacksonism, will forever prevail, and american standardization can never prevail. in cabins that cannot be reached by automobile and deserts that cannot be crossed by boulevards, the john the baptists, the hermits and the prophets can strengthen their souls. here are lonely places as sweet for the spirit as was little old new salem, illinois, one hundred years ago, or the wilderness in which walked johnny appleseed. now it is the independence of spirit of this new arabia that i hope the denver art museum can interpret in its photoplay films, and send them on circuits to the art museums springing up all over america, where sculpture, architecture, and painting are now constantly sent on circuit. let that already established convention--the "circuit-exhibition"--be applied to this new art. and after denver has shown the way, i devoutly hope that great city of los angeles may follow her example. consider, o great city of los angeles, now almost the equal of new york in power and splendor, consider what it would do for the souls of all your film artists if you projected just such a museum as denver is now projecting. your fate is coming toward you. denver is halfway between chicago, with the greatest art institute in the country, and los angeles, the natural capital of the photoplay. the art museums of america should rule the universities, and the photoplay studios as well. in the art museums should be set the final standards of civic life, rather than in any musty libraries or routine classrooms. and the great weapon of the art museums of all the land should be the hieroglyphic of the future, the truly artistic photoplay. and now for book two, at length. it is a detailed analysis of the films, first proclaimed in , and never challenged or overthrown, and, for the most part, accepted intact by the photoplay people, and the critics and the theorists, as well. book ii--the unchallenged outline of photoplay critical method chapter i the point of view while there is a great deal of literary reference in all the following argument, i realize, looking back over many attempts to paraphrase it for various audiences, that its appeal is to those who spend the best part of their student life in classifying, and judging, and producing works of sculpture, painting, and architecture. i find the eyes of all others wandering when i make talks upon the plastic artist's point of view. this book tries to find that fourth dimension of architecture, painting, and sculpture, which is the human soul in action, that arrow with wings which is the flash of fire from the film, or the heart of man, or pygmalion's image, when it becomes a woman. the edition was used by victor o. freeburg as one of the text-books in the columbia university school of journalism, in his classes in photoplay writing. i was invited several times to address those classes on my yearly visits to new york. i have addressed many other academic classes, the invitation being based on this book. now i realize that those who approach the theory from the general university standpoint, or from the history of the drama, had best begin with freeburg's book, for he is not only learned in both matters, but presents the special analogies with skill. freeburg has an excellent education in the history of music, and some of the happiest passages in his work relate the photoplay to the musical theory of the world, as my book relates it to the general art museum point of view of the world. emphatically, my book belongs in the art institutes as a beginning, or in such religious and civic bodies as think architecturally. from there it must work its way out. of course those bodies touch on a thousand others. the work is being used as one basis of the campaign for the new denver art museum, and i like to tell the story of how george w. eggers of denver first began to apply the book when the director of the art institute, chicago, that it may not seem to the merely university type of mind a work of lost abstractions. one of the most gratifying recognitions i ever received was the invitation to talk on the films in fullerton hall, chicago art institute. then there came invitations to speak at chicago university, and before the fortnightly club, chicago, all around - . one difficulty was getting the film to _prove_ my case from out the commercial whirl. i talked at these three and other places, but hardly knew how to go about crossing the commercial bridge. at last, with the cooperation of director eggers, we staged, in the sacred precincts of fullerton hall, mae marsh in the wild girl of the sierras. the film was in battered condition, and was turned so fast i could not talk with it satisfactorily and fulfil the well-known principles of chapter fourteen. but at least i had converted one art institute director to the idea that an ex-student of the institute could not only write a book about painting-in-motion, but the painting could be shown in an art museum as promise of greater things in this world. it took a deal of will and breaking of precedent, on the part of all concerned, to show this film, the wild girl of the sierras, and i retired from the field a long time. but now this same eggers is starting, in denver, an art museum from its very foundations, but on the same constructive scale. so this enterprise, in my fond and fatuous fancy, is associated with the sweet mae marsh as the wild girl of the sierras--one of the loveliest bits of poetry ever put into screen or fable. for about one year, off and on, i had the honor to be the photoplay critic of the new republic, this invitation also based on the first edition of this book. looking back upon that experience i am delighted to affirm that not only the new republic constituency but the world of the college and the university where i moved at that time, while at loss for a policy, were not only willing but eager to take the films with seriousness. but when i was through with all these dashes into the field, and went back to reciting verses again, no one had given me any light as to who should make the disinterested, non-commercial film for these immediate times, the film that would class, in our civilization, with the new republic or the atlantic monthly or the poems of edwin arlington robinson. that is, the production not for the trade, but for the soul. anita loos, that good crusader, came out several years ago with the flaming announcement that there was now hope, since a school of films had been heavily endowed for the university of rochester. the school was to be largely devoted to producing music for the photoplay, in defiance of chapter fourteen. but incidentally there were to be motion pictures made to fit good music. neither music nor films have as yet shaken the world. i liked this rochester idea. i felt that once it was started the films would take their proper place and dominate the project, disinterested non-commercial films to be classed with the dramas so well stimulated by the great drama department under professor baker of harvard. as i look back over this history i see that the printed page had counted too much, and the real forces of the visible arts in america had not been definitely enlisted. they should take the lead. i would suggest as the three people to interview first on building any art museum photoplay project: victor freeburg, with his long experience of teaching the subject in columbia, and john emerson and anita loos, who are as brainy as people dare to be and still remain in the department store film business. no three people would more welcome opportunities to outline the idealistic possibilities of this future art. and a well-known american painter was talking to me of a midnight scolding charlie chaplin gave to some los angeles producer, in a little restaurant, preaching the really beautiful film, and denouncing commerce like a member of coxey's illustrious army. and i have heard rumors from all sides that charlie chaplin has a soul. he is the comedian most often proclaimed an artist by the fastidious, and most often forgiven for his slapstick. he is praised for a kind of o. henry double meaning to his antics. he is said to be like one of o. henry's misquotations of the classics. he looks to me like that artist edgar poe, if poe had been obliged to make millions laugh. i do not like chaplin's work, but i have to admit the good intentions and the enviable laurels. let all the art museums invite him in, as tentative adviser, if not a chastened performer. let him be given as good a chance as mae marsh was given by eggers in fullerton hall. only let him come in person, not in film, till we hear him speak, and consider his suggestions, and make sure he has eaten of the mystic amaranth apples of johnny appleseed. chapter ii the photoplay of action let us assume, friendly reader, that it is eight o'clock in the evening when you make yourself comfortable in your den, to peruse this chapter. i want to tell you about the action film, the simplest, the type most often seen. in the mind of the habitué of the cheaper theatre it is the only sort in existence. it dominates the slums, is announced there by red and green posters of the melodrama sort, and retains its original elements, more deftly handled, in places more expensive. the story goes at the highest possible speed to be still credible. when it is a poor thing, which is the case too often, the st. vitus dance destroys the pleasure-value. the rhythmic quality of the picture-motions is twitched to death. in the bad photoplay even the picture of an express train more than exaggerates itself. yet when the photoplay chooses to behave it can reproduce a race far more joyously than the stage. on that fact is based the opportunity of this form. many action pictures are indoors, but the abstract theory of the action film is based on the out-of-door chase. you remember the first one you saw where the policeman pursues the comical tramp over hill and dale and across the town lots. you remember that other where the cowboy follows the horse thief across the desert, spies him at last and chases him faster, faster, faster, and faster, and finally catches him. if the film was made in the days before the national board of censorship, it ends with the cowboy cheerfully hanging the villain; all details given to the last kick of the deceased. one of the best action pictures is an old griffith biograph, recently reissued, the story entitled "man's genesis." in the time when cave-men-gorillas had no weapons, weak-hands (impersonated by robert harron) invents the stone club. he vanquishes his gorilla-like rival, brute-force (impersonated by wilfred lucas). strange but credible manners and customs of the cave-men are detailed. they live in picturesque caves. their half-monkey gestures are wonderful to see. but these things are beheld on the fly. it is the chronicle of a race between the brain of weak-hands and the body of the other, symbolized by the chasing of poor weak-hands in and out among the rocks until the climax. brain desperately triumphs. weak-hands slays brute-force with the startling invention. he wins back his stolen bride, lily-white (impersonated by mae marsh). it is a griffith masterpiece, and every actor does sound work. the audience, mechanical americans, fond of crawling on their stomachs to tinker their automobiles, are eager over the evolution of the first weapon from a stick to a hammer. they are as full of curiosity as they could well be over the history of langley or the wright brothers. the dire perils of the motion pictures provoke the ingenuity of the audience, not their passionate sympathy. when, in the minds of the deluded producers, the beholders should be weeping or sighing with desire, they are prophesying the next step to one another in worldly george ade slang. this is illustrated in another good action photoplay: the dramatization of the spoilers. the original novel was written by rex beach. the gallant william farnum as glenister dominates the play. he has excellent support. their team-work makes them worthy of chronicle: thomas santschi as mcnamara, kathlyn williams as cherry malotte, bessie eyton as helen chester, frank clark as dextry, wheeler oakman as bronco kid, and jack mcdonald as slapjack. there are, in the spoilers, inspiriting ocean scenes and mountain views. there are interesting sketches of mining-camp manners and customs. there is a well-acted love-interest in it, and the element of the comradeship of loyal pals. but the chase rushes past these things to the climax, as in a policeman picture it whirls past blossoming gardens and front lawns till the tramp is arrested. the difficulties are commented on by the people in the audience as rah-rah boys on the side lines comment on hurdles cleared or knocked over by the men running in college field-day. the sudden cut-backs into side branches of the story are but hurdles also, not plot complications in the stage sense. this is as it should be. the pursuit progresses without st. vitus dance or hysteria to the end of the film. there the spoilers are discomfited, the gold mine is recaptured, the incidental girls are won, in a flash, by the rightful owners. these shows work like the express elevators in the metropolitan tower. the ideal is the maximum of speed in descending or ascending, not to be jolted into insensibility. there are two girl parts as beautifully thought out as the parts of ladies in love can be expected to be in action films. but in the end the love is not much more romantic in the eye of the spectator than it would be to behold a man on a motorcycle with the girl of his choice riding on the same machine behind him. and the highest type of action picture romance is not attained by having juliet triumph over the motorcycle handicap. it is not achieved by weaving in a sherlock holmes plot. action picture romance comes when each hurdle is a tableau, when there is indeed an art-gallery-beauty in each one of these swift glimpses: when it is a race, but with a proper and golden-linked grace from action to action, and the goal is the most beautiful glimpse in the whole reel. in the action picture there is no adequate means for the development of any full grown personal passion. the distinguished character-study that makes genuine the personal emotions in the legitimate drama, has no chance. people are but types, swiftly moved chessmen. more elaborate discourse on this subject may be found in chapter twelve on the differences between the films and the stage. but here, briefly: the action pictures are falsely advertised as having heart-interest, or abounding in tragedy. but though the actors glower and wrestle and even if they are the most skilful lambasters in the profession, the audience gossips and chews gum. why does the audience keep coming to this type of photoplay if neither lust, love, hate, nor hunger is adequately conveyed? simply because such spectacles gratify the incipient or rampant speed-mania in every american. to make the elevator go faster than the one in the metropolitan tower is to destroy even this emotion. to elaborate unduly any of the agonies or seductions in the hope of arousing lust, love, hate, or hunger, is to produce on the screen a series of misplaced figures of the order frankenstein. how often we have been horrified by these galvanized and ogling corpses. these are the things that cause the outcry for more censors. it is not that our moral codes are insulted, but what is far worse, our nervous systems are temporarily racked to pieces. these wriggling half-dead men, these over-bloody burglars, are public nuisances, no worse and no better than dead cats being hurled about by street urchins. the cry for more censors is but the cry for the man with the broom. sometimes it is a matter as simple as when a child is scratching with a pin on a slate. while one would not have the child locked up by the chief of police, after five minutes of it almost every one wants to smack him till his little jaws ache. it is the very cold-bloodedness of the proceeding that ruins our kindness of heart. and the best action film is impersonal and unsympathetic even if it has no scratching pins. because it is cold-blooded it must take extra pains to be tactful. cold-blooded means that the hero as we see him on the screen is a variety of amiable or violent ghost. nothing makes his lack of human charm plainer than when we as audience enter the theatre at the middle of what purports to be the most passionate of scenes when the goal of the chase is unknown to us and the alleged "situation" appeals on its magnetic merits. here is neither the psychic telepathy of forbes robertson's cæsar, nor the fire-breath of e.h. sothern's don quixote. the audience is not worked up into the deadly still mob-unity of the speaking theatre. we late comers wait for the whole reel to start over and the goal to be indicated in the preliminary, before we can get the least bit wrought up. the prize may be a lady's heart, the restoration of a lost reputation, or the ownership of the patent for a churn. in the more effective action plays it is often what would be secondary on the stage, the recovery of a certain glove, spade, bull-calf, or rock-quarry. and to begin, we are shown a clean-cut picture of said glove, spade, bull-calf, or rock-quarry. then when these disappear from ownership or sight, the suspense continues till they are again visible on the screen in the hands of the rightful owner. in brief, the actors hurry through what would be tremendous passions on the stage to recover something that can be really photographed. for instance, there came to our town long ago a film of a fight between federals and confederates, with the loss of many lives, all for the recapture of a steam-engine that took on more personality in the end than private or general on either side, alive or dead. it was based on the history of the very engine photographed, or else that engine was given in replica. the old locomotive was full of character and humor amidst the tragedy, leaking steam at every orifice. the original is in one of the southern civil war museums. this engine in its capacity as a principal actor is going to be referred to more than several times in this work. the highest type of action picture gives us neither the quality of macbeth or henry fifth, the comedy of errors, or the taming of the shrew. it gives us rather that fine and special quality that was in the ink-bottle of robert louis stevenson, that brought about the limitations and the nobility of the stories of kidnapped, treasure island, and the new arabian nights. this discussion will be resumed on another plane in the eighth chapter: sculpture-in-motion. having read thus far, why not close the book and go round the corner to a photoplay theatre? give the preference to the cheapest one. _the action picture will be inevitable. since this chapter was written, charlie chaplin and douglas fairbanks have given complete department store examples of the method, especially chaplin in the brilliantly constructed shoulder arms, and fairbanks in his one great piece of acting, in the three musketeers_. chapter iii the intimate photoplay let us take for our platform this sentence: the motion picture art is a great high art, not a process of commercial manufacture. the people i hope to convince of this are ( ) the great art museums of america, including the people who support them in any way, the people who give the current exhibitions there or attend them, the art school students in the corridors below coming on in the same field; ( ) the departments of english, of the history of the drama, of the practice of the drama, and the history and practice of "art" in that amazingly long list of our colleges and universities--to be found, for instance, in the world almanac; ( ) the critical and literary world generally. somewhere in this enormous field, piled with endowments mountain high, it should be possible to establish the theory and practice of the photoplay as a fine art. readers who do not care for the history of any art, readers who have neither curiosity nor aspiration in regard to any of the ten or eleven muses who now dance around apollo, such shabby readers had best lay the book down now. shabby readers do not like great issues. my poor little sermon is concerned with a great issue, the clearing of the way for a critical standard, whereby the ultimate photoplay may be judged. i cannot teach office-boys ways to make "quick money" in the "movies." that seems to be the delicately implied purpose of the mass of books on the photoplay subject. they are, indeed, a sickening array. freeburg's book is one of the noble exceptions. and i have paid tribute elsewhere to john emerson and anita loos. they have written a crusading book, and many crusading articles. after five years of exceedingly lonely art study, in which i had always specialized in museum exhibits, prowling around like a lost dog, i began to intensify my museum study, and at the same time shout about what i was discovering. from nineteen hundred and five on i did orate my opinions to a group of advanced students. we assembled weekly for several winters in the metropolitan museum, new york, for the discussion of the masterpieces in historic order, from egypt to america. from that standpoint, the work least often found, hardest to make, least popular in the street, may be in the end the one most treasured in a world-museum as a counsellor and stimulus of mankind. throughout this book i try to bring to bear the same simple standards of form, composition, mood, and motive that we used in finding the fundamental exhibits; the standards which are taken for granted in art histories and schools, radical or conservative, anywhere. again we assume it is eight o'clock in the evening, friend reader, when the chapter begins. just as the action picture has its photographic basis or fundamental metaphor in the long chase down the highway, so the intimate film has its photographic basis in the fact that any photoplay interior has a very small ground plan, and the cosiest of enclosing walls. many a worth-while scene is acted out in a space no bigger than that which is occupied by an office boy's stool and hat. if there is a table in this room, it is often so near it is half out of the picture or perhaps it is against the front line of the triangular ground-plan. only the top of the table is seen, and nothing close up to us is pictured below that. we in the audience are privileged characters. generally attending the show in bunches of two or three, we are members of the household on the screen. sometimes we are sitting on the near side of the family board. or we are gossiping whispering neighbors, of the shoemaker, we will say, with our noses pressed against the pane of a metaphoric window. take for contrast the old-fashioned stage production showing the room and work table of a shoemaker. as it were the whole side of the house has been removed. the shop is as big as a banquet hall. there is something essentially false in what we see, no matter how the stage manager fills in with old boxes, broken chairs, and the like. but the photoplay interior is the size such a work-room should be. and there the awl and pegs and bits of leather, speaking the silent language of picture writing, can be clearly shown. they are sometimes like the engine in chapter two, the principal actors. though the intimate-and-friendly photoplay may be carried out of doors to the row of loafers in front of the country store, or the gossiping streets of the village, it takes its origin and theory from the snugness of the interior. the restless reader replies that he has seen photoplays that showed ballrooms that were grandiose, not the least cosy. these are to be classed as out-of-door scenery so far as theory goes, and are to be discussed under the head of splendor pictures. masses of human beings pour by like waves, the personalities of none made plain. the only definite people are the hero and heroine in the foreground, and maybe one other. though these three be in ball-costume, the little triangle they occupy next to the camera is in sort an interior, while the impersonal guests behind them conform to the pageant principles of out-of-doors, and the dancers are to the main actor as is the wind-shaken forest to the charcoal-burner, or the bending grain to the reaper. the intimate motion picture is the world's new medium for studying, not the great passions, such as black hate, transcendent love, devouring ambition, but rather the half relaxed or gently restrained moods of human creatures. it gives also our idiosyncrasies. it is gossip _in extremis_. it is apt to chronicle our petty little skirmishes, rather than our feuds. in it colin clout and his comrades return. the intimate photoplay should not crowd its characters. it should not choke itself trying to dramatize the whole big bloody plot of lorna doone, or any other novel with a dozen leading people. yet some gentle episode from the john ridd farm, some half-chapter when lorna and the doones are almost forgotten, would be fitting. let the duck-yard be parading its best, and annie among the milk-pails, her work for the evening well nigh done. the vicar of wakefield has his place in this form. the intimate-and-friendly motion picture might very well give humorous moments in the lives of the great, king alfred burning the cakes, and other legendary incidents of him. plato's writings give us glimpses of socrates, in between the long dialogues. and there are intimate scraps in plutarch. prospective author-producer, do you remember landor's imaginary conversations, and lang's letters to dead authors? can you not attain to that informal understanding in pictorial delineations of such people? the photoplay has been unjust to itself in comedies. the late john bunny's important place in my memory comes from the first picture in which i saw him. it is a story of high life below stairs. the hero is the butler at a governor's reception. john bunny's work as this man is a delightful piece of acting. the servants are growing tipsier downstairs, but the more afraid of the chief functionary every time he appears, frozen into sobriety by his glance. at the last moment this god of the basement catches them at their worst and gives them a condescending but forgiving smile. the lid comes off completely. he himself has been imbibing. his surviving dignity in waiting on the governor's guests is worthy of the stage of goldsmith and sheridan. this film should be reissued in time as a bunny memorial. so far as my experience has gone, the best of the comedians is sidney drew. he could shine in the atmosphere of pride and prejudice or cranford. but the best things i have seen of his are far from such. i beg the pardon of miss jane austen and mrs. gaskell while i mention who's who in hogg's hollow, and a regiment of two. over these i rejoiced like a yokel with a pocketful of butterscotch and peanuts. the opportunities to laugh on a higher plane than this, to laugh like olympians, are seldom given us in this world. the most successful motion picture drama of the intimate type ever placed before mine eyes was enoch arden, produced by cabanne. lillian gish takes the part of annie, alfred paget impersonates enoch arden, and wallace reid takes the part of philip ray. the play is in four reels of twenty minutes each. it should have been made into three reels by shortening every scene just a bit. otherwise it is satisfying, and i and my friends have watched it through many times as it has returned to springfield. the mood of the original poem is approximated. the story is told with fireside friendliness. the pale lillian gish surrounded by happy children gives us many a genre painting on the theme of domesticity. it is a photographic rendering in many ways as fastidious as tennyson's versification. the scenes on the desert island are some of them commonplace. the shipwreck and the like remind one of other photoplays, but the rest of the production has a mood of its own. seen several months ago it fills my eye-imagination and eye-memory more than that particular piece of tennyson's fills word-imagination and word-memory. perhaps this is because it is pleasing to me as a theorist. it is a sound example of the type of film to which this chapter is devoted. if you cannot get your local manager to bring enoch arden, reread that poem of tennyson's and translate it in your own mind's eye into a gallery of six hundred delicately toned photographs hung in logical order, most of them cosy interior scenes, some of the faces five feet from chin to forehead in the more personal episodes, yet exquisitely fair. fill in the out-of-door scenes and general gatherings with the appointments of an idyllic english fisher-village, and you will get an approximate conception of what we mean by the intimate-and-friendly motion picture, or the intimate picture, as i generally call it, for convenience. it is a quality, not a defect, of all photoplays that human beings tend to become dolls and mechanisms, and dolls and mechanisms tend to become human. but the haughty, who scorn the moving pictures, cannot rid themselves of the feeling that they are being seduced into going into some sort of a punch-and-judy show. and they think that of course one should not take seriously anything so cheap in price and so appealing to the cross-roads taste. but it is very well to begin in the punch-and-judy-show state of mind, and reconcile ourselves to it, and then like good democrats await discoveries. punch and judy is the simplest form of marionette performance, and the marionette has a place in every street in history just as the dolls' house has its corner in every palace and cottage. the french in particular have had their great periods of puppet shows; and the italian tradition survived in america's little italy, in new york for many a day; and i will mention in passing that one of pavlowa's unforgettable dance dramas is the fairy doll. prospective author-producer, why not spend a deal of energy on the photoplay successors of the puppet-plays? we have the queen of the marionettes already, without the play. one description of the intimate-and-friendly comedy would be the mary pickford kind of a story. none has as yet appeared. but we know the mary pickford mood. when it is gentlest, most roguish, most exalted, it is a prophecy of what this type should be, not only in the actress, but in the scenario and setting. mary pickford can be a doll, a village belle, or a church angel. her powers as a doll are hinted at in the title of the production: such a little queen. i remember her when she was a village belle in that film that came out before producers or actors were known by name. it was sugar-sweet. it was called: what the daisy said. if these productions had conformed to their titles sincerely, with the highest photoplay art we would have had two more examples for this chapter. why do the people love mary? not on account of the daniel frohman style of handling her appearances. he presents her to us in what are almost the old-fashioned stage terms: the productions energetic and full of painstaking detail but dominated by a dream that is a theatrical hybrid. it is neither good moving picture nor good stage play. yet mary could be cast as a cloudy olympian or a church angel if her managers wanted her to be such. she herself was transfigured in the dawn of tomorrow, but the film-version of that play was merely a well mounted melodrama. why do the people love mary? because of a certain aspect of her face in her highest mood. botticelli painted her portrait many centuries ago when by some necromancy she appeared to him in this phase of herself. there is in the chicago art institute at the top of the stairs on the north wall a noble copy of a fresco by that painter, the copy by mrs. macmonnies. it is very near the winged victory of samothrace. in the picture the muses sit enthroned. the loveliest of them all is a startling replica of mary. the people are hungry for this fine and spiritual thing that botticelli painted in the faces of his muses and heavenly creatures. because the mob catch the very glimpse of it in mary's face, they follow her night after night in the films. they are never quite satisfied with the plays, because the managers are not artists enough to know they should sometimes put her into sacred pictures and not have her always the village hoyden, in plays not even hoydenish. but perhaps in this argument i have but betrayed myself as mary's infatuated partisan. so let there be recorded here the name of another actress who is always in the intimate-and-friendly mood and adapted to close-up interiors, marguerite clark. she is endowed by nature to act, in the same film, the eight-year-old village pet, the irrepressible sixteen-year-old, and finally the shining bride of twenty. but no production in which she acts that has happened to come under my eye has done justice to these possibilities. the transitions from one of these stages to the other are not marked by the producer with sufficient delicate graduation, emphasis, and contrast. her plots have been but sugared nonsense, or swashbuckling ups and downs. she shines in a bevy of girls. she has sometimes been given the bevy. but it is easier to find performers who fit this chapter, than to find films. having read so far, it is probably not quite nine o'clock in the evening. go around the corner to the nearest theatre. you will not be apt to find a pure example of the intimate-and-friendly moving picture, but some one or two scenes will make plain the intent of the phrase. imagine the most winsome tableau that passes before you, extended logically through one or three reels, with no melodramatic interruptions or awful smashes. for a further discussion of these smashes, and other items in this chapter, read the ninth chapter, entitled "painting-in-motion." chapter iv the motion picture of fairy splendor again, kind reader, let us assume it is eight o'clock in the evening, for purposes of future climax which you no doubt anticipate. just as the action motion picture has its photographic basis in the race down the high-road, just as the intimate motion picture has its photographic basis in the close-up interior scene, so the photoplay of splendor, in its four forms, is based on the fact that the kinetoscope can take in the most varied of out-of-door landscapes. it can reproduce fairy dells. it can give every ripple of the lily-pond. it can show us cathedrals within and without. it can take in the panorama of cyclopæan cloud, bending forest, storm-hung mountain. in like manner it can put on the screen great impersonal mobs of men. it can give us tremendous armies, moving as oceans move. the pictures of fairy splendor, crowd splendor, patriotic splendor, and religious splendor are but the embodiments of these backgrounds. and a photographic corollary quite useful in these four forms is that the camera has a kind of hallowe'en witch-power. this power is the subject of this chapter. the world-old legends and revelations of men in connection with the lovely out of doors, or lonely shrines, or derived from inspired crusading humanity moving in masses, can now be fitly retold. also the fairy wand can do its work, the little dryad can come from the tree. and the spirits that guard the republic can be seen walking on the clouds above the harvest-fields. but we are concerned with the humblest voodooism at present. perhaps the world's oldest motion picture plot is a tale in mother goose. it ends somewhat in this fashion:-- the old lady said to the cat:-- "cat, cat, kill rat. rat will not gnaw rope, rope will not hang butcher, butcher will not kill ox, ox will not drink water, water will not quench fire, fire will not burn stick, stick will not beat dog, dog will not bite pig, pig will not jump over the stile, and i cannot get home to-night." by some means the present writer does not remember, the cat was persuaded to approach the rat. the rest was like a tale of european diplomacy:-- the rat began to gnaw the rope, the rope began to hang the butcher, the butcher began to kill the ox, the ox began to drink the water, the water began to quench the fire, the fire began to burn the stick, the stick began to beat the dog, the dog began to bite the pig, the frightened little pig jumped over the stile, and the old lady was able to get home that night. put yourself back to the state of mind in which you enjoyed this bit of verse. though the photoplay fairy-tale may rise to exquisite heights, it begins with pictures akin to this rhyme. mankind in his childhood has always wanted his furniture to do such things. arthur names his blade excalibur. it becomes a person. the man in the arabian tale speaks to the magic carpet. it carries him whithersoever he desires. this yearning for personality in furniture begins to be crudely worked upon in the so-called trick-scenes. the typical commercialized comedy of this sort is moving day. lyman h. howe, among many excellent reels of a different kind, has films allied to moving day. but let us examine at this point, as even more typical, an old pathé film from france. the representatives of the moving-firm are sent for. they appear in the middle of the room with an astonishing jump. they are told that this household desires to have its goods and hearthstone gods transplanted two streets east. the agents salute. they disappear. yet their wireless orders are obeyed with a military crispness. the books and newspapers climb out of the window. they go soberly down the street. in their wake are the dishes from the table. then the more delicate porcelains climb down the shelves and follow. then follow the hobble-de-hoy kitchen dishes, then the chairs, then the clothing, and the carpets from over the house. the most joyous and curious spectacle is to behold the shoes walking down the boulevard, from father's large boots to those of the youngest child. they form a complete satire of the family, yet have a masterful air of their own, as though they were the most important part of a human being. the new apartment is shown. everything enters in procession. in contrast to the general certainty of the rest, one or two pieces of furniture grow confused trying to find their places. a plate, in leaping upon a high shelf, misses and falls broken. the broom and dustpan sweep up the pieces, and consign them to the dustbin. then the human family comes in, delighted to find everything in order. the moving agents appear and salute. they are paid their fee. they salute again and disappear with another gigantic leap. the ability to do this kind of a thing is fundamental in the destinies of the art. yet this resource is neglected because its special province is not understood. "people do not like to be tricked," the manager says. certainly they become tired of mere contraptions. but they never grow weary of imagination. there is possible many a highly imaginative fairy-tale on this basis if we revert to the sound principles of the story of the old lady and the pig. moving day is at present too crassly material. it has not the touch of the creative imagination. we are overwhelmed with a whole van of furniture. now the mechanical or non-human object, beginning with the engine in the second chapter, is apt to be the hero in most any sort of photoplay while the producer remains utterly unconscious of the fact. why not face this idiosyncrasy of the camera and make the non-human object the hero indeed? not by filling the story with ropes, buckets, fire-brands, and sticks, but by having these four unique. make the fire the loveliest of torches, the water the most graceful of springs. let the rope be the humorist. let the stick be the outstanding hero, the d'artagnan of the group, full of queer gestures and hoppings about. let him be both polite and obdurate. finally let him beat the dog most heroically. * * * * * then, after the purely trick-picture is disciplined till it has fewer tricks, and those more human and yet more fanciful, the producer can move on up into the higher realms of the fairy-tale, carrying with him this riper workmanship. mabel taliaferro's cinderella, seen long ago, is the best film fairy-tale the present writer remembers. it has more of the fireside wonder-spirit and hallowe'en-witch-spirit than the cinderella of mary pickford. there is a japanese actor, sessue hayakawa, who takes the leading part with blanche sweet in the clew, and is the hero in the film version of the typhoon. he looks like all the actors in the old japanese prints. he has a general dramatic equipment which enables him to force through the stubborn screen such stagy plays as these, that are more worth while in the speaking theatre. but he has that atmosphere of pictorial romance which would make him a valuable man for the retelling of the old japanese legends of kwannon and other tales that are rich, unused moving picture material, tales such as have been hinted at in the gleaming english of lafcadio hearn. the japanese genius is eminently pictorial. rightly viewed, every japanese screen or bit of lacquer is from the ancient asia columbus set sail to find. it would be a noble thing if american experts in the japanese principles of decoration, of the school of arthur w. dow, should tell stories of old japan with the assistance of such men as sessue hayakawa. such things go further than peace treaties. dooming a talent like that of mr. hayakawa to the task of interpreting the japanese spy does not conduce to accord with japan, however the technique may move us to admiration. let such of us as are at peace get together, and tell the tales of our happy childhood to one another. this chapter is ended. you will of course expect to be exhorted to visit some photoplay emporium. but you need not look for fairy-tales. they are much harder to find than they should be. but you can observe even in the advertisements and cartoons the technical elements of the story of the old lady and the pig. and you can note several other things that show how much more quickly than on the stage the borderline of all saints' day and hallowe'en can be crossed. note how easily memories are called up, and appear in the midst of the room. in any plays whatever, you will find these apparitions and recollections. the dullest hero is given glorious visualizing power. note the "fadeaway" at the beginning and the end of the reel, whereby all things emerge from the twilight and sink back into the twilight at last. these are some of the indestructible least common denominators of folk stories old and new. when skilfully used, they can all exercise a power over the audience, such as the crystal has over the crystal-gazer. but this discussion will be resumed, on another plane, in the tenth chapter: "furniture, trappings, and inventions in motion." chapter v the picture of crowd splendor henceforth the reader will use his discretion as to when he will read the chapter and when he will go to the picture show to verify it. the shoddiest silent drama may contain noble views of the sea. this part is almost sure to be good. it is a fundamental resource. a special development of this aptitude in the hands of an expert gives the sea of humanity, not metaphorically but literally: the whirling of dancers in ballrooms, handkerchief-waving masses of people in balconies, hat-waving political ratification meetings, ragged glowering strikers, and gossiping, dickering people in the marketplace. only griffith and his close disciples can do these as well as almost any manager can reproduce the ocean. yet the sea of humanity is dramatically blood-brother to the pacific, atlantic, or mediterranean. it takes this new invention, the kinetoscope, to bring us these panoramic drama-elements. by the law of compensation, while the motion picture is shallow in showing private passion, it is powerful in conveying the passions of masses of men. bernard shaw, in a recent number of the metropolitan, answered several questions in regard to the photoplay. here are two bits from his discourse:-- "strike the dialogue from molière's tartuffe, and what audience would bear its mere stage-business? imagine the scene in which iago poisons othello's mind against desdemona, conveyed in dumb show. what becomes of the difference between shakespeare and sheridan knowles in the film? or between shakespeare's lear and any one else's lear? no, it seems to me that all the interest lies in the new opening for the mass of dramatic talent formerly disabled by incidental deficiencies of one sort or another that do not matter in the picture-theatre...." "failures of the spoken drama may become the stars of the picture palace. and there are the authors with imagination, visualization and first-rate verbal gifts who can write novels and epics, but cannot for the life of them write plays. well, the film lends itself admirably to the succession of events proper to narrative and epic, but physically impracticable on the stage. paradise lost would make a far better film than ibsen's john gabriel borkman, though borkman is a dramatic masterpiece, and milton could not write an effective play." note in especial what shaw says about narrative, epic, and paradise lost. he has in mind, no doubt, the pouring hosts of demons and angels. this is one kind of a crowd picture. there is another sort to be seen where george beban impersonates the italian in a film of that title, by thomas h. ince and g. gardener sullivan. the first part, taken ostensibly in venice, delineates the festival spirit of the people on the bridges and in gondolas. it gives out the atmosphere of town-crowd happiness. then comes the vineyard, the crowd sentiment of a merry grape-harvest, then the massed emotion of many people embarking on an atlantic liner telling good-by to their kindred on the piers, then the drama of arrival in new york. the wonder of the steerage people pouring down their proper gangway is contrasted with the conventional at-home-ness of the first-class passengers above. then we behold the seething human cauldron of the east side, then the jolly little wedding-dance, then the life of the east side, from the policeman to the peanut-man, and including the bar tender, for the crowd is treated on two separate occasions. it is hot weather. the mobs of children follow the ice-wagon for chips of ice. they besiege the fountain-end of the street-sprinkling wagon quite closely, rejoicing to have their clothes soaked. they gather round the fire-plug that is turned on for their benefit, and again become wet as drowned rats. passing through these crowds are george beban and clara williams as the italian and his sweetheart. they owe the force of their acting to the fact that they express each mass of humanity in turn. their child is born. it does not flourish. it represents in an acuter way another phase of the same child-struggle with the heat that the gamins indicate in their pursuit of the water-cart. then a deeper matter. the hero represents in a fashion the adventures of the whole italian race coming to america: its natural southern gayety set in contrast to the drab east side. the gondolier becomes boot-black. the grape-gathering peasant girl becomes the suffering slum mother. they are not specialized characters like pendennis or becky sharp in the novels of thackeray. omitting the last episode, the entrance into the house of corrigan, the italian is a strong piece of work. another kind of crowd picture is the battle, an old griffith biograph, first issued in , before griffith's name or that of any actor in films was advertised. blanche sweet is the leading lady, and charles h. west the leading man. the psychology of a bevy of village lovers is conveyed in a lively sweet-hearting dance. then the boy and his comrades go forth to war. the lines pass between hand-waving crowds of friends from the entire neighborhood. these friends give the sense of patriotism in mass. then as the consequence of this feeling, as the special agents to express it, the soldiers are in battle. by the fortunes of war the onset is unexpectedly near to the house where once was the dance. the boy is at first a coward. he enters the old familiar door. he appeals to the girl to hide him, and for the time breaks her heart. he goes forth a fugitive not only from battle, but from her terrible girlish anger. but later he rallies. he brings a train of powder wagons through fires built in his path by the enemy's scouts. he loses every one of his men, and all but the last wagon, which he drives himself. his return with that ammunition saves the hard-fought day. and through all this, glimpses of the battle are given with a splendor that only griffith has attained. blanche sweet stands as the representative of the bevy of girls in the house of the dance, and the whole body social of the village. how the costumes flash and the handkerchiefs wave around her! in the battle the hero represents the cowardice that all the men are resisting within themselves. when he returns, he is the incarnation of the hardihood they have all hoped to display. only the girl knows he was first a failure. the wounded general honors him as the hero above all. now she is radiant, she cannot help but be triumphant, though the side of the house is blown out by a shell and the dying are everywhere. this one-reel work of art has been reissued of late by the biograph company. it should be kept in the libraries of the universities as a standard. one-reel films are unfortunate in this sense that in order to see a favorite the student must wait through five other reels of a mixed programme that usually is bad. that is the reason one-reel masterpieces seldom appear now. the producer in a mood to make a special effort wants to feel that he has the entire evening, and that nothing before or after is going to be a bore or destroy the impression. so at present the painstaking films are apt to be five or six reels of twenty minutes each. these have the advantage that if they please at all, one can see them again at once without sitting through irrelevant slapstick work put there to fill out the time. but now, having the whole evening to work in, the producer takes too much time for his good ideas. i shall reiterate throughout this work the necessity for restraint. a one hour programme is long enough for any one. if the observer is pleased, he will sit it through again and take another hour. there is not a good film in the world but is the better for being seen in immediate succession to itself. six-reel programmes are a weariness to the flesh. the best of the old one-reel biographs of griffith contained more in twenty minutes than these ambitious incontinent six-reel displays give us in two hours. it would pay a manager to hang out a sign: "this show is only twenty minutes long, but it is griffith's great film 'the battle.'" but i am digressing. to continue the contrast between private passion in the theatre and crowd-passion in the photoplay, let us turn to shaw again. consider his illustration of iago, othello, and lear. these parts, as he implies, would fall flat in motion pictures. the minor situations of dramatic intensity might in many cases be built up. the crisis would inevitably fail. iago and othello and lear, whatever their offices in their governments, are essentially private persons, individuals _in extremis_. if you go to a motion picture and feel yourself suddenly gripped by the highest dramatic tension, as on the old stage, and reflect afterward that it was a fight between only two or three men in a room otherwise empty, stop to analyze what they stood for. they were probably representatives of groups or races that had been pursuing each other earlier in the film. otherwise the conflict, however violent, appealed mainly to the sense of speed. so, in the birth of a nation, which could better be called the overthrow of negro rule, the ku klux klan dashes down the road as powerfully as niagara pours over the cliff. finally the white girl elsie stoneman (impersonated by lillian gish) is rescued by the ku klux klan from the mulatto politician, silas lynch (impersonated by george seigmann). the lady is brought forward as a typical helpless white maiden. the white leader, col. ben cameron (impersonated by henry b. walthall), enters not as an individual, but as representing the whole anglo-saxon niagara. he has the mask of the ku klux klan on his face till the crisis has passed. the wrath of the southerner against the blacks and their northern organizers has been piled up through many previous scenes. as a result this rescue is a real climax, something the photoplays that trace strictly personal hatreds cannot achieve. the birth of a nation is a crowd picture in a triple sense. on the films, as in the audience, it turns the crowd into a mob that is either for or against the reverend thomas dixon's poisonous hatred of the negro. griffith is a chameleon in interpreting his authors. wherever the scenario shows traces of the clansman, the original book, by thomas dixon, it is bad. wherever it is unadulterated griffith, which is half the time, it is good. the reverend thomas dixon is a rather stagy simon legree: in his avowed views a deal like the gentleman with the spiritual hydrophobia in the latter end of uncle tom's cabin. unconsciously mr. dixon has done his best to prove that legree was not a fictitious character. * * * * * joel chandler harris, harry stillwell edwards, george w. cable, thomas nelson page, james lane allen, and mark twain are southern men in mr. griffith's class. i recommend their works to him as a better basis for future southern scenarios. the birth of a nation has been very properly denounced for its simon legree qualities by francis hackett, jane addams, and others. but it is still true that it is a wonder in its griffith sections. in its handling of masses of men it further illustrates the principles that made notable the old one-reel battle film described in the beginning of this chapter. the battle in the end is greater, because of its self-possession and concentration: all packed into twenty minutes. when, in the birth of a nation, lincoln (impersonated by joseph henabery) goes down before the assassin, it is a master-scene. he falls as the representative of the government and a thousand high and noble crowd aspirations. the mimic audience in the restored ford's theatre rises in panic. this crowd is interpreted in especial for us by the two young people in the seats nearest, and the freezing horror of the treason sweeps from the ford's theatre audience to the real audience beyond them. the real crowd touched with terror beholds its natural face in the glass. later come the pictures of the rioting negroes in the streets of the southern town, mobs splendidly handled, tossing wildly and rhythmically like the sea. then is delineated the rise of the ku klux klan, of which we have already spoken. for comment on the musical accompaniment to the birth of a nation, read the fourteenth chapter entitled "the orchestra, conversation and the censorship." in the future development of motion pictures mob-movements of anger and joy will go through fanatical and provincial whirlwinds into great national movements of anger and joy. a book by gerald stanley lee that has a score of future scenarios in it, a book that might well be dipped into by the reader before he goes to such a play as the italian or the battle, is the work which bears the title of this chapter: "crowds." mr. lee is far from infallible in his remedies for factory and industrial relations. but in sensitiveness to the flowing street of humanity he is indeed a man. listen to the names of some of the divisions of his book: "crowds and machines; letting the crowds be good; letting the crowds be beautiful; crowds and heroes; where are we going? the crowd scare; the strike, an invention for making crowds think; the crowd's imagination about people; speaking as one of the crowd; touching the imagination of crowds." films in the spirit of these titles would help to make world-voters of us all. the world state is indeed far away. but as we peer into the mirror screen some of us dare to look forward to the time when the pouring streets of men will become sacred in each other's eyes, in pictures and in fact. a further discussion of this theme on other planes will be found in the eleventh chapter, entitled "architecture-in-motion," and the fifteenth chapter, entitled "the substitute for the saloon." chapter vi patriotic splendor the patriotic picture need not necessarily be in terms of splendor. it generally is. beginning the chronicle is one that waves no banners. the typhoon, a film produced by thomas h. ince, is a story of the japanese love of nippon in which a very little of the landscape of the nation is shown, and that in the beginning. the hero (acted by sessue hayakawa), living in the heart of paris, represents the far-off empire. he is making a secret military report. he is a responsible member of a colony of japanese gentlemen. the bevy of them appear before or after his every important action. he still represents this crowd when alone. the unfortunate parisian heroine, unable to fathom the mystery of the fanatical hearts of the colony, ventures to think that her love for the japanese hero and his equally great devotion to her is the important human relation on the horizon. she flouts his obscure work, pits her charms against it. in the end there is a quarrel. the irresistible meets the immovable, and in madness or half by accident, he kills the girl. the youth is protected by the colony, for he alone can make the report. he is the machine-like representative of the japanese patriotic formula, till the document is complete. a new arrival in the colony, who obviously cannot write the book, confesses the murder and is executed. the other high fanatic dies soon after, of a broken heart, with the completed manuscript volume in his hand. the one impression of the play is that japanese patriotism is a peculiar and fearful thing. the particular quality of the private romance is but vaguely given, for such things in their rise and culmination can only be traced by the novelist, or by the gentle alternations of silence and speech on the speaking stage, aided by the hot blood of players actually before us. here, as in most photoplays, the attempted lover-conversations in pantomime are but indifferent things. the details of the hero's last quarrel with the heroine and the precise thoughts that went with it are muffled by the inability to speak. the power of the play is in the adequate style the man represents the colony. sessue hayakawa should give us japanese tales more adapted to the films. we should have stories of iyeyasu and hideyoshi, written from the ground up for the photoplay theatre. we should have the story of the forty-seven ronin, not a japanese stage version, but a work from the source-material. we should have legends of the various clans, picturizations of the code of the samurai. the typhoon is largely indoors. but the patriotic motion picture is generally a landscape. this is for deeper reasons than that it requires large fields in which to manoeuvre armies. flags are shown for other causes than that they are the nominal signs of a love of the native land. in a comedy of the history of a newspaper, the very columns of the publication are actors, and may be photographed oftener than the human hero. and in the higher realms this same tendency gives particular power to the panorama and trappings. it makes the natural and artificial magnificence more than a narrative, more than a color-scheme, something other than a drama. in a photoplay by a master, when the american flag is shown, the thirteen stripes are columns of history and the stars are headlines. the woods and the templed hills are their printing press, almost in a literal sense. going back to the illustration of the engine, in chapter two, the non-human thing is a personality, even if it is not beautiful. when it takes on the ritual of decorative design, this new vitality is made seductive, and when it is an object of nature, this seductive ritual becomes a new pantheism. the armies upon the mountains they are defending are rooted in the soil like trees. they resist invasion with the same elementary stubbornness with which the oak resists the storm or the cliff resists the wave. * * * * * let the reader consider antony and cleopatra, the cines film. it was brought to america from italy by george klein. this and several ambitious spectacles like it are direct violations of the foregoing principles. true, it glorifies rome. it is equivalent to waving the italian above the egyptian flag, quite slowly for two hours. from the stage standpoint, the magnificence is thoroughgoing. viewed as a circus, the acting is elephantine in its grandeur. all that is needed is pink lemonade sold in the audience. the famous cabiria, a tale of war between rome and carthage, by d'annunzio, is a prime example of a success, where antony and cleopatra and many european films founded upon the classics have been failures. with obvious defects as a producer, d'annunzio appreciates spectacular symbolism. he has an instinct for the strange and the beautifully infernal, as they are related to decorative design. therefore he is able to show us carthage indeed. he has an italian patriotism that amounts to frenzy. so rome emerges body and soul from the past, in this spectacle. he gives us the cruelty of baal, the intrepidity of the roman legions. everything punic or italian in the middle distance or massed background speaks of the very genius of the people concerned and actively generates their kind of lightning. the principals do not carry out the momentum of this immense resource. the half a score of leading characters, with the costumes, gestures, and aspects of gods, are after all works of the taxidermist. they are stuffed gods. they conduct a silly nickelodeon romance while carthage rolls on toward her doom. they are like sparrows fighting for grain on the edge of the battle. the doings of his principals are sufficiently evident to be grasped with a word or two of printed insert on the films. but he sentimentalizes about them. he adds side-elaborations of the plot that would require much time to make clear, and a hard working novelist to make interesting. we are sentenced to stop and gaze long upon this array of printing in the darkness, just at the moment the tenth wave of glory seems ready to sweep in. but one hundred words cannot be a photoplay climax. the climax must be in a tableau that is to the eye as the rising sun itself, that follows the thousand flags of the dawn. in the new york performance, and presumably in other large cities, there was also an orchestra. behold then, one layer of great photoplay, one layer of bad melodrama, one layer of explanation, and a final cement of music. it is as though in an art museum there should be a man at the door selling would-be masterly short-stories about the paintings, and a man with a violin playing the catalogue. but for further discourse on the orchestra read the fourteenth chapter. i left cabiria with mixed emotions. and i had to forget the distressful eye-strain. few eyes submit without destruction to three hours of film. but the mistakes of cabiria are those of the pioneer work of genius. it has in it twenty great productions. it abounds in suggestions. once the classic rules of this art-unit are established, men with equal genius with d'annunzio and no more devotion, will give us the world's masterpieces. as it is, the background and mass-movements must stand as monumental achievements in vital patriotic splendor. d'annunzio is griffith's most inspired rival in these things. he lacks griffith's knowledge of what is photoplay and what is not. he lacks griffith's simplicity of hurdle-race plot. he lacks his avalanche-like action. the italian needs the american's health and clean winds. he needs his foregrounds, leading actors, and types of plot. but the american has never gone as deep as the italian into landscapes that are their own tragedians, and into satanic and celestial ceremonials. judith of bethulia and the battle hymn of the republic have impressed me as the two most significant photoplays i have ever encountered. they may be classed with equal justice as religious or patriotic productions. but for reasons which will appear, the battle hymn of the republic will be classed as a film of devotion and judith as a patriotic one. the latter was produced by d.w. griffith, and released by the biograph company in . the original stage drama was once played by the famous boston actress, nance o'neil. it is the work of thomas bailey aldrich. the motion picture scenario, when griffith had done with it, had no especial aldrich flavor, though it contained several of the characters and events as aldrich conceived them. it was principally the old apocryphal story plus the genius of griffith and that inner circle of players whom he has endowed with much of his point of view. this is his cast of characters:-- judith blanche sweet holofernes henry walthall his servant j.j. lance captain of the guards h. hyde judith's maid miss bruce general of the jews c.h. mailes priests messrs. oppleman and lestina nathan robert harron naomi mae marsh keeper of the slaves for holofernes alfred paget the jewish mother lillian gish the biograph company advertises the production with the following barnum and bailey enumeration: "in four parts. produced in california. most expensive biograph ever produced. more than one thousand people and about three hundred horsemen. the following were built expressly for the production: a replica of the ancient city of bethulia; the mammoth wall that protected bethulia; a faithful reproduction of the ancient army camps, embodying all their barbaric splendor and dances; chariots, battering rams, scaling ladders, archer towers, and other special war paraphernalia of the period. "the following spectacular effects: the storming of the walls of the city of bethulia; the hand-to-hand conflicts; the death-defying chariot charges at break-neck speed; the rearing and plunging horses infuriated by the din of battle; the wonderful camp of the terrible holofernes, equipped with rugs brought from the far east; the dancing girls in their exhibition of the exquisite and peculiar dances of the period; the routing of the command of the terrible holofernes, and the destruction of the camp by fire. and overshadowing all, the heroism of the beautiful judith." this advertisement should be compared with the notice of your girl and mine transcribed in the seventeenth chapter. but there is another point of view by which this judith of bethulia production may be approached, however striking the advertising notice. there are four sorts of scenes alternated: ( ) the particular history of judith; ( ) the gentle courtship of nathan and naomi, types of the inhabitants of bethulia; ( ) pictures of the streets, with the population flowing like a sluggish river; ( ) scenes of raid, camp, and battle, interpolated between these, tying the whole together. the real plot is the balanced alternation of all the elements. so many minutes of one, then so many minutes of another. as was proper, very little of the tale was thrown on the screen in reading matter, and no climax was ever a printed word, but always an enthralling tableau. the particular history of judith begins with the picture of her as the devout widow. she is austerely garbed, at prayer for her city, in her own quiet house. then later she is shown decked for the eyes of man in the camp of holofernes, where all is assyrian glory. judith struggles between her unexpected love for the dynamic general and the resolve to destroy him that brought her there. in either type of scene, the first gray and silver, the other painted with paul veronese splendor, judith moves with a delicate deliberation. over her face the emotions play like winds on a meadow lake. holofernes is the composite picture of all the biblical heathen chieftains. his every action breathes power. he is an assyrian bull, a winged lion, and a god at the same time, and divine honors are paid to him every moment. nathan and naomi are two arcadian lovers. in their shy meetings they express the life of the normal bethulia. they are seen among the reapers outside the city or at the well near the wall, or on the streets of the ancient town. they are generally doing the things the crowd behind them is doing, meanwhile evolving their own little heart affair. finally when the assyrian comes down like a wolf on the fold, the gentle naomi becomes a prisoner in holofernes' camp. she is in the foreground, a representative of the crowd of prisoners. nathan is photographed on the wall as the particular defender of the town in whom we are most interested. the pictures of the crowd's normal activities avoid jerkiness and haste. they do not abound in the boresome self-conscious quietude that some producers have substituted for the usual twitching. each actor in the assemblies has a refreshing equipment in gentle gesticulation; for the manners and customs of bethulia must needs be different from those of america. though the population moves together as a river, each citizen is quite preoccupied. to the furthest corner of the picture, they are egotistical as human beings. the elder goes by, in theological conversation with his friend. he thinks his theology is important. the mother goes by, all absorbed in her child. to her it is the only child in the world. alternated with these scenes is the terrible rush of the assyrian army, on to exploration, battle, and glory. the speed of their setting out becomes actual, because it is contrasted with the deliberation of the jewish town. at length the assyrians are along those hills and valleys and below the wall of defence. the population is on top of the battlements, beating them back the more desperately because they are separated from the water-supply, the wells in the fields where once the lovers met. in a lull in the siege, by a connivance of the elders, judith is let out of a little door in the wall. and while the fortune of her people is most desperate she is shown in the quiet shelter of the tent of holofernes. sinuous in grace, tranced, passionately in love, she has forgotten her peculiar task. she is in a sense bethulia itself, the race of israel made over into a woman, while holofernes is the embodiment of the besieging army. though in a quiet tent, and on the terms of love, it is the essential warfare of the hot assyrian blood and the pure and peculiar jewish thoroughbredness. blanche sweet as judith is indeed dignified and ensnaring, the more so because in her abandoned quarter of an hour the jewish sanctity does not leave her. and her aged woman attendant, coming in and out, sentinel and conscience, with austere face and lifted finger, symbolizes the fire of israel that shall yet awaken within her. when her love for her city and god finally becomes paramount, she shakes off the spell of the divine honors which she has followed all the camp in according to that living heathen deity holofernes, and by the very transfiguration of her figure and countenance we know that the deliverance of israel is at hand. she beheads the dark assyrian. soon she is back in the city, by way of the little gate by which she emerged. the elders receive her and her bloody trophy. the people who have been dying of thirst arise in a final whirlwind of courage. bereft of their military genius, the assyrians flee from the burning camp. naomi is delivered by her lover nathan. this act is taken by the audience as a type of the setting free of all the captives. then we have the final return of the citizens to their town. as for judith, hers is no crass triumph. she is shown in her gray and silvery room in her former widow's dress, but not the same woman. there is thwarted love in her face. the sword of sorrow is there. but there is also the prayer of thanksgiving. she goes forth. she is hailed as her city's deliverer. she stands among the nobles like a holy candle. providing the picture may be preserved in its original delicacy, it has every chance to retain a place in the affections of the wise, if a humble pioneer of criticism may speak his honest mind. though in this story the archaic flavor is well-preserved, the way the producer has pictured the population at peace, in battle, in despair, in victory gives me hope that he or men like unto him will illustrate the american patriotic crowd-prophecies. we must have whitmanesque scenarios, based on moods akin to that of the poem by blue ontario's shore. the possibility of showing the entire american population its own face in the mirror screen has at last come. whitman brought the idea of democracy to our sophisticated literati, but did not persuade the democracy itself to read his democratic poems. sooner or later the kinetoscope will do what he could not, bring the nobler side of the equality idea to the people who are so crassly equal. the photoplay penetrates in our land to the haunts of the wildest or the dullest. the isolated prospector rides twenty miles to see the same film that is displayed on broadway. there is not a civilized or half-civilized land but may read the whitmanesque message in time, if once it is put on the films with power. photoplay theatres are set up in ports where sailors revel, in heathen towns where gentlemen adventurers are willing to make one last throw with fate. on the other hand, as a recorder whitman approaches the wildest, rawest american material and conquers it, at the same time keeping his nerves in the state in which swinburne wrote only the song of secret bird, or lanier composed the ballad of trees and the master. j.w. alexander's portrait of whitman in the metropolitan museum, new york, is not too sophisticated. the out-of-door profoundness of this poet is far richer than one will realize unless he has just returned from some cross-country adventure afoot. then if one reads breathlessly by the page and the score of pages, there is a glory transcendent. for films of american patriotism to parallel the splendors of cabiria and judith of bethulia, and to excel them, let us have whitmanesque scenarios based on moods like that of by blue ontario's shore, the salute au monde, and the passage to india. then the people's message will reach the people at last. the average crowd picture will cling close to the streets that are, and the usual patriotic picture will but remind us of nationality as it is at present conceived and aflame, and the religious picture will for the most part be close to the standard orthodoxies. the final forms of these merge into each other, though they approach the heights by different avenues. we americans should look for the great photoplay of to-morrow, that will mark a decade or a century, that prophesies of the flags made one, the crowds in brotherhood. chapter vii religious splendor as far as the photoplay is concerned, religious emotion is a form of crowd-emotion. in the most conventional and rigid church sense this phase can be conveyed more adequately by the motion picture than by the stage. there is little, of course, for the anti-ritualist in the art-world anywhere. the thing that makes cathedrals real shrines in the eye of the reverent traveller makes them, with their religious processions and the like, impressive in splendor-films. for instance, i have long remembered the essentials of the film, the death of thomas becket. it may not compare in technique with some of our present moving picture achievements, but the idea must have been particularly adapted to the film medium. the story has stayed in my mind with great persistence, not only as a narrative, but as the first hint to me that orthodox religious feeling has here an undeveloped field. green tells the story in this way, in his history of the english people:-- "four knights of the king's court, stirred to outrage by a passionate outburst of their master's wrath, crossed the sea and on the twenty-ninth of december forced their way into the archbishop's palace. after a stormy parley with him in his chamber they withdrew to arm. thomas was hurried by his clerks into the cathedral, but as he reached the steps leading from the transept into the choir his pursuers burst in from the cloisters. 'where,' cried reginald fitzurse, 'is the traitor, thomas becket?' 'here am i, no traitor, but a priest of god,' he replied. and again descending the steps he placed himself with his back against a pillar and fronted his foes.... the brutal murder was received with a thrill of horror throughout christendom. miracles were wrought at the martyr's tomb, etc...." it is one of the few deaths in moving pictures that have given me the sense that i was watching a tragedy. most of them affect one, if they have any effect, like exhibits in an art gallery, as does josef israels' oil painting, alone in the world. we admire the technique, and as for emotion, we feel the picturesqueness only. but here the church procession, the robes, the candles, the vaulting overhead, the whole visualized cathedral mood has the power over the reverent eye it has in life, and a touch more. it is not a private citizen who is struck down. such a taking off would have been but nominally impressive, no matter how well acted. private deaths in the films, to put it another way, are but narrative statements. it is not easy to convey their spiritual significance. take, for instance, the death of john goderic, in the film version of gilbert parker's the seats of the mighty. the major leaves this world in the first third of the story. the photoplay use of his death is, that he may whisper in the ear of robert moray to keep certain letters of la pompadour well hidden. the fact that it is the desire of a dying man gives sharpness to his request. later in the story moray is hard-pressed by the villain for those same papers. then the scene of the death is flashed for an instant on the screen, representing the hero's memory of the event. it is as though he should recollect and renew a solemn oath. the documents are more important than john goderic. his departure is but one of their attributes. so it is in any film. there is no emotional stimulation in the final departure of a non-public character to bring tears, such tears as have been provoked by the novel or the stage over the death of sidney carton or faust's marguerite or the like. all this, to make sharper the fact that the murder of becket the archbishop is a climax. the great church and hierarchy are profaned. the audience feels the same thrill of horror that went through christendom. we understand why miracles were wrought at the martyr's tomb. in the motion pictures the entrance of a child into the world is a mere family episode, not a climax, when it is the history of private people. for instance, several little strangers come into the story of enoch arden. they add beauty, and are links in the chain of events. still they are only one of many elements of idyllic charm in the village of annie. something that in real life is less valuable than a child is the goal of each tiny tableau, some coming or departure or the like that affects the total plot. but let us imagine a production that would chronicle the promise to abraham, and the vision that came with it. let the film show the final gift of isaac to the aged sarah, even the boy who is the beginning of a race that shall be as the stars of heaven and the sands of the sea for multitude. this could be made a pageant of power and glory. the crowd-emotions, patriotic fires, and religious exaltations on which it turns could be given in noble procession and the tiny fellow on the pillow made the mystic centre of the whole. the story of the coming of samuel, the dedicated little prophet, might be told on similar terms. the real death in the photoplay is the ritualistic death, the real birth is the ritualistic birth, and the cathedral mood of the motion picture which goes with these and is close to these in many of its phases, is an inexhaustible resource. the film corporations fear religious questions, lest offence be given to this sect or that. so let such denominations as are in the habit of cooperating, themselves take over this medium, not gingerly, but whole-heartedly, as in mediæval time the hierarchy strengthened its hold on the people with the marvels of romanesque and gothic architecture. this matter is further discussed in the seventeenth chapter, entitled "progress and endowment." but there is a field wherein the commercial man will not be accused of heresy or sacrilege, which builds on ritualistic birth and death and elements akin thereto. this the established producer may enter without fear. which brings us to the battle hymn of the republic, issued by the american vitagraph company in . this film should be studied in the high schools and universities till the canons of art for which it stands are established in america. the director was larry trimble. all honor to him. the patriotism of the battle hymn of the republic, if taken literally, deals with certain aspects of the civil war. but the picture is transfigured by so marked a devotion, that it is the main illustration in this work of the religious photoplay. the beginning shows president lincoln in the white house brooding over the lack of response to his last call for troops. (he is impersonated by ralph ince.) he and julia ward howe are looking out of the window on a recruiting headquarters that is not busy. (mrs. howe is impersonated by julia s. gordon.) another scene shows an old mother in the west refusing to let her son enlist. (this woman is impersonated by mrs. maurice.) the father has died in the war. the sword hangs on the wall. later julia ward howe is shown in her room asleep at midnight, then rising in a trance and writing the battle hymn at a table by the bed. the pictures that might possibly have passed before her mind during the trance are thrown upon the screen. the phrases they illustrate are not in the final order of the poem, but in the possible sequence in which they went on the paper in the first sketch. the dream panorama is not a literal discussion of abolitionism or states' rights. it illustrates rather the hebraic exultation applied to all lands and times. "mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the lord"; a gracious picture of the nativity. (edith storey impersonates mary the virgin.) "i have seen him in the watchfires of a hundred circling camps" and "they have builded him an altar in the evening dews and damps"--for these are given symbolic pageants of the holy sepulchre crusaders. then there is a visible parable, showing a marketplace in some wicked capital, neither babylon, tyre, nor nineveh, but all of them in essential character. first come spectacles of rejoicing, cruelty, and waste. then from heaven descend flood and fire, brimstone and lightning. it is like the judgment of the cities of the plain. just before the overthrow, the line is projected upon the screen: "he hath loosed the fateful lightning of his terrible swift sword." then the heavenly host becomes gradually visible upon the air, marching toward the audience, almost crossing the footlights, and blowing their solemn trumpets. with this picture the line is given us to read: "our god is marching on." this host appears in the photoplay as often as the refrain sweeps into the poem. the celestial company, its imperceptible emergence, its spiritual power when in the ascendant, is a thing never to be forgotten, a tableau that proves the motion picture a great religious instrument. then comes a procession indeed. it is as though the audience were standing at the side of the throne at doomsday looking down the hill of zion toward the little earth. there is a line of those who are to be judged, leaders from the beginning of history, barbarians with their crude weapons, classic characters, cæsar and his rivals for fame; mediæval figures including dante meditating; later figures, richelieu, napoleon. many people march toward the strange glorifying eye of the camera, growing larger than men, filling the entire field of vision, disappearing when they are almost upon us. the audience weighs the worth of their work to the world as the men themselves with downcast eyes seem to be doing also. the most thrilling figure is tolstoi in his peasant smock, coming after the bitter egotists and conquerors. (the impersonation is by edward thomas.) i shall never forget that presence marching up to the throne invisible with bowed head. this procession is to illustrate the line: "he is sifting out the hearts of men before his judgment seat." later lincoln is pictured on the steps of the white house. it is a quaint tableau, in the spirit of the old-fashioned rogers group. yet it is masterful for all that. lincoln is taking the chains from a cowering slave. this tableau is to illustrate the line: "let the hero born of woman crush the serpent with his heel." now it is the end of the series of visions. it is morning in mrs. howe's room. she rises. she is filled with wonder to find the poem on her table. written to the rousing glory-tune of john brown's body the song goes over the north like wildfire. the far-off home of the widow is shown. she and the boy read the famous chant in the morning news column. she takes the old sword from the wall. she gives it to her son and sends him to enlist with her blessing. in the next picture lincoln and mrs. howe are looking out of the window where was once the idle recruiting tent. a new army is pouring by, singing the words that have rallied the nation. ritualistic birth and death have been discussed. this film might be said to illustrate ritualistic birth, death, and resurrection. the writer has seen hundreds of productions since this one. he has described it from memory. it came out in a time when the american people paid no attention to the producer or the cast. it may have many technical crudities by present-day standards. but the root of the matter is there. and springfield knew it. it was brought back to our town many times. it was popular in both the fashionable picture show houses and the cheapest, dirtiest hole in the town. it will soon be reissued by the vitagraph company. every student of american art should see this film. the same exultation that went into it, the faculty for commanding the great spirits of history and making visible the unseen powers of the air, should be applied to crowd pictures which interpret the non-sectarian prayers of the broad human race. the pageant of religious splendor is the final photoplay form in the classification which this work seeks to establish. much of what follows will be to reënforce the heads of these first discourses. further comment on the religious photoplay may be found in the eleventh chapter, entitled "architecture-in-motion." chapter viii sculpture-in-motion the outline is complete. now to reënforce it. pictures of action intimacy and splendor are the foundation colors in the photoplay, as red, blue, and yellow are the basis of the rainbow. action films might be called the red section; intimate motion pictures, being colder and quieter, might be called blue; and splendor photoplays called yellow, since that is the hue of pageants and sunshine. another way of showing the distinction is to review the types of gesture. the action photoplay deals with generalized pantomime: the gesture of the conventional policeman in contrast with the mannerism of the stereotyped preacher. the intimate film gives us more elusive personal gestures: the difference between the table manners of two preachers in the same restaurant, or two policemen. a mark of the fairy play is the gesture of incantation, the sweep of the arm whereby mab would transform a prince into a hawk. the other splendor films deal with the total gestures of crowds: the pantomime of a torch-waving mass of men, the drill of an army on the march, or the bending of the heads of a congregation receiving the benediction. another way to demonstrate the thesis is to use the old classification of poetry: dramatic, lyric, epic. the action play is a narrow form of the dramatic. the intimate motion picture is an equivalent of the lyric. in the seventeenth chapter it is shown that one type of the intimate might be classed as imagist. and obviously the splendor pictures are the equivalent of the epic. but perhaps the most adequate way of showing the meaning of this outline is to say that the action film is sculpture-in-motion, the intimate photoplay is painting-in-motion, and the fairy pageant, along with the rest of the splendor pictures, may be described as architecture-in-motion. this chapter will discuss the bearing of the phrase sculpture-in-motion. it will relate directly to chapter two. first, gentle and kindly reader, let us discuss sculpture in its most literal sense: after that, less realistically, but perhaps more adequately. let us begin with annette kellerman in neptune's daughter. this film has a crude plot constructed to show off annette's various athletic resources. it is good photography, and a big idea so far as the swimming episodes are concerned. an artist haunted by picture-conceptions equivalent to the musical thoughts back of wagner's rhine-maidens could have made of annette, in her mermaid's dress, a notable figure. or a story akin to the mermaid tale of hans christian andersen, or matthew arnold's poem of the forsaken merman, could have made this picturesque witch of the salt water truly significant, and still retained the most beautiful parts of the photoplay as it was exhibited. it is an exceedingly irrelevant imagination that shows her in other scenes as a duellist, for instance, because forsooth she can fence. as a child of the ocean, half fish, half woman, she is indeed convincing. such mermaids as this have haunted sailors, and lured them on the rocks to their doom, from the day the siren sang till the hour the lorelei sang no more. the scene with the baby mermaid, when she swims with the pretty creature on her back, is irresistible. why are our managers so mechanical? why do they flatten out at the moment the fancy of the tiniest reader of fairy-tales begins to be alive? most of annette's support were stage dummies. neptune was a lame santa claus with cotton whiskers. but as for the bearing of the film on this chapter: the human figure is within its rights whenever it is as free from self-consciousness as was the life-radiating annette in the heavenly clear waters of bermuda. on the other hand, neptune and his pasteboard diadem and wooden-pointed pitchfork, should have put on his dressing-gown and retired. as a toe dancer in an alleged court scene, on land, annette was a mere simperer. possibly pavlowa as a swimmer in bermuda waters would have been as much of a mistake. each queen to her kingdom. for living, moving sculpture, the human eye requires a costume and a part in unity with the meaning of that particular figure. there is the greek dress of mordkin in the arrow dance. there is annette's breast covering of shells, and wonderful flowing mermaid hair, clothing her as the midnight does the moon. the new costume freedom of the photoplay allows such limitation of clothing as would be probable when one is honestly in touch with wild nature and preoccupied with vigorous exercise. thus the cave-man and desert island narratives, though seldom well done, when produced with verisimilitude, give an opportunity for the native human frame in the logical wrappings of reeds and skins. but those who in a silly hurry seek excuses, are generally merely ridiculous, like the barefoot man who is terribly tender about walking on the pebbles, or the wild man who is white as celery or grass under a board. there is no short cut to vitality. a successful literal use of sculpture is in the film oil and water. blanche sweet is the leader of the play within a play which occupies the first reel. here the olympians and the muses, with a grace that we fancy was greek, lead a dance that traces the story of the spring, summer, and autumn of life. finally the supple dancers turn gray and old and die, but not before they have given us a vision from the ionian islands. the play might have been inspired from reading keats' lamia, but is probably derived from the work of isadora duncan. this chapter has hereafter only a passing word or two on literal sculptural effects. it has more in mind the carver's attitude toward all that passes before the eye. the sculptor george gray barnard is responsible for none of the views in this discourse, but he has talked to me at length about his sense of discovery in watching the most ordinary motion pictures, and his delight in following them with their endless combinations of masses and flowing surfaces. the little far-away people on the old-fashioned speaking stage do not appeal to the plastic sense in this way. they are, by comparison, mere bits of pasteboard with sweet voices, while, on the other hand, the photoplay foreground is full of dumb giants. the bodies of these giants are in high sculptural relief. where the lights are quite glaring and the photography is bad, many of the figures are as hard in their impact on the eye as lime-white plaster-casts, no matter what the clothing. there are several passages of this sort in the otherwise beautiful enoch arden, where the shipwrecked sailor is depicted on his desert island in the glaring sun. what materials should the photoplay figures suggest? there are as many possible materials as there are subjects for pictures and tone schemes to be considered. but we will take for illustration wood, bronze, and marble, since they have been used in the old sculptural art. there is found in most art shows a type of carved wood gargoyle where the work and the subject are at one, not only in the color of the wood, but in the way the material masses itself, in bulk betrays its qualities. we will suppose a moving picture humorist who is in the same mood as the carver. he chooses a story of quaint old ladies, street gamins, and fat aldermen. imagine the figures with the same massing and interplay suddenly invested with life, yet giving to the eye a pleasure kindred to that which is found in carved wood, and bringing to the fancy a similar humor. or there is a type of action story where the mood of the figures is that of bronze, with the æsthetic resources of that metal: its elasticity; its emphasis on the tendon, ligament, and bone, rather than on the muscle; and an attribute that we will call the panther-like quality. hermon a. macneil has a memorable piece of work in the yard of the architect shaw, at lake forest, illinois. it is called "the sun vow." a little indian is shooting toward the sun, while the old warrior, crouching immediately behind him, follows with his eye the direction of the arrow. few pieces of sculpture come readily to mind that show more happily the qualities of bronze as distinguished from other materials. to imagine such a group done in marble, carved wood, or della robbia ware is to destroy the very image in the fancy. the photoplay of the american indian should in most instances be planned as bronze in action. the tribes should not move so rapidly that the panther-like elasticity is lost in the riding, running, and scalping. on the other hand, the aborigines should be far from the temperateness of marble. mr. edward s. curtis, the super-photographer, has made an ethnological collection of photographs of our american indians. this work of a life-time, a supreme art achievement, shows the native as a figure in bronze. mr. curtis' photoplay, the land of the head hunters (world film corporation), a romance of the indians of the north-west, abounds in noble bronzes. i have gone through my old territories as an art student, in the chicago art institute and the metropolitan museum, of late, in special excursions, looking for sculpture, painting, and architecture that might be the basis for the photoplays of the future. the bacchante of frederick macmonnies is in bronze in the metropolitan museum and in bronze replica in the boston museum of fine arts. there is probably no work that more rejoices the hearts of the young art students in either city. the youthful creature illustrates a most joyous leap into the air. she is high on one foot with the other knee lifted. she holds a bunch of grapes full-arm's length. her baby, clutched in the other hand, is reaching up with greedy mouth toward the fruit. the bacchante body is glistening in the light. this is joy-in-bronze as the sun vow is power-in-bronze. this special story could not be told in another medium. i have seen in paris a marble copy of this bacchante. it is as though it were done in soap. on the other hand, many of the renaissance italian sculptors have given us children in marble in low relief, dancing like lilies in the wind. they could not be put into bronze. the plot of the action photoplay is literally or metaphorically a chase down the road or a hurdle-race. it might be well to consider how typical figures for such have been put into carved material. there are two bronze statues that have their replicas in all museums. they are generally one on either side of the main hall, towering above the second-story balustrade. first, the statue of gattamelata, a venetian general, by donatello. the original is in padua. then there is the figure of bartolommeo colleoni. the original is in venice. it is by verrocchio and leopardi. these equestrians radiate authority. there is more action in them than in any cowboy hordes i have ever beheld zipping across the screen. look upon them and ponder long, prospective author-producer. even in a simple chase-picture, the speed must not destroy the chance to enjoy the modelling. if you would give us mounted legions, destined to conquer, let any one section of the film, if it is stopped and studied, be grounded in the same bronze conception. the assyrian commanders in griffith's judith would, without great embarrassment, stand this test. but it may not be the pursuit of an enemy we have in mind. it may be a spring celebration, horsemen in arcadia, going to some happy tournament. where will we find our precedents for such a cavalcade? go to any museum. find the parthenon room. high on the wall is the copy of the famous marble frieze of the young citizens who are in the procession in praise of athena. such a rhythm of bodies and heads and the feet of proud steeds, and above all the profiles of thoroughbred youths, no city has seen since that day. the delicate composition relations, ever varying, ever refreshing, amid the seeming sameness of formula of rider behind rider, have been the delight of art students the world over, and shall so remain. no serious observer escapes the exhilaration of this company. let it be studied by the author-producer though it be but an idyl in disguise that his scenario calls for: merry young farmers hurrying to the state fair parade, boys making all speed to the political rally. buy any three moving picture magazines you please. mark the illustrations that are massive, in high relief, with long lines in their edges. cut out and sort some of these. i have done it on the table where i write. after throwing away all but the best specimens, i have four different kinds of sculpture. first, behold the inevitable cowboy. he is on a ramping horse, filling the entire outlook. the steed rears, while facing us. the cowboy waves his hat. there is quite such an animal by frederick macmonnies, wrought in bronze, set up on a gate to a park in brooklyn. it is not the identical color of the photoplay animal, but the bronze elasticity is the joy in both. here is a scene of a masked monk, carrying off a fainting girl. the hero intercepts him. the figures of the lady and the monk are in sufficient sculptural harmony to make a formal sculptural group for an art exhibition. the picture of the hero, strong, with well-massed surfaces, is related to both. the fact that he is in evening dress does not alter his monumental quality. all three are on a stone balcony that relates itself to the general largeness of spirit in the group, and the semi-classic dress of the maiden. no doubt the title is: the morning following the masquerade ball. this group could be made in unglazed clay, in four colors. here is an american lieutenant with two ladies. the three are suddenly alert over the approach of the villain, who is not yet in the picture. in costume it is an everyday group, but those three figures are related to one another, and the trees behind them, in simple sculptural terms. the lieutenant, as is to be expected, looks forth in fierce readiness. one girl stands with clasped hands. the other points to the danger. the relations of these people to one another may seem merely dramatic to the superficial observer, but the power of the group is in the fact that it is monumental. i could imagine it done in four different kinds of rare tropical wood, carved unpolished. here is a scene of storm and stress in an office where the hero is caught with seemingly incriminating papers. the table is in confusion. the room is filling with people, led by one accusing woman. is this also sculpture? yes. the figures are in high relief. even the surfaces of the chairs and the littered table are massive, and the eye travels without weariness, as it should do in sculpture, from the hero to the furious woman, then to the attorney behind her, then to the two other revilers, then to the crowd in three loose rhythmic ranks. the eye makes this journey, not from space to space, or fabric to fabric, but first of all from mass to mass. it is sculpture, but it is the sort that can be done in no medium but the moving picture itself, and therefore it is one goal of this argument. but there are several other goals. one of the sculpturesque resources of the photoplay is that the human countenance can be magnified many times, till it fills the entire screen. some examples are in rather low relief, portraits approximating certain painters. but if they are on sculptural terms, and are studies of the faces of thinking men, let the producer make a pilgrimage to washington for his precedent. there, in the rotunda of the capitol, is the face of lincoln by gutzon borglum. it is one of the eminently successful attempts to get at the secret of the countenance by enlarging it much, and concentrating the whole consideration there. the photoplay producer, seemingly without taking thought, is apt to show a sculptural sense in giving us newfoundland fishermen, clad in oilskins. the background may have an unconscious winslow homer reminiscence. in the foreground our hardy heroes fill the screen, and dripping with sea-water become wave-beaten granite, yet living creatures none the less. imagine some one chapter from the story of little em'ly in david copperfield, retold in the films. show us ham peggotty and old mr. peggotty in colloquy over their nets. there are many powerful bronze groups to be had from these two, on to the heroic and unselfish death of ham, rescuing his enemy in storm and lightning. i have seen one rich picture of alleged cannibal tribes. it was a comedy about a missionary. but the aborigines were like living ebony and silver. that was long ago. such things come too much by accident. the producer is not sufficiently aware that any artistic element in his list of productions that is allowed to go wild, that has not had full analysis, reanalysis, and final conservation, wastes his chance to attain supreme mastery. open your history of sculpture, and dwell upon those illustrations which are not the normal, reposeful statues, but the exceptional, such as have been listed for this chapter. imagine that each dancing, galloping, or fighting figure comes down into the room life-size. watch it against a dark curtain. let it go through a series of gestures in harmony with the spirit of the original conception, and as rapidly as possible, not to lose nobility. if you have the necessary elasticity, imagine the figures wearing the costumes of another period, yet retaining in their motions the same essential spirit. combine them in your mind with one or two kindred figures, enlarged till they fill the end of the room. you have now created the beginning of an action photoplay in your own fancy. do this with each most energetic classic till your imagination flags. i do not want to be too dogmatic, but it seems to me this is one way to evolve real action plays. it would, perhaps, be well to substitute this for the usual method of evolving them from old stage material or newspaper clippings. there is in the metropolitan museum a noble modern group, the mares of diomedes, by the aforementioned gutzon borglum. it is full of material for the meditations of a man who wants to make a film of a stampede. the idea is that hercules, riding his steed bareback, guides it in a circle. he is fascinating the horses he has been told to capture. they are held by the mesmerism of the circular path and follow him round and round till they finally fall from exhaustion. thus the indians of the west capture wild ponies, and borglum, a far western man, imputes the method to hercules. the bronze group shows a segment of this circle. the whirlwind is at its height. the mares are wild to taste the flesh of hercules. whoever is to photograph horses, let him study the play of light and color and muscle-texture in this bronze. and let no group of horses ever run faster than these of borglum. an occasional hint of a michelangelo figure or gesture appears for a flash in the films. young artist in the audience, does it pass you by? open your history of sculpture again and look at the usual list of michelangelo groups. suppose the seated majesty of moses should rise, what would be the quality of the action? suppose the sleeping figures of the medician tombs should wake, or those famous slaves should break their bands, or david again hurl the stone. would not their action be as heroic as their quietness? is it not possible to have a michelangelo of photoplay sculpture? should we not look for him in the fulness of time? his figures might come to us in the skins of the desert island solitary, or as cave men and women, or as mermaids and mermen, and yet have a force and grandeur akin to that of the old italian. rodin's famous group of the citizens of calais is an example of the expression of one particular idea by a special technical treatment. the producer who tells a kindred story to that of the siege of calais, and the final going of these humble men to their doom, will have a hero-tale indeed. it will be not only sculpture-in-action, but a great crowd picture. it begins to be seen that the possibilities of monumental achievement in the films transcend the narrow boundaries of the action photoplay. why not conceptions as heroic as rodin's hand of god, where the first pair are clasped in the gigantic fingers of their maker in the clay from which they came? finally, i desire in moving pictures, not the stillness, but the majesty of sculpture. i do not advocate for the photoplay the mood of the venus of milo. but let us turn to that sister of hers, the great victory of samothrace, that spreads her wings at the head of the steps of the louvre, and in many an art gallery beside. when you are appraising a new film, ask yourself: "is this motion as rapid, as godlike, as the sweep of the wings of the samothracian?" let her be the touchstone of the action drama, for nothing can be more swift than the winged gods, nothing can be more powerful than the oncoming of the immortals. chapter ix painting-in-motion this chapter is founded on the delicate effects that may be worked out from cosy interior scenes, close to the camera. it relates directly to chapter three. while the intimate-and-friendly motion picture may be in high sculptural relief, its characteristic manifestations are in low relief. the situations show to better advantage when they seem to be paintings rather than monumental groups. turn to your handful of motion picture magazines and mark the illustrations that look the most like paintings. cut them out. winnow them several times. i have before me, as a final threshing from such an experiment, five pictures. each one approximates a different school. here is a colonial virginia maiden by the hearth of the inn. bending over her in a cherishing way is the negro maid. on the other side, the innkeeper shows a kindred solicitude. a dishevelled traveller sleeps huddled up in the corner. the costume of the man fades into the velvety shadows of the wall. his face is concealed. his hair blends with the soft background. the clothing of the other three makes a patch of light gray. added to this is the gayety of special textures: the turban of the negress, a trimming on the skirt of the heroine, the silkiness of the innkeeper's locks, the fabric of the broom in the hearthlight, the pattern of the mortar lines round the bricks of the hearth. the tableau is a satisfying scheme in two planes and many textures. here is another sort of painting. the young mother in her pretty bed is smiling on her infant. the cot and covers and flesh tints have gentle scales of difference, all within one tone of the softest gray. her hair is quite dark. it relates to the less luminous black of the coat of the physician behind the bed and the dress of the girl-friend bending over her. the nurse standing by the doctor is a figure of the same gray-white as the bed. within the pattern of the velvety-blacks there are as many subtle gradations as in the pattern of the gray-whites. the tableau is a satisfying scheme in black and gray, with practically one non-obtrusive texture throughout. here is a picture of an englishman and his wife, in india. it might be called sculptural, but for the magnificence of the turban of the rajah who converses with them, the glitter of the light round his shoulders, and the scheme of shadow out of which the three figures rise. the arrangement remotely reminds one of several of rembrandt's semi-oriental musings. here is a picture of mary pickford as fanchon the cricket. she is in the cottage with the strange old mother. i have seen a painting in this mood by the greek nickolas gysis. the intimate-and-friendly moving picture, the photoplay of painting-in-motion, need not be indoors as long as it has the native-heath mood. it is generally keyed to the hearthstone, and keeps quite close to it. but how well i remember when the first french photoplays began to come. though unintelligent in some respects, the photography and subject-matter of many of them made one think of that painter of gentle out-of-door scenes, jean charles cazin. here is our last clipping, which is also in a spirit allied to cazin. the heroine, accompanied by an aged shepherd and his dog, are in the foreground. the sheep are in the middle distance on the edge of the river. there is a noble hill beyond the gently flowing water. here is intimacy and friendliness in the midst of the big out of doors. if these five photo-paintings were on good paper enlarged to twenty by twenty-four inches, they would do to frame and hang on the wall of any study, for a month or so. and after the relentless test of time, i would venture that some one of the five would prove a permanent addition to the household gods. hastily made photographs selected from the films are often put in front of the better theatres to advertise the show. of late they are making them two by three feet and sometimes several times larger. here is a commercial beginning of an art gallery, but not enough pains are taken to give the selections a complete art gallery dignity. why not have the most beautiful scenes in front of the theatres, instead of those alleged to be the most thrilling? why not rest the fevered and wandering eye, rather than make one more attempt to take it by force? let the reader supply another side of the argument by looking at the illustrations in any history of painting. let him select the pictures that charm him most, and think of them enlarged and transferred bodily to one corner of the room, as he has thought of the sculpture. let them take on motion without losing their charm of low relief, or their serene composition within the four walls of the frame. as for the motion, let it be a further extension of the drawing. let every gesture be a bolder but not less graceful brush-stroke. the metropolitan museum has a van dyck that appeals equally to one's sense of beauty and one's feeling for humor. it is a portrait of james stuart, duke of lennox, and i cannot see how the author-producer-photographer can look upon it without having it set his imagination in a glow. every small town dancing set has a james like this. the man and the greyhound are the same witless breed, the kind that achieve a result by their clean-limbed elegance alone. van dyck has painted the two with what might be called a greyhound brush-stroke, a style of handling that is nothing but courtly convention and strut to the point of genius. he is as far from the meditative spirituality of rembrandt as could well be imagined. conjure up a scene in the hereditary hall after a hunt (or golf tournament), in which a man like this duke of lennox has a noble parley with his lady (or dancing partner), she being a sweet and stupid swan (or a white rabbit) by the same sign that he is a noble and stupid greyhound. be it an ancient or modern episode, the story could be told in the tone and with well-nigh the brushwork of van dyck. then there is a picture my teachers, chase and henri, were never weary of praising, the girl with the parrot, by manet. here continence in nervous force, expressed by low relief and restraint in tone, is carried to its ultimate point. i should call this an imagist painting, made before there were such people as imagist poets. it is a perpetual sermon to those that would thresh around to no avail, be they orators, melodramatists, or makers of photoplays with an alleged heart-interest. let us consider gilbert stuart's portrait of washington. this painter's notion of personal dignity has far more of the intellectual quality than van dyck. he loves to give us stately, able, fairly conscientious gentry, rather than overdone royalty. his work represents a certain mood in design that in architecture is called colonial. such portraits go with houses like mount vernon. let the photographer study the flat blacks in the garments. let him note the transparent impression of the laces and flesh-tints that seem to be painted on glass, observing especially the crystalline whiteness of the wigs. let him inspect also the silhouette-like outlines, noting the courtly self-possession they convey. then let the photographer, the producer, and the author, be they one man or six men, stick to this type of picturization through one entire production, till any artist in the audience will say, "this photoplay was painted by a pupil of gilbert stuart"; and the layman will say, "it looks like those stately days." and let us not have battle, but a mount vernon fireside tale. both the chicago and new york museums contain many phases of one same family group, painted by george de forest brush. there is a touch of the hearthstone priestess about the woman. the force of sex has turned to the austere comforting passion of motherhood. from the children, under the wings of this spirit, come special delicate powers of life. there is nothing tense or restless about them, yet they embody action, the beating of the inner fire, without which all outer action is mockery. hearthstone tales keyed to the mood and using the brush stroke that delineates this especial circle would be unmistakable in their distinction. charles w. hawthorne has pictures in chicago and new york that imply the intimate-and-friendly photoplay. the trousseau in the metropolitan museum shows a gentle girl, an unfashionable home-body with a sweetly sheltered air. behind her glimmers the patient mother's face. the older woman is busy about fitting the dress. the picture is a tribute to the qualities of many unknown gentlewomen. such an illumination as this, on faces so innocently eloquent, is the light that should shine on the countenance of the photoplay actress who really desires greatness in the field of the intimate motion picture. there is in chicago, hawthorne's painting of sylvia: a little girl standing with her back to a mirror, a few blossoms in one hand and a vase of flowers on the mirror shelf. it is as sound a composition as hawthorne ever produced. the painting of the child is another tribute to the physical-spiritual textures from which humanity is made. ah, you producer who have grown squeaky whipping your people into what you called action, consider the dynamics of these figures that would be almost motionless in real life. remember there must be a spirit-action under the other, or all is dead. yet that soul may be the muse of comedy. if hawthorne and his kind are not your fashion, turn to models that have their feet on the earth always, yet successfully aspire. key some of your intimate humorous scenes to the dutch little masters of painting, such pictures as gerard terburg's music lesson in the chicago art institute. the thing is as well designed as a dutch house, wind-mill, or clock. and it is more elegant than any of these. there is humor enough in the picture to last one reel through. the society dame of the period, in her pretty raiment, fingers the strings of her musical instrument, while the master stands by her with the baton. the painter has enjoyed the satire, from her elegant little hands to the teacher's well-combed locks. it is very plain that she does not want to study music with any sincerity, and he does not desire to develop the ability of this particular person. there may be a flirtation in the background. yet these people are not hollow as gourds, and they are not caricatured. the dutch little masters have indulged in numberless characterizations of mundane humanity. but they are never so preoccupied with the story that it is an anecdote rather than a picture. it is, first of all, a piece of elegant painting-fabric. next it is a scrap of dutch philosophy or aspiration. let whistler turn over in his grave while we enlist him for the cause of democracy. one view of the technique of this man might summarize it thus: fastidiousness in choice of subject, the picture well within the frame, low relief, a velasquez study of tones and a japanese study of spaces. let us, dear and patient reader, particularly dwell upon the spacing. a whistler, or a good japanese print, might be described as a kaleidoscope suddenly arrested and transfixed at the moment of most exquisite relations in the pieces of glass. an intimate play of a kindred sort would start to turning the kaleidoscope again, losing fine relations only to gain those which are more exquisite and novel. all motion pictures might be characterized as _space measured without sound, plus time measured without sound_. this description fits in a special way the delicate form of the intimate motion picture, and there can be studied out, free from irrelevant issues. as to _space measured without sound_. suppose it is a humorous characterization of comfortable family life, founded on some dutch little master. the picture measures off its spaces in harmony. the triangle occupied by the little child's dress is in definite relation to the triangle occupied by the mother's costume. to these two patterns the space measured off by the boy's figure is adjusted, and all of them are as carefully related to the shapes cut out of the background by the figures. no matter how the characters move about in the photoplay, these pattern shapes should relate to one another in a definite design. the exact tone value of each one and their precise nearness or distance to one another have a deal to do with the final effect. we go to the photoplay to enjoy right and splendid picture-motions, to feel a certain thrill when the pieces of kaleidoscope glass slide into new places. instead of moving on straight lines, as they do in the mechanical toy, they progress in strange curves that are part of the very shapes into which they fall. consider: first came the photograph. then motion was added to the photograph. we must use this order in our judgment. if it is ever to evolve into a national art, it must first be good picture, then good motion. belasco's attitude toward the stage has been denounced by the purists because he makes settings too large a portion of his story-telling, and transforms his theatre into the paradise of the property-man. but this very quality of the well spaced setting, if you please, has made his chance for the world's moving picture anthology. as reproduced by jesse k. lasky the belasco production is the only type of the old-line drama that seems really made to be the basis of a moving picture play. not always, but as a general rule, belasco suffers less detriment in the films than other men. take, for instance, the belasco-lasky production of the rose of the rancho with bessie barriscale as the heroine. it has many highly modelled action-tableaus, and others that come under the classification of this chapter. when i was attending it not long ago, here in my home town, the fair companion at my side said that one scene looked like a painting by sorolla y bastida, the spaniard. it is the episode where the rose sends back her servant to inquire the hero's name. as a matter of fact there were sorollas and zuloagas all through the piece. the betrothal reception with flying confetti was a satisfying piece of spanish splendor. it was space music indeed, space measured without sound. incidentally the cast is to be congratulated on its picturesque acting, especially miss barriscale in her impersonation of the rose. it is harder to grasp the other side of the paradox, picture-motions considered as _time measured without sound_. but think of a lively and humoresque clock that does not tick and takes only an hour to record a day. think of a noiseless electric vehicle, where you are looking out of the windows, going down the smooth boulevard of wonderland. consider a film with three simple time-elements: ( ) that of the pursuer, ( ) the pursued, ( ) the observation vehicle of the camera following the road and watching both of them, now faster, now slower than they, as the photographer overtakes the actors or allows them to hurry ahead. the plain chase is a bore because there are only these three time-elements. but the chase principle survives in every motion picture and we simply need more of this sort of time measurement, better considered. the more the non-human objects, the human actors, and the observer move at a varying pace, the greater chances there are for what might be called time-and-space music. no two people in the same room should gesture at one mechanical rate, or lift their forks or spoons, keeping obviously together. yet it stands to reason that each successive tableau should be not only a charming picture, but the totals of motion should be an orchestration of various speeds, of abrupt, graceful, and seemingly awkward progress, worked into a silent symphony. supposing it is a fisher-maiden's romance. in the background the waves toss in one tempo. owing to the sail, the boat rocks in another. in the foreground the tree alternately bends and recovers itself in the breeze, making more opposition than the sail. in still another time-unit the smoke rolls from the chimney, making no resistance to the wind. in another unit, the lovers pace the sand. yet there is one least common multiple in which all move. this the producing genius should sense and make part of the dramatic structure, and it would have its bearing on the periodic appearance of the minor and major crises. films like this, you say, would be hard to make. yes. here is the place to affirm that the one-reel intimate photoplay will no doubt be the form in which this type of time-and-space music is developed. the music of silent motion is the most abstract of moving picture attributes and will probably remain the least comprehended. like the quality of walter pater's marius the epicurean, or that of shelley's hymn to intellectual beauty, it will not satisfy the sudden and the brash. * * * * * the reader will find in his round of the picture theatres many single scenes and parts of plays that elucidate the title of this chapter. often the first two-thirds of the story will fit it well. then the producers, finding that, for reasons they do not understand, with the best and most earnest actors they cannot work the three reels into an emotional climax, introduce some stupid disaster and rescue utterly irrelevant to the character-parts and the paintings that have preceded. whether the alleged thesis be love, hate, or ambition, cottage charm, daisy dell sweetness, or the ivy beauty of an ancient estate, the resource for the final punch seems to be something like a train-wreck. but the transfiguration of the actors, not their destruction or rescue, is the goal. the last moment of the play is great, not when it is a grandiose salvation from a burning house, that knocks every delicate preceding idea in the head, but a tableau that is as logical as the awakening of the sleeping beauty after the hero has explored all the charmed castle. chapter x furniture, trappings, and inventions in motion the action pictures are sculpture-in-motion, the intimate pictures, paintings-in-motion, the splendor pictures, many and diverse. it seems far-fetched, perhaps, to complete the analogy and say they are architecture-in-motion; yet, patient reader, unless i am mistaken, that assumption can be given a value in time without straining your imagination. landscape gardening, mural painting, church building, and furniture making as well, are some of the things that come under the head of architecture. they are discussed between the covers of any architectural magazine. there is a particular relation in the photoplay between crowd pictures and landscape conceptions, between patriotic films and mural paintings, between religious films and architecture. and there is just as much of a relation between fairy tales and furniture, which same is discussed in this chapter. let us return to moving day, chapter four. this idea has been represented many times with a certain sameness because the producers have not thought out the philosophy behind it. a picture that is all action is a plague, one that is all elephantine and pachydermatous pageant is a bore, and, most emphatically, a film that is all mechanical legerdemain is a nuisance. the possible charm in a so-called trick picture is in eliminating the tricks, giving them dignity till they are no longer such, but thoughts in motion and made visible. in moving day the shoes are the most potent. they go through a drama that is natural to them. to march without human feet inside is but to exaggerate themselves. it would not be amusing to have them walk upside down, for instance. as long as the worn soles touch the pavement, we unconsciously conjure up the character of the absent owners, about whom the shoes are indeed gossiping. so let the remainder of the furniture keep still while the shoes do their best. let us call to mind a classic fairy-tale involving shoes that are magical: the seven leagued boots, for example, or the enchanted moccasins, or the footwear of puss in boots. how gorgeous and embroidered any of these should be, and at a crisis what sly antics they should be brought to play, without fidgeting all over the shop! cinderella's slipper is not sufficiently the heroine in moving pictures of that story. it should be the tiny leading lady of the piece, in the same sense the mighty steam-engine is the hero of the story in chapter two. the peasants when they used to tell the tale by the hearth fire said the shoe was made of glass. this was in mediæval europe, at a time when glass was much more of a rarity. the material was chosen to imply a sort of jewelled strangeness from the start. when cinderella loses it in her haste, it should flee at once like a white mouse, to hide under the sofa. it should be pictured there with special artifice, so that the sensuous little foot of every girl-child in the audience will tingle to wear it. it should move a bit when the prince comes frantically hunting his lady, and peep out just in time for that royal personage to spy it. even at the coronation it should be the centre of the ritual, more gazed at than the crown, and on as dazzling a cushion. the final taking on of the slipper by the lady should be as stately a ceremony as the putting of the circlet of gold on her aureole hair. so much for cinderella. but there are novel stories that should be evolved by preference, about new sorts of magic shoes. we have not exhausted moving day. the chairs kept still through the cinderella discourse. now let them take their innings. instead of having all of them dance about, invest but one with an inner life. let its special attributes show themselves but gradually, reaching their climax at the highest point of excitement in the reel, and being an integral part of that enthusiasm. perhaps, though we be inventing a new fairy-tale, it will resemble the siege perilous in the arthurian story, the chair where none but the perfect knight could sit. a dim row of flaming swords might surround it. when the soul entitled to use this throne appears, the swords might fade away and the gray cover hanging in slack folds roll back because of an inner energy and the chair might turn from gray to white, and with a subtle change of line become a throne. the photoplay imagination which is able to impart vital individuality to furniture will not stop there. let the buildings emanate conscious life. the author-producer-photographer, or one or all three, will make into a personality some place akin to the house of the seven gables till the ancient building dominates the fancy as it does in hawthorne's tale. there are various ways to bring about this result: by having its outlines waver in the twilight, by touches of phosphorescence, or by the passing of inexplicable shadows or the like. it depends upon what might be called the genius of the building. there is the poe story of the fall of the house of usher, where with the death of the last heir the castle falls crumbling into the tarn. there are other possible tales on such terms, never yet imagined, to be born to-morrow. great structures may become in sort villains, as in the old bible narrative of the origin of the various languages. the producer can show the impious babel tower, going higher and higher into the sky, fascinating and tempting the architects till a confusion of tongues turns those masons into quarrelling mobs that become departing caravans, leaving her blasted and forsaken, a symbol of every babylon that rose after her. there are fables where the rocks and the mountains speak. emerson has given us one where the mountain and the squirrel had a quarrel. the mountain called the squirrel "little prig." and then continues a clash of personalities more possible to illustrate than at first appears. here we come to the second stage of the fairy-tale where the creature seems so unmanageable in his physical aspect that some actor must be substituted who will embody the essence of him. to properly illustrate the quarrel of the mountain and the squirrel, the steep height should quiver and heave and then give forth its personality in the figure of a vague smoky giant, capable of human argument, but with oak-roots in his hair, and bun, perhaps, become a jester in squirrel's dress. or it may be our subject matter is a tall dutch clock. father time himself might emerge therefrom. or supposing it is a chapel, in a knight's adventure. an angel should step from the carving by the door: a design that is half angel, half flower. but let the clock first tremble a bit. let the carving stir a little, and then let the spirit come forth, that there may be a fine relation between the impersonator and the thing represented. a statue too often takes on life by having the actor abruptly substituted. the actor cannot logically take on more personality than the statue has. he can only give that personality expression in a new channel. in the realm of letters, a real transformation scene, rendered credible to the higher fancy by its slow cumulative movement, is the tale of the change of the dying rowena to the living triumphant ligeia in poe's story of that name. substitution is not the fairy-story. it is transformation, transfiguration, that is the fairy-story, be it a divine or a diabolical change. there is never more than one witch in a forest, one siege perilous at any round table. but she is indeed a witch and the other is surely a siege perilous. we might define fairy splendor as furniture transfigured, for without transfiguration there is no spiritual motion of any kind. but the phrase "furniture-in-motion" serves a purpose. it gets us back to the earth for a reason. furniture is architecture, and the fairy-tale picture should certainly be drawn with architectural lines. the normal fairy-tale is a sort of tiny informal child's religion, the baby's secular temple, and it should have for the most part that touch of delicate sublimity that we see in the mountain chapel or grotto, or fancy in the dwellings of aucassin and nicolette. when such lines are drawn by the truly sophisticated producer, there lies in them the secret of a more than ritualistic power. good fairy architecture amounts to an incantation in itself. if it is a grown-up legend, it must be more than monumental in its lines, like the great stone face of hawthorne's tale. even a chair can reach this estate. for instance, let it be the throne of wodin, illustrating some passage in norse mythology. if this throne has a language, it speaks with the lightning; if it shakes with its threat, it moves the entire mountain range beneath it. let the wizard-author-producer climb up from the tricks of moving day to the foot-hills where he can see this throne against the sky, as a superarchitect would draw it. but even if he can give this vision in the films, his task will not be worth while if he is simply a teller of old stories. let us have magic shoes about which are more golden dreams than those concerning cinderella. let us have stranger castles than that of usher, more dazzling chairs than the siege perilous. let us have the throne of liberty, not the throne of wodin. there is one outstanding photoplay that i always have in mind when i think of film magic. it illustrates some principles of this chapter and chapter four, as well as many others through the book. it is griffith's production of the avenging conscience. it is also an example of that rare thing, a use of old material that is so inspired that it has the dignity of a new creation. the raw stuff of the plot is pieced together from the story of the tell-tale heart and the poem annabel lee. it has behind it, in the further distance, poe's conscience stories of the black cat, and william wilson. i will describe the film here at length, and apply it to whatever chapters it illustrates. an austere and cranky bachelor (well impersonated by spottiswoode aitken) brings up his orphan nephew with an awkward affection. the nephew is impersonated by henry b. walthall. the uncle has an ambition that the boy will become a man of letters. in his attempts at literature the youth is influenced by poe. this brings about the poe quality of his dreams at the crisis. the uncle is silently exasperated when he sees his boy's writing-time broken into, and wasted, as he thinks, by an affair with a lovely annabel (blanche sweet). the intimacy and confidence of the lovers has progressed so far that it is a natural thing for the artless girl to cross the gardens and after hesitation knock at the door. she wants to know what has delayed her boy. she is all in a flutter on account of the overdue appointment to go to a party together. the scene of the pretty hesitancy on the step, her knocking, and the final impatient tapping with her foot is one of the best illustrations of the intimate mood in photoplay episodes. on the girl's entrance the uncle overwhelms her and the boy by saying she is pursuing his nephew like a common woman of the town. the words actually burst through the film, not as a melodramatic, but as an actual insult. this is a thing almost impossible to do in the photoplay. this outrage in the midst of an atmosphere of chivalry is one of griffith's master-moments. it accounts for the volcanic fury of the nephew that takes such trouble to burn itself out afterwards. it is not easy for the young to learn that they must let those people flay them for an hour who have made every sacrifice for them through a life-time. this scene of insult and the confession scene, later in this film, moved me as similar passages in high drama would do; and their very rareness, even in the hands of photoplay masters, indicates that such purely dramatic climaxes cannot be the main asset of the moving picture. over and over, with the best talent and producers, they fail. the boy and girl go to the party in spite of the uncle. it is while on the way that the boy looks on the face of a stranger who afterwards mixes up in his dream as the detective. there is a mistake in the printing here. there are several minutes of a worldly-wise oriental dance to amuse the guests, while the lovers are alone at another end of the garden. it is, possibly, the aptest contrast with the seriousness of our hero and heroine. but the social affair could have had a better title than the one that is printed on the film "an old-fashioned sweetheart party." possibly the dance was put in after the title. the lovers part forever. the girl's pride has had a mortal wound. about this time is thrown on the screen the kind of a climax quite surely possible to the photoplay. it reminds one, not of the mood of poe's verse, but of the spirit of the paintings of george frederick watts. it is allied in some way, in my mind, with his "love and life," though but a single draped figure within doors, and "love and life" are undraped figures, climbing a mountain. the boy, having said good-by, remembers the lady annabel. it is a crisis after the event. in his vision she is shown in a darkened passageway, all in white, looking out of the window upon the moonlit sky. simple enough in its elements, this vision is shown twice in glory. the third replica has not the same glamour. the first two are transfigurations into divinity. the phrase thrown on the screen is "the moon never beams without bringing me dreams of the beautiful annabel lee." and the sense of loss goes through and through one like a flight of arrows. another noble picture, more realistic, more sculpturesque, is of annabel mourning on her knees in her room. her bended head makes her akin to "niobe, all tears." the boy meditating on a park-path is meanwhile watching the spider in his web devour the fly. then he sees the ants in turn destroy the spider. these pictures are shown on so large a scale that the spiderweb fills the end of the theatre. then the ant-tragedy does the same. they can be classed as particularly apt hieroglyphics in the sense of chapter thirteen. their horror and decorative iridescence are of the poe sort. it is the first hint of the poe hieroglyphic we have had except the black patch over the eye of the uncle, along with his jaundiced, cadaverous face. the boy meditates on how all nature turns on cruelty and the survival of the fittest. he passes just now an italian laborer (impersonated by george seigmann). this laborer enters later into his dream. he finally goes to sleep in his chair, the resolve to kill his uncle rankling in his heart. the audience is not told that a dream begins. to understand that, one must see the film through twice. but it is perfectly legitimate to deceive us. through our ignorance we share the young man's hallucinations, entering into them as imperceptibly as he does. we think it is the next morning. poe would start the story just here, and here the veritable poe-esque quality begins. after debate within himself as to means, the nephew murders his uncle and buries him in the thick wall of the chimney. the italian laborer witnesses the death-struggle through the window. while our consciences are aching and the world crashes round us, he levies black-mail. then for due compensation the italian becomes an armed sentinel. the boy fears detection. yet the foolish youth thinks he will be happy. but every time he runs to meet his sweetheart he is appalled by hallucinations over her shoulder. the cadaverous ghost of the uncle is shown on the screen several times. it is an appearance visible to the young man and the audience only. later the ghost is implied by the actions of the guilty one. we merely imagine it. this is a piece of sound technique. we no more need a dray full of ghosts than a dray full of jumping furniture. the village in general has never suspected the nephew. only two people suspect him: the broken-hearted girl and an old friend of his father. this gentleman puts a detective on the trail. (the detective is impersonated by ralph lewis.) the gradual breakdown of the victim is traced by dramatic degrees. this is the second case of the thing i have argued as being generally impossible in a photoplay chronicle of a private person, and which the considerations of chapter twelve indicate as exceptional. we trace the innermost psychology of one special citizen step by step to the crisis, and that path is actually the primary interest of the story. the climax is the confession to the detective. with this self-exposure the direct poe-quality of the technique comes to an end. moreover, poe would end the story here. but the poe-dream is set like a dark jewel in a gold ring, of which more anon. let us dwell upon the confession. the first stage of this conscience-climax is reached by the dramatization of the tell-tale heart reminiscence in the memory of the dreaming man. the episode makes a singular application of the theories with which this chapter begins. for furniture-in-motion we have the detective's pencil. for trappings and inventions in motion we have his tapping shoe and the busy clock pendulum. because this scene is so powerful the photoplay is described in this chapter rather than any other, though the application is more spiritual than literal. the half-mad boy begins to divulge that he thinks that the habitual ticking of the clock is satanically timed to the beating of the dead man's heart. here more unearthliness hovers round a pendulum than any merely mechanical trick-movements could impart. then the merest commonplace of the detective tapping his pencil in the same time--the boy trying in vain to ignore it--increases the strain, till the audience has well-nigh the hallucinations of the victim. then the bold tapping of the detective's foot, who would do all his accusing without saying a word, and the startling coincidence of the owl hoot-hooting outside the window to the same measure, bring us close to the final breakdown. these realistic material actors are as potent as the actual apparitions of the dead man that preceded them. those visions prepared the mind to invest trifles with significance. the pencil and the pendulum conducting themselves in an apparently everyday fashion, satisfy in a far nobler way the thing in the cave-man attending the show that made him take note in other centuries of the rope that began to hang the butcher, the fire that began to burn the stick, and the stick that began to beat the dog. now the play takes a higher demoniacal plane reminiscent of poe's bells. the boy opens the door. he peers into the darkness. there he sees them. they are the nearest to the sinister poe quality of any illustrations i recall that attempt it. "they are neither man nor woman, they are neither brute nor human; they are ghouls." the scenes are designed with the architectural dignity that the first part of this chapter has insisted wizard trappings should take on. now it is that the boy confesses and the poe story ends. then comes what the photoplay people call the punch. it is discussed at the end of chapter nine. it is a kind of solar plexus blow to the sensibilities, certainly by this time an unnecessary part of the film. usually every soul movement carefully built up to where the punch begins is forgotten in the material smash or rescue. it is not so bad in this case, but it is a too conventional proceeding for griffith. the boy flees interminably to a barn too far away. there is a siege by a posse, led by the detective. it is veritable border warfare. the italian leads an unsuccessful rescue party. the unfortunate youth finally hangs himself. the beautiful annabel bursts through the siege a moment too late; then, heart broken, kills herself. these things are carried out by good technicians. but it would have been better to have had the suicide with but a tiny part of the battle, and the story five reels long instead of six. this physical turmoil is carried into the spiritual world only by the psychic momentum acquired through the previous confession scene. the one thing with intrinsic pictorial heart-power is the death of annabel by jumping off the sea cliff. then comes the awakening. to every one who sees the film for the first time it is like the forgiveness of sins. the boy finds his uncle still alive. in revulsion from himself, he takes the old man into his arms. the uncle has already begun to be ashamed of his terrible words, and has prayed for a contrite heart. the radiant annabel is shown in the early dawn rising and hurrying to her lover in spite of her pride. she will bravely take back her last night's final word. she cannot live without him. the uncle makes amends to the girl. the three are in the inconsistent but very human mood of sweet forgiveness for love's sake, that sometimes overtakes the bitterest of us after some crisis in our days. the happy pair are shown, walking through the hills. thrown upon the clouds for them are the moods of the poet-lover's heart. they look into the woods and see his fancies of spring, the things that he will some day write. these pageants might be longer. they furnish the great climax. they make a consistent parallel and contrast with the ghoul-visions that end with the confession to the detective. they wipe that terror from the mind. they do not represent poe. the rabbits, the leopard, the fairies, cupid and psyche in the clouds, and the little loves from the hollow trees are contributions to the original poetry of the eye. finally, the central part of this production of the avenging conscience is no dilution of poe, but an adequate interpretation, a story he might have written. those who have the european respect for poe's work will be most apt to be satisfied with this section, including the photographic texture which may be said to be an authentic equivalent of his prose. how often poe has been primly patronized for his majestic quality, the wizard power which looms above all his method and subject-matter and furnishes the only reason for its existence! for griffith to embroider this poe interpretation in the centre of a fairly consistent fabric, and move on into a radiant climax of his own that is in organic relation to the whole, is an achievement indeed. the final criticism is that the play is derivative. it is not built from new material in all its parts, as was the original story. one must be a student of poe to get its ultimate flavor. but in reading poe's own stories, one need not be a reader of any one special preceding writer to get the strange and solemn exultation of that literary enchanter. he is the quintessence of his own lonely soul. though the wizard element is paramount in the poe episode of this film, the appeal to the conscience is only secondary to this. it is keener than in poe, owing to the human elements before and after. the chameleon producer approximates in the avenging conscience the type of mystic teacher, discussed in the twentieth chapter: "the prophet-wizard." chapter xi architecture-in-motion this chapter is a superstructure upon the foundations of chapters five, six, and seven. i have said that it is a quality, not a defect, of the photoplays that while the actors tend to become types and hieroglyphics and dolls, on the other hand, dolls and hieroglyphics and mechanisms tend to become human. by an extension of this principle, non-human tones, textures, lines, and spaces take on a vitality almost like that of flesh and blood. it is partly for this reason that some energy is hereby given to the matter of reënforcing the idea that the people with the proper training to take the higher photoplays in hand are not veteran managers of vaudeville circuits, but rather painters, sculptors, and architects, preferably those who are in the flush of their first reputation in these crafts. let us imagine the centres of the experimental drama, such as the drama league, the universities, and the stage societies, calling in people of these professions and starting photoplay competitions and enterprises. let the thesis be here emphasized that the architects, above all, are the men to advance the work in the ultra-creative photoplay. "but few architects," you say, "are creative, even in their own profession." let us begin with the point of view of the highly trained pedantic young builder, the type that, in the past few years, has honored our landscape with those paradoxical memorials of abraham lincoln the railsplitter, memorials whose ionic columns are straight from paris. pericles is the real hero of such a man, not lincoln. so let him for the time surrender completely to that great greek. he is worthy of a monument nobler than any america has set up to any one. the final pictures may be taken in front of buildings with which the architect or his favorite master has already edified this republic, or if the war is over, before some surviving old-world models. but whatever the method, let him study to express at last the thing that moves within him as a creeping fire, which americans do not yet understand and the loss of which makes the classic in our architecture a mere piling of elegant stones upon one another. in the arrangement of crowds and flow of costuming and study of tableau climaxes, let the architect bring an illusion of that delicate flowering, that brilliant instant of time before the peloponnesian war. it does not seem impossible when one remembers the achievements of the author of cabiria in approximating rome and carthage. let the principal figure of the pageant be the virgin athena, walking as a presence visible only to us, yet among her own people, and robed and armed and panoplied, the guardian of pericles, appearing in those streets that were herself. let the architect show her as she came only in a vision to phidias, while the dramatic writers and mathematicians and poets and philosophers go by. the crowds should be like pillars of athens, and she like a great pillar. the crowds should be like the tossing waves of the ionic sea and athena like the white ship upon the waves. the audiences in the tragedies should be shown like wheat-fields on the hill-sides, always stately yet blown by the wind, and athena the one sower and reaper. crowds should descend the steps of the acropolis, nymphs and fauns and olympians, carved as it were from the marble, yet flowing like a white cataract down into the town, bearing with them athena, their soul. all this in the photoplay of pericles. no civic or national incarnation since that time appeals to the poets like the french worship of the maid of orleans. in percy mackaye's book, the present hour, he says on the french attitude toward the war:-- "half artist and half anchorite, part siren and part socrates, her face--alluring fair, yet recondite-- smiled through her salons and academies. "lightly she wore her double mask, till sudden, at war's kindling spark, her inmost self, in shining mail and casque, blazed to the world her single soul--jeanne d'arc!" to make a more elaborate showing of what is meant by architecture-in-motion, let us progress through the centuries and suppose that the builder has this enthusiasm for france, that he is slowly setting about to build a photoplay around the idea of the maid. first let him take the mural painting point of view. bear in mind these characteristics of that art: it is wall-painting that is an organic part of the surface on which it appears: it is on the same lines as the building and adapted to the colors and forms of the structure of which it is a part. the wall-splendors of america that are the most scattered about in inexpensive copies are the decorations of the boston public library. note the pillar-like quality of sargent's prophets, the solemn dignity of abbey's holy grail series, the grand horizontals and perpendiculars of the work of puvis de chavannes. the last is the orthodox mural painter of the world, but the other two will serve the present purpose also. these architectural paintings if they were dramatized, still retaining their powerful lines, would be three exceedingly varied examples of what is meant by architecture-in-motion. the visions that appear to jeanne d'arc might be delineated in the mood of some one of these three painters. the styles will not mix in the same episode. a painter from old time we mention here, not because he was orthodox, but because of his genius for the drawing of action, and because he covered tremendous wall-spaces with venetian tone and color, is tintoretto. if there is a mistrust that the mural painting standard will tend to destroy the sense of action, tintoretto will restore confidence in that regard. as the winged victory represents flying in sculpture, so his work is the extreme example of action with the brush. the venetians called him the furious painter. one must understand a man through his admirers. so explore ruskin's sayings on tintoretto. i have a dozen moving picture magazine clippings, which are in their humble way first or second cousins of mural paintings. i will describe but two, since the method of selection has already been amply indicated, and the reader can find his own examples. for a crowd picture, for instance, here is a scene at a masquerade ball. the glitter of the costumes is an extension of the glitter of the candelabra overhead. the people are as it were chandeliers, hung lower down. the lines of the candelabra relate to the very ribbon streamers of the heroine, and the massive wood-work is the big brother of the square-shouldered heroes in the foreground, though one is a clown, one is a russian duke, and one is don cæsar de bazan. the building is the father of the people. these relations can be kept in the court scenes of the production of jeanne d'arc. here is a night picture from a war story in which the light is furnished by two fires whose coals and brands are hidden by earth heaped in front. the sentiment of tenting on the old camp-ground pervades the scene. the far end of the line of those keeping bivouac disappears into the distance, and the depths of the ranks behind them fade into the thick shadows. the flag, a little above the line, catches the light. one great tree overhead spreads its leafless half-lit arms through the gloom. behind all this is unmitigated black. the composition reminds one of a hiroshige study of midnight. these men are certainly a part of the architecture of out of doors, and mysterious as the vault of heaven. this type of a camp-fire is possible in our jeanne d'arc. these pictures, new and old, great and unknown, indicate some of the standards of judgment and types of vision whereby our conception of the play is to be evolved. by what means shall we block it in? our friend tintoretto made use of methods which are here described from one of his biographers, w. roscoe osler: "they have been much enlarged upon in the different biographies as the means whereby tintoretto obtained his power. they constituted, however, his habitual method of determining the effect and general grouping of his compositions. he moulded with extreme care small models of his figures in wax and clay. titian and other painters as well as tintoretto employed this method as the means of determining the light and shade of their design. afterwards the later stages of their work were painted from the life. but in tintoretto's compositions the position and arrangement of his figures as he began to dwell upon his great conceptions were such as to render the study from the living model a matter of great difficulty and at times an impossibility.... he ... modelled his sculptures ... imparting to his models a far more complete character than had been customary. these firmly moulded figures, sometimes draped, sometimes free, he suspended in a box made of wood, or of cardboard for his smaller work, in whose walls he made an aperture to admit a lighted candle.... he sits moving the light about amidst his assemblage of figures. every aspect of sublimity of light suitable to a madonna surrounded with angels, or a heavenly choir, finds its miniature response among the figures as the light moves. "this was the method by which, in conjunction with a profound study of outward nature, sympathy with the beauty of different types of face and varieties of form, with the many changing hues of the venetian scene, with the great laws of color and a knowledge of literature and history, he was able to shadow forth his great imagery of the intuitional world." this method of tintoretto suggests several possible derivatives in the preparation of motion pictures. let the painters and sculptors be now called upon for painting models and sculptural models, while the architect, already present, supplies the architectural models, all three giving us visible scenarios to furnish the cardinal motives for the acting, from which the amateur photoplay company of the university can begin their interpretation. for episodes that follow the precedent of the simple action film tiny wax models of the figures, toned and costumed to the heart's delight, would tell the high points of the story. let them represent, perhaps, seven crucial situations from the proposed photoplay. let them be designed as uniquely in their dresses as are the russian dancers' dresses, by léon bakst. then to alternate with these, seven little paintings of episodes, designed in blacks, whites, and grays, each representing some elusive point in the intimate aspects of the story. let there be a definite system of space and texture relations retained throughout the set. the models for the splendor scenes would, of course, be designed by the architect, and these other scenes alternated with and subordinated to his work. the effects which he would conceive would be on a grander scale. the models for these might be mere extensions of the methods of those others, but in the typical and highest let us imagine ourselves going beyond tintoretto in preparation. let the principal splendor moods and effects be indicated by actual structures, such miniatures as architects offer along with their plans of public buildings, but transfigured beyond that standard by the light of inspiration combined with experimental candle-light, spot-light, sunlight, or torchlight. they must not be conceived as stage arrangements of wax figures with harmonious and fitting backgrounds, but as backgrounds that clamor for utterance through the figures in front of them, as athens finds her soul in the athena with which we began. these three sorts of models, properly harmonized, should have with them a written scenario constructed to indicate all the scenes between. the scenario will lead up to these models for climaxes and hold them together in the celestial hurdle-race. we have in our museums some definite architectural suggestions as to the style of these models. there are in blackstone hall in the chicago art institute several great romanesque and gothic portals, pillars, and statues that might tell directly upon certain settings of our jeanne d'arc pageant. they are from notre dame du port at clermont-ferrand, the abbey church of st. gilles, the abbey of charlieu, the cathedral of amiens, notre dame at paris, the cathedral of bordeaux, and the cathedral of rheims. perhaps the object i care for most in the metropolitan museum, new york, is the complete model of notre dame, paris, by m. joly. why was this model of notre dame made with such exquisite pains? certainly not as a matter of mere information or cultivation. i venture the first right these things have to be taken care of in museums is to stimulate to new creative effort. i went to look over the chicago collection with a friend and poet arthur davison ficke. he said something to this effect: "the first thing i see when i look at these fragments is the whole cathedral in all its original proportions. then i behold the mediæval marketplace hunched against the building, burying the foundations, the life of man growing rank and weedlike around it. then i see the bishop coming from the door with his impressive train. but a crusade may go by on the way to the holy land. a crusade may come home battered and in rags. i get the sense of life, as of a rapid in a river flowing round a great rock." the cathedral stands for the age-long meditation of the ascetics in the midst of battling tribes. this brooding architecture has a blood-brotherhood with the meditating, saint-seeing jeanne d'arc. there is in the metropolitan museum a large and famous canvas painted by the dying bastien-lepage;--jeanne listening to the voices. it is a picture of which the technicians and the poets are equally enamored. the tale of jeanne d'arc could be told, carrying this particular peasant girl through the story. and for a piece of architectural pageantry akin to the photoplay ballroom scene already described, yet far above it, there is nothing more apt for our purpose than the painting by boutet de monvel filling the space at the top of the stair at the chicago art institute. though the bastien-lepage is a large painting, this is many times the size. it shows joan's visit at the court of chinon. it is big without being empty. it conveys a glitter which expresses one of the things that is meant by the phrase: splendor photoplay. but for moving picture purposes it is the bastien-lepage joan that should appear here, set in dramatic contrast to the boutet de monvel court. two valuable neighbors to whom i have read this chapter suggest that the whole boutet de monvel illustrated child's book about our heroine could be used on this grand scale, for a background. the inness room at the chicago art institute is another school for the meditative producer, if he would evolve his tribute to france on american soil. though no photoplay tableau has yet approximated the brush of inness, why not attempt to lead jeanne through an inness landscape? the bastien-lepage trees are in france. but here is an american world in which one could see visions and hear voices. where is the inspired camera that will record something of what inness beheld? thus much for the atmosphere and trappings of our jeanne d'arc scenario. where will we get our story? it should, of course, be written from the ground up for this production, but as good americans we would probably find a mass of suggestions in mark twain's joan of arc. quite recently a moving picture company sent its photographers to springfield, illinois, and produced a story with our city for a background, using our social set for actors. backed by the local commercial association for whose benefit the thing was made, the resources of the place were at the command of routine producers. springfield dressed its best, and acted with fair skill. the heroine was a charming débutante, the hero the son of governor dunne. the mine owner's daughter was at best a mediocre photoplay. but this type of social-artistic event, that happened once, may be attempted a hundred times, each time slowly improving. which brings us to something that is in the end very far from the mine owner's daughter. by what scenario method the following film or series of films is to be produced i will not venture to say. no doubt the way will come if once the dream has a sufficient hold. i have long maintained that my home-town should have a goddess like athena. the legend should be forthcoming. the producer, while not employing armies, should use many actors and the tale be told with the same power with which the productions of judith of bethulia and the battle hymn of the republic were evolved. while the following story may not be the form which springfield civic religion will ultimately take, it is here recorded as a second cousin of the dream that i hope will some day be set forth. late in an afternoon in october, a light is seen in the zenith like a dancing star. the clouds form round it in the approximation of a circle. now there becomes visible a group of heads and shoulders of presences that are looking down through the ring of clouds, watching the star, like giant children that peep down a well. the jewel descends by four sparkling chains, so far away they look to be dewy threads of silk. as the bright mystery grows larger it appears to be approaching the treeless hill of washington park, a hill that is surrounded by many wooded ridges. the people come running from everywhere to watch. here indeed will be a crowd picture with as many phases as a stormy ocean. flying machines appear from the fair ground north of the city, and circle round and round as they go up, trying to reach the slowly descending plummet. * * * * * at last, while the throng cheers, one bird-man has attained it. he brings back his message that the gift is an image, covered loosely with a wrapping that seems to be of spun gold. now the many aviators whirl round the descending wonder, like seagulls playing about a ship's mast. soon, amid an awestruck throng, the image is on the hillock. the golden chains, and the giant children holding them there above, have melted into threads of mist and nothingness. the shining wrapping falls away. the people look upon a seated statue of marble and gold. there is a branch of wrought-gold maple leaves in her hands. then beside the image is a fluttering transfigured presence of which the image seems to be a representation. this spirit, carrying a living maple branch in her hand, says to the people: "men and women of springfield, this carving is the lady springfield sent by your lord from heaven. build no canopy over her. let her ever be under the prairie-sky. do her perpetual honor." the messenger, who is the soul and voice of springfield, fades into the crowd, to emerge on great and terrible occasions. this is only one story. round this public event let the photoplay romancer weave what tales of private fortune he will, narratives bound up with the events of that october day, as the story of nathan and naomi is woven into judith of bethulia. henceforth the city officers are secular priests of our lady springfield. their failure in duty is a profanation of her name. a yearly pledge of the first voters is taken in her presence like the old athenian oath of citizenship. the seasonal pageants march to the statue's feet, scattering flowers. the important outdoor festivals are given on the edge of her hill. all the roads lead to her footstool. pilgrims come from the seven seas to look upon her face that is carved by invisible powers. moreover, the living messenger that is her actual soul appears in dreams, or visions of the open day, when the days are dark for the city, when her patriots are irresolute, and her children are put to shame. this spirit with the maple branch rallies them, leads them to victories like those that were won of old in the name of jeanne d'arc or pallas athena herself. chapter xii thirty differences between the photoplays and the stage the stage is dependent upon three lines of tradition: first, that of greece and rome that came down through the french. second, the english style, ripened from the miracle play and the shakespearian stage. and third, the ibsen precedent from norway, now so firmly established it is classic. these methods are obscured by the commercialized dramas, but they are behind them all. let us discuss for illustration the ibsen tradition. ibsen is generally the vitriolic foe of pageant. he must be read aloud. he stands for the spoken word, for the iron power of life that may be concentrated in a phrase like the "all or nothing" of brand. though peer gynt has its spectacular side, ibsen generally comes in through the ear alone. he can be acted in essentials from end to end with one table and four chairs in any parlor. the alleged punch with which the "movie" culminates has occurred three or ten years before the ibsen curtain goes up. at the close of every act of the dramas of this norwegian one might inscribe on the curtain "this the magnificent moving picture cannot achieve." likewise after every successful film described in this book could be inscribed "this the trenchant ibsen cannot do." but a photoplay of ghosts came to our town. the humor of the prospect was the sort too deep for tears. my pastor and i reread the william archer translation that we might be alert for every antithesis. together we went to the services. since then the film has been furiously denounced by the literati. floyd dell's discriminating assault upon it is quoted in current opinion, october, , and margaret anderson prints a denunciation of it in a recent number of the little review. but it is not such a bad film in itself. it is not ibsen. it should be advertised "the iniquities of the fathers, an american drama of eugenics, in a palatial setting." henry walthall as alving, afterward as his son, shows the men much as ibsen outlines their characters. of course the only way to be ibsen is to be so precisely. in the new plot all is open as the day. the world is welcome, and generally present when the man or his son go forth to see the elephant and hear the owl. provincial hypocrisy is not implied. but ibsen can scarcely exist without an atmosphere of secrecy for his human volcanoes to burst through in the end. mary alden as mrs. alving shows in her intelligent and sensitive countenance that she has a conception of that character. she does not always have the chance to act the woman written in her face, the tart, thinking, handsome creature that ibsen prefers. nigel debrullier looks the buttoned-up pastor manders, even to caricature. but the crawling, bootlicking carpenter, jacob engstrand, is changed into a respectable, guileless man with an income. and his wife and daughter are helpless, conventional, upper-class rabbits. they do not remind one of the saucy originals. the original ibsen drama is the result of mixing up five particular characters through three acts. there is not a situation but would go to pieces if one personality were altered. here are two, sadly tampered with: engstrand and his daughter. here is the mother, who is only referred to in ibsen. here is the elder alving, who disappears before the original play starts. so the twenty great ibsen situations in the stage production are gone. one new crisis has an ibsen irony and psychic tension. the boy is taken with the dreaded intermittent pains in the back of his head. he is painting the order that is to make him famous: the king's portrait. while the room empties of people he writhes on the floor. if this were all, it would have been one more moving picture failure to put through a tragic scene. but the thing is reiterated in tableau-symbol. he is looking sideways in terror. a hairy arm with clutching demon claws comes thrusting in toward the back of his neck. he writhes in deadly fear. the audience is appalled for him. this visible clutch of heredity is the nearest equivalent that is offered for the whispered refrain: "ghosts," in the original masterpiece. this hand should also be reiterated as a refrain, three times at least, before this tableau, each time more dreadful and threatening. it appears but the once, and has no chance to become a part of the accepted hieroglyphics of the piece, as it should be, to realize its full power. the father's previous sins have been acted out. the boy's consequent struggle with the malady has been traced step by step, so the play should end here. it would then be a rough equivalent of the ibsen irony in a contrary medium. instead of that, it wanders on through paraphrases of scraps of the play, sometimes literal, then quite alien, on to the alleged motion picture punch, when the doctor is the god from the machine. there is no doctor on the stage in the original ghosts. but there is a physician in the doll's house, a scientific, quietly moving oracle, crisp, spartan, sophisticated. is this photoplay physician such a one? the boy and his half-sister are in their wedding-clothes in the big church. pastor manders is saying the ceremony. the audience and building are indeed showy. the doctor charges up the aisle at the moment people are told to speak or forever hold their peace. he has tact. he simply breaks up the marriage right there. he does not tell the guests why. but he takes the wedding party into the pastor's study and there blazes at the bride and groom the long-suppressed truth that they are brother and sister. always an orotund man, he has the chautauqua manner indeed in this exigency. he brings to one's mind the tearful book, much loved in childhood, parted at the altar, or why was it thus? and four able actors have the task of telling the audience by facial expression only, that they have been struck by moral lightning. they stand in a row, facing the people, endeavoring to make the crisis of an alleged ibsen play out of a crashing melodrama. the final death of young alving is depicted with an approximation of ibsen's mood. but the only ways to suggest such feelings in silence, do not convey them in full to the audience, but merely narrate them. wherever in ghosts we have quiet voices that are like the slow drip of hydrochloric acid, in the photoplay we have no quiet gestures that will do trenchant work. instead there are endless writhings and rushings about, done with a deal of skill, but destructive of the last remnants of ibsen. up past the point of the clutching hand this film is the prime example for study for the person who would know once for all the differences between the photoplays and the stage dramas. along with it might be classed mrs. fiske's decorative moving picture tess, in which there is every determination to convey the original mrs. fiske illusion without her voice and breathing presence. to people who know her well it is a surprisingly good tintype of our beloved friend, for the family album. the relentless thomas hardy is nowhere to be found. there are two moments of dramatic life set among many of delicious pictorial quality: when tess baptizes her child, and when she smooths its little grave with a wavering hand. but in the stage-version the dramatic poignancy begins with the going up of the curtain, and lasts till it descends. the prime example of complete failure is sarah bernhardt's camille. it is indeed a tintype of the consumptive heroine, with every group entire, and taken at full length. much space is occupied by the floor and the overhead portions of the stage setting. it lasts as long as would the spoken performance, and wherever there is a dialogue we must imagine said conversation if we can. it might be compared to watching camille from the top gallery through smoked glass, with one's ears stopped with cotton. it would be well for the beginning student to find some way to see the first two of these three, or some other attempts to revamp the classic, for instance mrs. fiske's painstaking reproduction of vanity fair, bearing in mind the list of differences which this chapter now furnishes. there is no denying that many stage managers who have taken up photoplays are struggling with the shakespearian french and norwegian traditions in the new medium. many of the moving pictures discussed in this book are rewritten stage dramas, and one, judith of bethulia, is a pronounced success. but in order to be real photoplays the stage dramas must be overhauled indeed, turned inside out and upside down. the successful motion picture expresses itself through mechanical devices that are being evolved every hour. upon those many new bits of machinery are founded novel methods of combination in another field of logic, not dramatic logic, but tableau logic. but the old-line managers, taking up photoplays, begin by making curious miniatures of stage presentations. they try to have most things as before. later they take on the moving picture technique in a superficial way, but they, and the host of talented actors in the prime of life and broadway success, retain the dramatic state of mind. it is a principle of criticism, the world over, that the distinctions between the arts must be clearly marked, even by those who afterwards mix those arts. take, for instance, the perpetual quarrel between the artists and the half-educated about literary painting. whistler fought that battle in england. he tried to beat it into the head of john bull that a painting is one thing, a mere illustration for a story another thing. but the novice is always stubborn. to him hindu and arabic are both foreign languages, therefore just alike. the book illustration may be said to come in through the ear, by reading the title aloud in imagination. and the other is effective with no title at all. the scenario writer who will study to the bottom of the matter in whistler's gentle art of making enemies will be equipped to welcome the distinction between the old-fashioned stage, where the word rules, and the photoplay, where splendor and ritual are all. it is not the same distinction, but a kindred one. * * * * * but let us consider the details of the matter. the stage has its exits and entrances at the side and back. the standard photoplays have their exits and entrances across the imaginary footlight line, even in the most stirring mob and battle scenes. in judith of bethulia, though the people seem to be coming from everywhere and going everywhere, when we watch close, we see that the individuals enter at the near right-hand corner and exit at the near left-hand corner, or enter at the near left-hand corner and exit at the near right-hand corner. consider the devices whereby the stage actor holds the audience as he goes out at the side and back. he sighs, gestures, howls, and strides. with what studious preparation he ripens his quietness, if he goes out that way. in the new contraption, the moving picture, the hero or villain in exit strides past the nose of the camera, growing much bigger than a human being, marching toward us as though he would step on our heads, disappearing when largest. there is an explosive power about the mildest motion picture exit, be the actor skilful or the reverse. the people left in the scene are pygmies compared with each disappearing cyclops. likewise, when the actor enters again, his mechanical importance is overwhelming. therefore, for his first entrance the motion picture star does not require the preparations that are made on the stage. the support does not need to warm the spectators to the problem, then talk them into surrender. when the veteran stage-producer as a beginning photoplay producer tries to give us a dialogue in the motion pictures, he makes it so dull no one follows. he does not realize that his camera-born opportunity to magnify persons and things instantly, to interweave them as actors on one level, to alternate scenes at the slightest whim, are the big substitutes for dialogue. by alternating scenes rapidly, flash after flash: cottage, field, mountain-top, field, mountain-top, cottage, we have a conversation between three places rather than three persons. by alternating the picture of a man and the check he is forging, we have his soliloquy. when two people talk to each other, it is by lifting and lowering objects rather than their voices. the collector presents a bill: the adventurer shows him the door. the boy plucks a rose: the girl accepts it. moving objects, not moving lips, make the words of the photoplay. the old-fashioned stage producer, feeling he is getting nowhere, but still helpless, puts the climax of some puzzling lip-debate, often the climax of the whole film, as a sentence on the screen. sentences should be used to show changes of time and place and a few such elementary matters before the episode is fully started. the climax of a motion picture scene cannot be one word or fifty words. as has been discussed in connection with cabiria, the crisis must be an action sharper than any that has gone before in organic union with a tableau more beautiful than any that has preceded: the breaking of the tenth wave upon the sand. such remnants of pantomimic dialogue as remain in the main chase of the photoplay film are but guide-posts in the race toward the goal. they should not be elaborate toll-gates of plot, to be laboriously lifted and lowered while the horses stop, mid-career. the venus of milo, that comes directly to the soul through the silence, requires no quotation from keats to explain her, though keats is the equivalent in verse. her setting in the great french museum is enough. we do not know that her name is venus. she is thought by many to be another statue of victory. we may some day evolve scenarios that will require nothing more than a title thrown upon the screen at the beginning, they come to the eye so perfectly. this is not the only possible sort, but the self-imposed limitation in certain films might give them a charm akin to that of the songs without words. the stage audience is a unit of three hundred or a thousand. in the beginning of the first act there is much moving about and extra talk on the part of the actors, to hold the crowd while it is settling down, and enable the late-comer to be in his seat before the vital part of the story starts. if he appears later, he is glared at. in the motion picture art gallery, on the other hand, the audience is around two hundred, and these are not a unit, and the only crime is to obstruct the line of vision. the high-school girls can do a moderate amount of giggling without breaking the spell. there is no spell, in the stage sense, to break. people can climb over each other's knees to get in or out. if the picture is political, they murmur war-cries to one another. if the film suggests what some of the neighbors have been doing, they can regale each other with the richest sewing society report. the people in the motion picture audience total about two hundred, any time, but they come in groups of two or three at no specified hour. the newcomers do not, as in vaudeville, make themselves part of a jocular army. strictly as individuals they judge the panorama. if they disapprove, there is grumbling under their breath, but no hissing. i have never heard an audience in a photoplay theatre clap its hands even when the house was bursting with people. yet they often see the film through twice. when they have had enough, they stroll home. they manifest their favorable verdict by sending some other member of the family to "see the picture." if the people so delegated are likewise satisfied, they may ask the man at the door if he is going to bring it back. that is the moving picture kind of cheering. it was a theatrical sin when the old-fashioned stage actor was rendered unimportant by his scenery. but the motion picture actor is but the mood of the mob or the landscape or the department store behind him, reduced to a single hieroglyphic. the stage-interior is large. the motion-picture interior is small. the stage out-of-door scene is at best artificial and little and is generally at rest, or its movement is tainted with artificiality. the waves dash, but not dashingly, the water flows, but not flowingly. the motion picture out-of-door scene is as big as the universe. and only pictures of the sahara are without magnificent motion. the photoplay is as far from the stage on the one hand as it is from the novel on the other. its nearest analogy in literature is, perhaps, the short story, or the lyric poem. the key-words of the stage are _passion_ and _character_; of the photoplay, _splendor_ and _speed_. the stage in its greatest power deals with pity for some one especially unfortunate, with whom we grow well acquainted; with some private revenge against some particular despoiler; traces the beginning and culmination of joy based on the gratification of some preference, or love for some person, whose charm is all his own. the drama is concerned with the slow, inevitable approaches to these intensities. on the other hand, the motion picture, though often appearing to deal with these things, as a matter of fact uses substitutes, many of which have been listed. but to review: its first substitute is the excitement of speed-mania stretched on the framework of an obvious plot. or it deals with delicate informal anecdote as the short story does, or fairy legerdemain, or patriotic banners, or great surging mobs of the proletariat, or big scenic outlooks, or miraculous beings made visible. and the further it gets from euripides, ibsen, shakespeare, or molière--the more it becomes like a mural painting from which flashes of lightning come--the more it realizes its genius. men like gordon craig and granville barker are almost wasting their genius on the theatre. the splendor photoplays are the great outlet for their type of imagination. the typical stage performance is from two hours and a half upward. the movie show generally lasts five reels, that is, an hour and forty minutes. and it should last but three reels, that is, an hour. edgar poe said there was no such thing as a long poem. there is certainly no such thing as a long moving picture masterpiece. the stage-production depends most largely upon the power of the actors, the movie show upon the genius of the producer. the performers and the dumb objects are on equal terms in his paint-buckets. the star-system is bad for the stage because the minor parts are smothered and the situations distorted to give the favorite an orbit. it is bad for the motion pictures because it obscures the producer. while the leading actor is entitled to his glory, as are all the actors, their mannerisms should not overshadow the latest inspirations of the creator of the films. the display of the name of the corporation is no substitute for giving the glory to the producer. an artistic photoplay is not the result of a military efficiency system. it is not a factory-made staple article, but the product of the creative force of one soul, the flowering of a spirit that has the habit of perpetually renewing itself. once i saw mary fuller in a classic. it was the life and death of mary queen of scots. not only was the tense, fidgety, over-american mary fuller transformed into a being who was a poppy and a tiger-lily and a snow-queen and a rose, but she and her company, including marc macdermott, radiated the old scotch patriotism. they made the picture a memorial. it reminded one of maurice hewlett's novel the queen's quair. evidently all the actors were fused by some noble managerial mood. there can be no doubt that so able a group have evolved many good films that have escaped me. but though i did go again and again, never did i see them act with the same deliberation and distinction, and i laid the difference to a change in the state of mind of the producer. even baseball players must have managers. a team cannot pick itself, or it surely would. and this rule may apply to the stage. but by comparison to motion picture performers, stage-actors are their own managers, for they have an approximate notion of how they look in the eye of the audience, which is but the human eye. they can hear and gauge their own voices. they have the same ears as their listeners. but the picture producer holds to his eyes the seven-leagued demon spy-glass called the kinetoscope, as the audience will do later. the actors have not the least notion of their appearance. also the words in the motion picture are not things whose force the actor can gauge. the book under the table is one word, the dog behind the chair is another, the window curtain flying in the breeze is another. this chapter has implied that the performers were but paint on the canvas. they are both paint and models. they are models in the sense that the young ellen terry was the inspiration for watts' sir galahad. they resemble the persons in private life who furnish the basis for novels. dickens' mother was the original of mrs. nickleby. his father entered into wilkins micawber. but these people are not perpetually thrust upon us as mr. and mrs. dickens. we are glad to find them in the dickens biographies. when the stories begin, it is micawber and mrs. nickleby we want, and the charles dickens atmosphere. the photoplays of the future will be written from the foundations for the films. the soundest actors, photographers, and producers will be those who emphasize the points wherein the photoplay is unique. what is adapted to complete expression in one art generally secures but half expression in another. the supreme photoplay will give us things that have been but half expressed in all other mediums allied to it. once this principle is grasped there is every reason why the same people who have interested themselves in the advanced experimental drama should take hold of the super-photoplay. the good citizens who can most easily grasp the distinction should be there to perpetuate the higher welfare of these institutions side by side. this parallel development should come, if for no other reason, because the two arts are still roughly classed together by the public. the elect cannot teach the public what the drama is till they show them precisely what the photoplay is and is not. just as the university has departments of both history and english teaching in amity, each one illuminating the work of the other, so these two forms should live in each other's sight in fine and friendly contrast. at present they are in blind and jealous warfare. chapter xiii hieroglyphics i have read this chapter to a pretty neighbor who has approved of the preceding portions of the book, whose mind, therefore, i cannot but respect. my neighbor classes this discussion of hieroglyphics as a fanciful flight rather than a sober argument. i submit the verdict, then struggle against it while you read. the invention of the photoplay is as great a step as was the beginning of picture-writing in the stone age. and the cave-men and women of our slums seem to be the people most affected by this novelty, which is but an expression of the old in that spiral of life which is going higher while seeming to repeat the ancient phase. there happens to be here on the table a book on egypt by rawlinson that i used to thumb long ago. a footnote says: "the font of hieroglyphic type used in this work contains eight hundred forms. but there are many other forms beside." there is more light on egypt in later works than in rawlinson, but the statement quoted will serve for our text. several complex methods of making visible scenarios are listed in this work. here is one that is mechanically simple. let the man searching for tableau combinations, even if he is of the practical commercial type, prepare himself with eight hundred signs from egypt. he can construct the outlines of his scenarios by placing these little pictures in rows. it may not be impractical to cut his hundreds of them from black cardboard and shuffle them on his table every morning. the list will contain all elementary and familiar things. let him first give the most literal meaning to the patterns. then if he desires to rise above the commercial field, let him turn over each cardboard, making the white undersurface uppermost, and there write a more abstract meaning of the hieroglyphic, one that has a fairly close relation to his way of thinking about the primary form. from a proper balance of primary and secondary meanings photoplays with souls could come. not that he must needs become an expert egyptologist. yet it would profit any photoplay man to study to think like the egyptians, the great picture-writing people. there is as much reason for this course as for the bible student's apprenticeship in hebrew. hieroglyphics can prove their worth, even without the help of an egyptian history. humorous and startling analogies can be pointed out by opening the standard dictionary, page fifty-nine. look under the word _alphabet_. there is the diagram of the evolution of inscriptions from the egyptian and phoenician idea of what letters should be, on through the greek and roman systems. in the egyptian row is the picture of a throne, [illustration] that has its equivalent in the roman letter c. and a throne has as much place in what might be called the moving-picture alphabet as the letter c has in ours. there are sometimes three thrones in this small town of springfield in an evening. when you see one flashed on the screen, you know instantly you are dealing with royalty or its implications. the last one i saw that made any particular impression was when mary pickford acted in such a little queen. i only wished then that she had a more convincing throne. let us cut one out of black cardboard. turning the cardboard over to write on it the spirit-meaning, we inscribe some such phrase as the throne of wisdom or the throne of liberty. here is the hieroglyphic of a hand: [illustration] roman equivalent, the letter d. the human hand, magnified till it is as big as the whole screen, is as useful in the moving picture alphabet as the letter d in the printed alphabet. this hand may open a lock. it may pour poison in a bottle. it may work a telegraph key. then turning the white side of the cardboard uppermost we inscribe something to the effect that this hand may write on the wall, as at the feast of belshazzar. or it may represent some such conception as rodin's hand of god, discussed in the sculpture-in-motion chapter. here is a duck: [illustration] roman equivalent, the letter z. in the motion pictures this bird, a somewhat z-shaped animal, suggests the finality of arcadian peace. it is the last and fittest ornament of the mill-pond. nothing very terrible can happen with a duck in the foreground. there is no use turning it over. it would take maeterlinck or swedenborg to find the mystic meaning of a duck. a duck looks to me like a caricature of an alderman. here is a sieve: [illustration] roman equivalent, h. a sieve placed on the kitchen-table, close-up, suggests domesticity, hired girl humors, broad farce. we will expect the bride to make her first cake, or the flour to begin to fly into the face of the intrusive ice-man. but, as to the other side of the cardboard, the sieve has its place in higher symbolism. it has been recorded by many a sage and singer that the almighty powers sift men like wheat. here is the picture of a bowl: [illustration] roman equivalent, the letter k. a bowl seen through the photoplay window on the cottage table suggests johnny's early supper of bread and milk. but as to the white side of the cardboard, out of a bowl of kindred form omar may take his moonlit wine, or the higher gods may lift up the very wine of time to the lips of men, as swinburne sings in atalanta in calydon. here is a lioness: [illustration] roman equivalent, the letter l. the lion or lioness creeps through the photoplay jungle to give the primary picture-word of terror in this new universal alphabet. the present writer has seen several valuable lions unmistakably shot and killed in the motion pictures, and charged up to profit and loss, just as steam-engines or houses are sometimes blown up or burned down. but of late there is a disposition to use the trained lion (or lioness) for all sorts of effects. no doubt the king and queen of beasts will become as versatile and humbly useful as the letter l itself: that is, in the commonplace routine photoplay. we turn the cardboard over and the lion becomes a resource of glory and terror, a symbol of cruel persecutions or deathless courage, sign of the zodiac that poe in ulalume calls the lair of the lion. here is an owl: [illustration] roman equivalent, the letter m. the only use of the owl i can record is to be inscribed on the white surface. in the avenging conscience, as described in chapter ten, the murderer marks the ticking of the heart of his victim while watching the swinging of the pendulum of the old clock, then in watching the tapping of the detective's pencil on the table, then in the tapping of his foot on the floor. finally a handsome owl is shown in the branches outside hoot-hooting in time with the action of the pencil, and the pendulum, and the dead man's heart. but here is a wonderful thing, an actual picture that has lived on, retaining its ancient imitative sound and form: [illustration] the letter n, the drawing of a wave, with the sound of a wave still within it. one could well imagine the nile in the winds of the dawn making such a sound: "nn, n, n," lapping at the reeds upon its banks. certainly the glittering water scenes are a dominant part of moving picture esperanto. on the white reverse of the symbol, the spiritual meaning of water will range from the metaphor of the purity of the dew to the sea as a sign of infinity. here is a window with closed shutters: [illustration] latin equivalent, the letter p. it is a reminder of the technical outline of this book. the intimate photoplay, as i have said, is but a window where we open the shutters and peep into some one's cottage. as to the soul meaning in the opening or closing of the shutters, it ranges from noah's opening the hatches to send forth the dove, to the promises of blessing when the windows of heaven should be opened. here is the picture of an angle: [illustration] latin equivalent, q. this is another reminder of the technical outline. the photoplay interior, as has been reiterated, is small and three-cornered. here the heroine does her plotting, flirting, and primping, etc. i will leave the spiritual interpretation of the angle to emerson, swedenborg, or maeterlinck. here is the picture of a mouth: [illustration] latin equivalent, the letter r. if we turn from the dictionary to the monuments, we will see that the egyptians used all the human features in their pictures. we do not separate the features as frequently as did that ancient people, but we conventionalize them as often. nine-tenths of the actors have faces as fixed as the masks of the greek chorus: they have the hero-mask with the protruding chin, the villain-frown, the comedian-grin, the fixed innocent-girl simper. these formulas have their place in the broad effects of crowd pictures and in comedies. then there are sudden abandonments of the mask. griffith's pupils, henry walthall and blanche sweet, seem to me to be the greatest people in the photoplays: for one reason their faces are as sensitive to changing emotion as the surfaces of fair lakes in the wind. there is a passage in enoch arden where annie, impersonated by lillian gish, another pupil of griffith, is waiting in suspense for the return of her husband. she changes from lips of waiting, with a touch of apprehension, to a delighted laugh of welcome, her head making a half-turn toward the door. the audience is so moved by the beauty of the slow change they do not know whether her face is the size of the screen or the size of a postage-stamp. as a matter of fact it fills the whole end of the theatre. thus much as to faces that are not hieroglyphics. yet fixed facial hieroglyphics have many legitimate uses. for instance in the avenging conscience, as the play works toward the climax and the guilty man is breaking down, the eye of the detective is thrown on the screen with all else hid in shadow, a watching, relentless eye. and this suggests a special talisman of the old egyptians, a sign called the eyes of horus, meaning the all-beholding sun. here is the picture of an inundated garden: [illustration] latin equivalent, the letter s. in our photoplays the garden is an ever-present resource, and at an instant's necessity suggests the glory of nature, or sweet privacy, and kindred things. the egyptian lotus garden had to be inundated to be a success. ours needs but the hired man with the hose, who sometimes supplies broad comedy. but we turn over the cardboard, for the deeper meaning of this hieroglyphic. our gardens can, as of old, run the solemn range from those of babylon to those of the resurrection. if there is one sceptic left as to the hieroglyphic significance of the photoplay, let him now be discomfited by page fifty-nine, standard dictionary. the last letter in this list is a lasso: [illustration]. the equivalent of the lasso in the roman alphabet is the letter t. the crude and facetious would be apt to suggest that the equivalent of the lasso in the photoplay is the word trouble, possibly for the hero, but probably for the villain. we turn to the other side of the symbol. the noose may stand for solemn judgment and the hangman, it may also symbolize the snare of the fowler, temptation. then there is the spider web, close kin, representing the cruelty of evolution, in the avenging conscience. this list is based on the rows of hieroglyphics most readily at hand. any volume on egypt, such as one of those by maspero, has a multitude of suggestions for the man inclined to the idea. if this system of pasteboard scenarios is taken literally, i would like to suggest as a beginning rule that in a play based on twenty hieroglyphics, nineteen should be the black realistic signs with obvious meanings, and only one of them white and inexplicably strange. it has been proclaimed further back in this treatise that there is only one witch in every wood. and to illustrate further, there is but one scarlet letter in hawthorne's story of that name, but one wine-cup in all of omar, one bluebird in maeterlinck's play. i do not insist that the prospective author-producer adopt the hieroglyphic method as a routine, if he but consents in his meditative hours to the point of view that it implies. the more fastidious photoplay audience that uses the hieroglyphic hypothesis in analyzing the film before it, will acquire a new tolerance and understanding of the avalanche of photoplay conceptions, and find a promise of beauty in what have been properly classed as mediocre and stereotyped productions. the nineteenth chapter has a discourse on the book of the dead. as a connecting link with that chapter the reader will note that one of the marked things about the egyptian wall-paintings, pictures on the mummy-case wrappings, papyrus inscriptions, and architectural conceptions, is that they are but enlarged hieroglyphics, while the hieroglyphics are but reduced fac-similes of these. so when a few characters are once understood, the highly colored egyptian wall-paintings of the same things are understood. the hieroglyphic of osiris is enlarged when they desire to represent him in state. the hieroglyphic of the soul as a human-headed hawk may be in a line of writing no taller than the capitals of this book. immediately above may be a big painting of the soul, the same hawk placed with the proper care with reference to its composition on the wall, a pure decoration. the transition from reduction to enlargement and back again is as rapid in egypt as in the photoplay. it follows, among other things, that in egypt, as in china and japan, literary style and mere penmanship and brushwork are to be conceived as inseparable. no doubt the egyptian scholar was the man who could not only compose a poem, but write it down with a brush. talent for poetry, deftness in inscribing, and skill in mural painting were probably gifts of the same person. the photoplay goes back to this primitive union in styles. the stages from hieroglyphics through phoenician and greek letters to ours, are of no particular interest here. but the fact that hieroglyphics can evolve is important. let us hope that our new picture-alphabets can take on richness and significance, as time goes on, without losing their literal values. they may develop into something more all-pervading, yet more highly wrought, than any written speech. languages when they evolve produce stylists, and we will some day distinguish the different photoplay masters as we now delight in the separate tang of o. henry and mark twain and howells. when these are ancient times, we will have scholars and critics learned in the flavors of early moving picture traditions with their histories of movements and schools, their grammars, and anthologies. now some words as to the anglo-saxon language and its relation to pictures. in england and america our plastic arts are but beginning. yesterday we were preeminently a word-civilization. england built her mediæval cathedrals, but they left no legacy among craftsmen. art had to lean on imported favorites like van dyck till the days of sir joshua reynolds and the founding of the royal society. consider that the friends of reynolds were of the circle of doctor johnson. literary tradition had grown old. then england had her beginning of landscape gardening. later she saw the rise of constable, ruskin, and turner, and their iridescent successors. still to-day in england the average leading citizen matches word against word,--using them as algebraic formulas,--rather than picture against picture, when he arranges his thoughts under the eaves of his mind. to step into the art world is to step out of the beaten path of british dreams. shakespeare is still king, not rossetti, nor yet christopher wren. moreover, it was the book-reading colonial who led our rebellion against the very royalty that founded the academy. the public-speaking american wrote the declaration of independence. it was not the work of the painting or cathedral-building englishman. we were led by patrick henry, the orator, benjamin franklin, the printer. the more characteristic america became, the less she had to do with the plastic arts. the emigrant-train carried many a bible and dictionary packed in beside the guns and axes. it carried the elizabethan writers, Æsop's fables, blackstone's commentaries, the revised statutes of indiana, bunyan's pilgrim's progress, parson weems' life of washington. but, obviously, there was no place for the elgin marbles. giotto's tower could not be loaded in with the dried apples and the seedcorn. yesterday morning, though our arts were growing every day, we were still more of a word-civilization than the english. our architectural, painting, and sculptural history is concerned with men now living, or their immediate predecessors. and even such work as we have is pretty largely a cult by the wealthy. this is the more a cause for misgiving because, in a democracy, the arts, like the political parties, are not founded till they have touched the county chairman, the ward leader, the individual voter. the museums in a democracy should go as far as the public libraries. every town has its library. there are not twenty art museums in the land. here then comes the romance of the photoplay. a tribe that has thought in words since the days that it worshipped thor and told legends of the cunning of the tongue of loki, suddenly begins to think in pictures. the leaders of the people, and of culture, scarcely know the photoplay exists. but in the remote villages the players mentioned in this work are as well known and as fairly understood in their general psychology as any candidates for president bearing political messages. there is many a babe in the proletariat not over four years old who has received more pictures into its eye than it has had words enter its ear. the young couple go with their first-born and it sits gaping on its mother's knee. often the images are violent and unseemly, a chaos of rawness and squirm, but scattered through the experience is a delineation of the world. pekin and china, harvard and massachusetts, portland and oregon, benares and india, become imaginary playgrounds. by the time the hopeful has reached its geography lesson in the public school it has travelled indeed. almost any word that means a picture in the text of the geography or history or third reader is apt to be translated unconsciously into moving picture terms. in the next decade, simply from the development of the average eye, cities akin to the beginnings of florence will be born among us as surely as chaucer came, upon the first ripening of the english tongue, after cædmon and beowulf. sculptors, painters, architects, and park gardeners who now have their followers by the hundreds will have admirers by the hundred thousand. the voters will respond to the aspirations of these artists as the back-woodsmen followed poor richard's almanac, or the trappers in their coon-skin caps were fired to patriotism by patrick henry. * * * * * this ends the second section of the book. were it not for the passage on the battle hymn of the republic, the chapters thus far might be entitled: "an open letter to griffith and the producers and actors he has trained." contrary to my prudent inclinations, he is the star of the piece, except on one page where he is the villain. this stardom came about slowly. in making the final revision, looking up the producers of the important reels, especially those from the beginning of the photoplay business, numbers of times the photoplays have turned out to be the work of this former leading man of nance o'neil. no one can pretend to a full knowledge of the films. they come faster than rain in april. it would take a man every day of the year, working day and night, to see all that come to springfield. but in the photoplay world, as i understand it, d.w. griffith is the king-figure. so far, in this work i have endeavored to keep to the established dogmas of art. i hope that the main lines of the argument will appeal to the people who have classified and related the beautiful works of man that have preceded the moving pictures. let the reader make his own essay on the subject for the local papers and send the clipping to me. the next photoplay book that may appear from this hand may be construed to meet his point of view. it will try to agree or disagree in clear language. many a controversy must come before a method of criticism is fully established. * * * * * book iii more personal speculations and afterthoughts not brought forward so dogmatically at this point i climb from the oracular platform and go down through my own chosen underbrush for haphazard adventure. i renounce the platform. whatever it may be that i find, pawpaw or may-apple or spray of willow, if you do not want it, throw it over the edge of the hill, without ado, to the birds or squirrels or kine, and do not include it in your controversial discourse. it is not a part of the dogmatic system of photoplay criticism. chapter xiv the orchestra, conversation, and the censorship whenever the photoplay is mixed in the same programme with vaudeville, the moving picture part of the show suffers. the film is rushed through, it is battered, it flickers more than commonly, it is a little out of focus. the house is not built for it. the owner of the place cannot manage an art gallery with a circus on his hands. it takes more brains than one man possesses to pick good vaudeville talent and bring good films to the town at the same time. the best motion picture theatres are built for photoplays alone. but they make one mistake. almost every motion picture theatre has its orchestra, pianist, or mechanical piano. the perfect photoplay gathering-place would have no sound but the hum of the conversing audience. if this is too ruthless a theory, let the music be played at the intervals between programmes, while the advertisements are being flung upon the screen, the lights are on, and the people coming in. if there is something more to be done on the part of the producer to make the film a telling one, let it be a deeper study of the pictorial arrangement, with the tones more carefully balanced, the sculpture vitalized. this is certainly better than to have a raw thing bullied through with a music-programme, furnished to bridge the weak places in the construction. a picture should not be released till it is completely thought out. a producer with this goal before him will not have the time or brains to spare to write music that is as closely and delicately related to the action as the action is to the background. and unless the tunes are at one with the scheme they are an intrusion. perhaps the moving picture maker has a twin brother almost as able in music, who possesses the faculty of subordinating his creations to the work of his more brilliant coadjutor. how are they going to make a practical national distribution of the accompaniment? in the metropolitan theatres cabiria carried its own musicians and programme with a rich if feverish result. in the birth of a nation, music was used that approached imitative sound devices. also the orchestra produced a substitute for old-fashioned stage suspense by long drawn-out syncopations. the finer photoplay values were thrown askew. perhaps these two performances could be successfully vindicated in musical policy. but such a defence proves nothing in regard to the typical film. imagine either of these put on in rochester, illinois, population one hundred souls. the reels run through as well as on broadway or michigan avenue, but the local orchestra cannot play the music furnished in annotated sheets as skilfully as the local operator can turn the reel (or watch the motor turn it!). the big social fact about the moving picture is that it is scattered like the newspaper. any normal accompaniment thereof must likewise be adapted to being distributed everywhere. the present writer has seen, here in his home place, population sixty thousand, all the films discussed in this book but cabiria and the birth of a nation. it is a photoplay paradise, the spoken theatre is practically banished. unfortunately the local moving picture managers think it necessary to have orchestras. the musicians they can secure make tunes that are most squalid and horrible. with fathomless imbecility, hoochey koochey strains are on the air while heroes are dying. the miserere is in our ears when the lovers are reconciled. ragtime is imposed upon us while the old mother prays for her lost boy. sometimes the musician with this variety of sympathy abandons himself to thrilling improvisation. my thoughts on this subject began to take form several years ago, when the film this book has much praised, the battle hymn of the republic, came to town. the proprietor of one theatre put in front of his shop a twenty-foot sign "the battle hymn of the republic, by harriet beecher stowe, brought back by special request." he had probably read julia ward howe's name on the film forty times before the sign went up. his assistant, i presume his daughter, played "in the shade of the old apple tree" hour after hour, while the great film was rolling by. many old soldiers were coming to see it. i asked the assistant why she did not play and sing the battle hymn. she said they "just couldn't find it." are the distributors willing to send out a musician with each film? many of the springfield producers are quite able and enterprising, but to ask for music with photoplays is like asking the man at the news stand to write an editorial while he sells you the paper. the picture with a great orchestra in a far-off metropolitan opera house, may be classed by fanatic partisanship with grand opera. but few can get at it. it has nothing to do with democracy. of course people with a mechanical imagination, and no other kind, begin to suggest the talking moving picture at this point, or the phonograph or the mechanical piano. let us discuss the talking moving picture only. that disposes of the others. if the talking moving picture becomes a reliable mirror of the human voice and frame, it will be the basis of such a separate art that none of the photoplay precedents will apply. it will be the _phonoplay_, not the photoplay. it will be unpleasant for a long time. this book is a struggle against the non-humanness of the undisciplined photograph. any film is correct, realistic, forceful, many times before it is charming. the actual physical storage-battery of the actor is many hundred miles away. as a substitute, the human quality must come in the marks of the presence of the producer. the entire painting must have his brushwork. if we compare it to a love-letter it must be in his handwriting rather than worked on a typewriter. if he puts his autograph into the film, it is after a fierce struggle with the uncanny scientific quality of the camera's work. his genius and that of the whole company of actors is exhausted in the task. the raw phonograph is likewise unmagnetic. would you set upon the shoulders of the troupe of actors the additional responsibility of putting an adequate substitute for human magnetism in the phonographic disk? the voice that does not actually bleed, that contains no heart-beats, fails to meet the emergency. few people have wept over a phonographic selection from tristan and isolde. they are moved at the actual performance. why? look at the opera singer after the last act. his eyes are burning. his face is flushed. his pulse is high. reaching his hotel room, he is far more weary than if he had sung the opera alone there. he has given out of his brain-fire and blood-beat the same magnetism that leads men in battle. to speak of it in the crassest terms, this resource brings him a hundred times more salary than another man with just as good a voice can command. the output that leaves him drained at the end of the show cannot be stored in the phonograph machine. that device is as good in the morning as at noon. it ticks like a clock. to perfect the talking moving picture, human magnetism must be put into the mirror-screen and into the clock. not only is this imperative, but clock and mirror must be harmonized, one gently subordinated to the other. both cannot rule. in the present talking moving picture the more highly developed photoplay is dragged by the hair in a dead faint, in the wake of the screaming savage phonograph. no talking machine on the market reproduces conversation clearly unless it be elaborately articulated in unnatural tones with a stiff interval between each question and answer. real dialogue goes to ruin. the talking moving picture came to our town. we were given for one show a line of minstrels facing the audience, with the interlocutor repeating his immemorial question, and the end-man giving the immemorial answer. then came a scene in a blacksmith shop where certain well-differentiated rackets were carried over the footlights. no one heard the blacksmith, unless he stopped to shout straight at us. the _phonoplay_ can quite possibly reach some divine goal, but it will be after the speaking powers of the phonograph excel the photographing powers of the reel, and then the pictures will be brought in as comment and ornament to the speech. the pictures will be held back by the phonograph as long as it is more limited in its range. the pictures are at present freer and more versatile without it. if the _phonoplay_ is ever established, since it will double the machinery, it must needs double its prices. it will be the illustrated phonograph, in a more expensive theatre. the orchestra is in part a blundering effort by the local manager to supply the human-magnetic element which he feels lacking in the pictures on which the producer has not left his autograph. but there is a much more economic and magnetic accompaniment, the before-mentioned buzzing commentary of the audience. there will be some people who disturb the neighbors in front, but the average crowd has developed its manners in this particular, and when the orchestra is silent, murmurs like a pleasant brook. local manager, why not an advertising campaign in your town that says: "beginning monday and henceforth, ours shall be known as the conversational theatre"? at the door let each person be handed the following card:-- "you are encouraged to discuss the picture with the friend who accompanies you to this place. conversation, of course, must be sufficiently subdued not to disturb the stranger who did not come with you to the theatre. if you are so disposed, consider your answers to these questions: what play or part of a play given in this theatre did you like most to-day? what the least? what is the best picture you have ever seen anywhere? what pictures, seen here this month, shall we bring back?" here give a list of the recent productions, with squares to mark by the australian ballot system: approved or disapproved. the cards with their answers could be slipped into the ballot-box at the door as the crowd goes out. it may be these questions are for the exceptional audiences in residence districts. perhaps with most crowds the last interrogation is the only one worth while. but by gathering habitually the answers to that alone the place would get the drift of its public, realize its genius, and become an art-gallery, the people bestowing the blue ribbons. the photoplay theatres have coupon contests and balloting already: the most popular young lady, money prizes to the best vote-getter in the audience, etc. why not ballot on the matter in hand? if the cards are sent out by the big producers, a referendum could be secured that would be invaluable in arguing down to rigid censorship, and enable them to make their own private censorship more intelligent. various styles of experimental cards could be tried till the vital one is found. there is growing up in this country a clan of half-formed moving picture critics. the present stage of their work is indicated by the eloquent notice describing your girl and mine, in the chapter on "progress and endowment." the metropolitan papers give their photoplay reporters as much space as the theatrical critics. here in my home town the twelve moving picture places take one half a page of chaotic notices daily. the country is being badly led by professional photoplay news-writers who do not know where they are going, but are on the way. but they aptly describe the habitual attendants as moving picture fans. the fan at the photoplay, as at the baseball grounds, is neither a low-brow nor a high-brow. he is an enthusiast who is as stirred by the charge of the photographic cavalry as by the home runs that he watches from the bleachers. in both places he has the privilege of comment while the game goes on. in the photoplay theatre it is not so vociferous, but as keenly felt. each person roots by himself. he has his own judgment, and roasts the umpire: who is the keeper of the local theatre: or the producer, as the case may be. if these opinions of the fan can be collected and classified, an informal censorship is at once established. the photoplay reporters can then take the enthusiasts in hand and lead them to a realization of the finer points in awarding praise and blame. even the sporting pages have their expert opinions with due influence on the betting odds. out of the work of the photoplay reporters let a superstructure of art criticism be reared in periodicals like the century, harper's, scribner's, the atlantic, the craftsman, and the architectural magazines. these are our natural custodians of art. they should reproduce the most exquisite tableaus, and be as fastidious in their selection of them as they are in the current examples of the other arts. let them spread the news when photoplays keyed to the rembrandt mood arrive. the reporters for the newspapers should get their ideas and refreshment in such places as the ryerson art library of the chicago art institute. they should begin with such books as richard muther's history of modern painting, john c. van dyke's art for art's sake, marquand and frothingham's history of sculpture, a.d.f. hamlin's history of architecture. they should take the business of guidance in this new world as a sacred trust, knowing they have the power to influence an enormous democracy. the moving picture journals and the literati are in straits over the censorship question. the literati side with the managers, on the principles of free speech and a free press. but few of the æsthetically super-wise are persistent fans. they rave for freedom, but are not, as a general thing, living back in the home town. they do not face the exigency of having their summer and winter amusement spoiled day after day. extremists among the pious are railing against the moving pictures as once they railed against novels. they have no notion that this institution is penetrating to the last backwoods of our civilization, where its presence is as hard to prevent as the rain. but some of us are destined to a reaction, almost as strong as the obsession. the religionists will think they lead it. they will be self-deceived. moving picture nausea is already taking hold of numberless people, even when they are in the purely pagan mood. forced by their limited purses, their inability to buy a ford car, and the like, they go in their loneliness to film after film till the whole world seems to turn on a reel. when they are again at home, they see in the dark an imaginary screen with tremendous pictures, whirling by at a horribly accelerated pace, a photoplay delirium tremens. faster and faster the reel turns in the back of their heads. when the moving picture sea-sickness is upon one, nothing satisfies but the quietest out of doors, the companionship of the gentlest of real people. the non-movie-life has charms such as one never before conceived. the worn citizen feels that the cranks and legislators can do what they please to the producers. he is through with them. the moving picture business men do not realize that they have to face these nervous conditions in their erstwhile friends. they flatter themselves they are being pursued by some reincarnations of anthony comstock. there are several reasons why photoplay corporations are callous, along with the sufficient one that they are corporations. first, they are engaged in a financial orgy. fortunes are being found by actors and managers faster than they were dug up in and in california. forty-niner lawlessness of soul prevails. they talk each other into a lordly state of mind. all is dash and experiment. look at the advertisements in the leading moving picture magazines. they are like the praise of oil stock or peruna. they bawl about films founded upon little classics. they howl about plots that are ostensibly from the soberest of novels, whose authors they blasphemously invoke. they boo and blow about twisted, callous scenarios that are bad imitations of the world's most beloved lyrics. the producers do not realize the mass effect of the output of the business. it appears to many as a sea of unharnessed photography: sloppy conceptions set forth with sharp edges and irrelevant realism. the jumping, twitching, cold-blooded devices, day after day, create the aforesaid sea-sickness, that has nothing to do with the questionable subject. when on top of this we come to the picture that is actually insulting, we are up in arms indeed. it is supplied by a corporation magnate removed from his audience in location, fortune, interest, and mood: an absentee landlord. i was trying to convert a talented and noble friend to the films. the first time we went there was a prize-fight between a black and a white man, not advertised, used for a filler. i said it was queer, and would not happen again. the next time my noble friend was persuaded to go, there was a cock-fight, incidental to a cuban romance. the third visit we beheld a lady who was dying for five minutes, rolling her eyes about in a way that was fearful to see. the convert was not made. it is too easy to produce an unprovoked murder, an inexplicable arson, neither led up to nor followed by the ordinary human history of such acts, and therefore as arbitrary as the deeds of idiots or the insane. a villainous hate, an alleged love, a violent death, are flashed at us, without being in any sort of tableau logic. the public is ceaselessly played upon by tactless devices. therefore it howls, just as children in the nursery do when the awkward governess tries the very thing the diplomatic governess, in reasonable time, may bring about. the producer has the man in the audience who cares for the art peculiarly at his mercy. compare him with the person who wants to read a magazine for an evening. he can look over all the periodicals in the local book-store in fifteen minutes. he can select the one he wants, take this bit of printed matter home, go through the contents, find the three articles he prefers, get an evening of reading out of them, and be happy. every day as many photoplays come to our town as magazines come to the book-store in a week or a month. there are good ones and bad ones buried in the list. there is no way to sample the films. one has to wait through the first third of a reel before he has an idea of the merits of a production, his ten cents is spent, and much of his time is gone. it would take five hours at least to find the best film in our town for one day. meanwhile, nibbling and sampling, the seeker would run such a gantlet of plot and dash and chase that his eyes and patience would be exhausted. recently there returned to the city for a day one of griffith's best biographs, the last drop of water. it was good to see again. in order to watch this one reel twice i had to wait through five others of unutterable miscellany. since the producers and theatre-managers have us at their mercy, they are under every obligation to consider our delicate susceptibilities--granting the proposition that in an ideal world we will have no legal censorship. as to what to do in this actual nation, let the reader follow what john collier has recently written in the survey. collier was the leading force in founding the national board of censorship. as a member of that volunteer extra-legal board which is independent and high minded, yet accepted by the leading picture companies, he is able to discuss legislation in a manner which the present writer cannot hope to match. read john collier. but i wish to suggest that the ideal censorship is that to which the daily press is subject, the elastic hand of public opinion, if the photoplay can be brought as near to newspaper conditions in this matter as it is in some others. how does public opinion grip the journalist? the editor has a constant report from his constituency. a popular scoop sells an extra at once. an attack on the wrong idol cancels fifty subscriptions. people come to the office to do it, and say why. if there is a piece of real news on the second page, and fifty letters come in about it that night, next month when that character of news reappears it gets the front page. some human peculiarities are not mentioned, some phrases not used. the total attribute of the blue-pencil man is diplomacy. but while the motion pictures come out every day, they get their discipline months afterwards in the legislation that insists on everything but tact. a tentative substitute for the letters that come to the editor, the personal call and cancelled subscription, and the rest, is the system of balloting on the picture, especially the answer to the question, "what picture seen here this month, or this week, shall we bring back?" experience will teach how to put the queries. by the same system the public might dictate its own cut-outs. let us have a democracy and a photoplay business working in daily rhythm. chapter xv the substitute for the saloon this is a special commentary on chapter five, the picture of crowd splendor. it refers as well to every other type of moving picture that gets into the slum. but the masses have an extraordinary affinity for the crowd photoplay. as has been said before, the mob comes nightly to behold its natural face in the glass. politicians on the platform have swayed the mass below them. but now, to speak in an irish way, the crowd takes the platform, and looking down, sees itself swaying. the slums are an astonishing assembly of cave-men crawling out of their shelters to exhibit for the first time in history a common interest on a tremendous scale in an art form. below the cliff caves were bar rooms in endless lines. there are almost as many bar rooms to-day, yet this new thing breaks the lines as nothing else ever did. often when a moving picture house is set up, the saloon on the right hand or the left declares bankruptcy. why do men prefer the photoplay to the drinking place? for no pious reason, surely. now they have fire pouring into their eyes instead of into their bellies. blood is drawn from the guts to the brain. though the picture be the veriest mess, the light and movement cause the beholder to do a little reptilian thinking. after a day's work a street-sweeper enters the place, heavy as king log. a ditch-digger goes in, sick and surly. it is the state of the body when many men drink themselves into insensibility. but here the light is as strong in the eye as whiskey in the throat. along with the flare, shadow, and mystery, they face the existence of people, places, costumes, utterly novel. immigrants are prodded by these swords of darkness and light to guess at the meaning of the catch-phrases and headlines that punctuate the play. they strain to hear their neighbors whisper or spell them out. the photoplays have done something to reunite the lower-class families. no longer is the fire-escape the only summer resort for big and little folks. here is more fancy and whim than ever before blessed a hot night. here, under the wind of an electric fan, they witness everything, from a burial in westminster to the birthday parade of the ruler of the land of swat. the usual saloon equipment to delight the eye is one so-called "leg" picture of a woman, a photograph of a prize-fighter, and some colored portraits of goats to advertise various brands of beer. many times, no doubt, these boys and young men have found visions of a sordid kind while gazing on the actress, the fighter, or the goats. but what poor material they had in the wardrobes of memory for the trimmings and habiliments of vision, to make this lady into freya, this prize-fighter into thor, these goats into the harnessed steeds that drew his chariot! man's dreams are rearranged and glorified memories. how could these people reconstruct the torn carpets and tin cans and waste-paper of their lives into mythology? how could memories of ladies' entrance squalor be made into castles in granada or carcassonne? the things they drank to see, and saw but grotesquely, and paid for terribly, now roll before them with no after pain or punishment. the mumbled conversation, the sociability for which they leaned over the tables, they have here in the same manner with far more to talk about. they come, they go home, men and women together, as casually and impulsively as the men alone ever entered a drinking-place, but discoursing now of far-off mountains and star-crossed lovers. as padraic colum says in his poem on the herdsman:-- "with thoughts on white ships and the king of spain's daughter." this is why the saloon on the right hand and on the left in the slum is apt to move out when the photoplay moves in. but let us go to the other end of the temperance argument. i beg to be allowed to relate a personal matter. for some time i was a field-worker for the anti-saloon league of illinois, being sent every sunday to a new region to make the yearly visit on behalf of the league. such a visitor is apt to speak to one church in a village, and two in the country, on each excursion, being met at the station by some leading farmer-citizen of the section, and driven to these points by him. the talk with this man was worth it all to me. the agricultural territory of the united states is naturally dry. this is because the cross-roads church is the only communal institution, and the voice of the cross-roads pastor is for teetotalism. the routine of the farm-hand, while by no means ideal in other respects, keeps him from craving drink as intensely as other toilers do. a day's work in the open air fills his veins at nightfall with an opiate of weariness instead of a high-strung nervousness. the strong men of the community are church elders, not through fanaticism, but by right of leadership. through their office they are committed to prohibition. so opposition to the temperance movement is scattering. the anti-saloon league has organized these leaders into a nation-wide machine. it sees that they get their weekly paper, instructing them in the tactics whereby local fights have been won. a subscription financing the state league is taken once a year. it counts on the regular list of church benevolences. the state officers come in to help on the critical local fights. any country politician fears their non-partisan denunciation as he does political death. the local machines thus backed are incurable mugwumps, hold the balance of power, work in both parties, and have voted dry the agricultural territory of the united states everywhere, by the township, county, or state unit. the only institutions that touch the same territory in a similar way are the chautauquas in the prosperous agricultural centres. these, too, by the same sign are emphatically anti-saloon in their propaganda, serving to intellectualize and secularize the dry sentiment without taking it out of the agricultural caste. there is a definite line between our farm-civilization and the rest. when a county goes dry, it is generally in spite of the county-seat. such temperance people as are in the court-house town represent the church-vote, which is even then in goodly proportion a retired-farmer vote. the larger the county-seat, the larger the non-church-going population and the more stubborn the fight. the majority of miners and factory workers are on the wet side everywhere. the irritation caused by the gases in the mines, by the dirty work in the blackness, by the squalor in which the company houses are built, turns men to drink for reaction and lamplight and comradeship. the similar fevers and exasperations of factory life lead the workers to unstring their tense nerves with liquor. the habit of snuggling up close in factories, conversing often, bench by bench, machine by machine, inclines them to get together for their pleasures at the bar. in industrial america there is an anti-saloon minority in moral sympathy with the temperance wave brought in by the farmers. but they are outstanding groups. their leadership seldom dries up a factory town or a mining region, with all the help the anti-saloon league can give. in the big cities the temperance movement is scarcely understood. the choice residential districts are voted dry for real estate reasons. the men who do this, drink freely at their own clubs or parties. the temperance question would be fruitlessly argued to the end of time were it not for the massive agricultural vote rolling and roaring round each metropolis, reawakening the town churches whose vote is a pitiful minority but whose spokesmen are occasionally strident. there is a prophecy abroad that prohibition will be the issue of a national election. if the question is squarely put, there are enough farmers and church-people to drive the saloon out of legal existence. the women's vote, a little more puritanical than the men's vote, will make the result sure. as one anxious for this victory, i have often speculated on the situation when all america is nominally dry, at the behest of the american farmer, the american preacher, and the american woman. when the use of alcohol is treason, what will become of those all but unbroken lines of slum saloons? no lesser force than regular troops could dislodge them, with yesterday's intrenchment. the entrance of the motion picture house into the arena is indeed striking, the first enemy of king alcohol with real power where that king has deepest hold. if every one of those saloon doors is nailed up by the chautauqua orators, the photoplay archway will remain open. the people will have a shelter where they can readjust themselves, that offers a substitute for many of the lines of pleasure in the groggery. and a whole evening costs but a dime apiece. several rounds of drinks are expensive, but the people can sit through as many repetitions of this programme as they desire, for one entrance fee. the dominant genius of the moving picture place is not a gentleman with a red nose and an eye like a dead fish, but some producer who, with all his faults, has given every person in the audience a seven-leagued angel-and-demon telescope. since i have announced myself a farmer and a puritan, let me here list the saloon evils not yet recorded in this chapter. they are separate from the catalogue of the individualistic woes of the drunkard that are given in the scripture. the shame of the american drinking place is the bar-tender who dominates its thinking. his cynical and hardened soul wipes out a portion of the influence of the public school, the library, the self-respecting newspaper. a stream rises no higher than its source, and through his dead-fish eye and dead-fish brain the group of tired men look upon all the statesmen and wise ones of the land. though he says worse than nothing, his furry tongue, by endless reiteration, is the american slum oracle. at the present the bar-tender handles the neighborhood group, the ultimate unit in city politics. so, good citizen, welcome the coming of the moving picture man as a local social force. whatever his private character, the mere formula of his activities makes him a better type. he may not at first sway his group in a directly political way, but he will make himself the centre of more social ideals than the bar-tender ever entertained. and he is beginning to have as intimate a relation to his public as the bar-tender. in many cases he stands under his arch in the sheltered lobby and is on conversing terms with his habitual customers, the length of the afternoon and evening. voting the saloon out of the slums by voting america dry, does not, as of old, promise to be a successful operation that kills the patient. in the past some of the photoplay magazines have contained denunciations of the temperance people for refusing to say anything in behalf of the greatest practical enemy of the saloon. but it is not too late for the dry forces to repent. the anti-saloon league officers and the photoplay men should ask each other to dinner. more moving picture theatres in doubtful territory will help make dry voters. and wet territory voted dry will bring about a greatly accelerated patronage of the photoplay houses. there is every strategic reason why these two forces should patch up a truce. meanwhile, the cave-man, reader of picture-writing, is given a chance to admit light into his mind, whatever he puts to his lips. let us look for the day, be it a puritan triumph or not, when the sons and the daughters of the slums shall prophesy, the young men shall see visions, the old men dream dreams. chapter xvi california and america the moving picture captains of industry, like the california gold finders of , making colossal fortunes in two or three years, have the same glorious irresponsibility and occasional need of the sheriff. they are californians more literally than this. around los angeles the greatest and most characteristic moving picture colonies are being built. each photoplay magazine has its california letter, telling of the putting-up of new studios, and the transfer of actors, with much slap-you-on-the-back personal gossip. this is the outgrowth of the fact that every type of the photoplay but the intimate is founded on some phase of the out-of-doors. being thus dependent, the plant can best be set up where there is no winter. besides this, the los angeles region has the sea, the mountains, the desert, and many kinds of grove and field. landscape and architecture are sub-tropical. but for a description of california, ask any traveller or study the background of almost any photoplay. if the photoplay is the consistent utterance of its scenes, if the actors are incarnations of the land they walk upon, as they should be, california indeed stands a chance to achieve through the films an utterance of her own. will this land furthest west be the first to capture the inner spirit of this newest and most curious of the arts? it certainly has the opportunity that comes with the actors, producers, and equipment. let us hope that every region will develop the silent photographic pageant in a local form as outlined in the chapter on progress and endowment. already the california sort, in the commercial channels, has become the broadly accepted if mediocre national form. people who revere the pilgrim fathers of have often wished those gentlemen had moored their bark in the region of los angeles rather than plymouth rock, that boston had been founded there. at last that landing is achieved. patriotic art students have discussed with mingled irony and admiration the boston domination of the only american culture of the nineteenth century, namely, literature. indianapolis has had her day since then, chicago is lifting her head. nevertheless boston still controls the text-book in english and dominates our high schools. ironic feelings in this matter on the part of western men are based somewhat on envy and illegitimate cussedness, but are also grounded in the honest hope of a healthful rivalry. they want new romanticists and artists as indigenous to their soil as was hawthorne to witch-haunted salem or longfellow to the chestnuts of his native heath. whatever may be said of the patriarchs, from oliver wendell holmes to amos bronson alcott, they were true sons of the new england stone fences and meeting houses. they could not have been born or nurtured anywhere else on the face of the earth. some of us view with a peculiar thrill the prospect that los angeles may become the boston of the photoplay. perhaps it would be better to say the florence, because california reminds one of colorful italy more than of any part of the united states. yet there is a difference. the present-day man-in-the-street, man-about-town californian has an obvious magnificence about him that is allied to the eucalyptus tree, the pomegranate. california is a gilded state. it has not the sordidness of gold, as has wall street, but it is the embodiment of the natural ore that the ragged prospector finds. the gold of california is the color of the orange, the glitter of dawn in the yosemite, the hue of the golden gate that opens the sunset way to mystic and terrible cathay and hindustan. the enemy of california says the state is magnificent but thin. he declares it is as though it were painted on a brobdingnagian piece of gilt paper, and he who dampens his finger and thrusts it through finds an alkali valley on the other side, the lonely prickly pear, and a heap of ashes from a deserted camp-fire. he says the citizens of this state lack the richness of an æsthetic and religious tradition. he says there is no substitute for time. but even these things make for coincidence. this apparent thinness california has in common with the routine photoplay, which is at times as shallow in its thought as the shadow it throws upon the screen. this newness california has in common with all photoplays. it is thrillingly possible for the state and the art to acquire spiritual tradition and depth together. part of the thinness of california is not only its youth, but the result of the physical fact that the human race is there spread over so many acres of land. they try not only to count their mines and enumerate their palm trees, but they count the miles of their sea-coast, and the acres under cultivation and the height of the peaks, and revel in large statistics and the bigness generally, and forget how a few men rattle around in a great deal of scenery. they shout their statistics across the rockies and the deserts to new york. the mississippi valley is non-existent to the californian. his fellow-feeling is for the opposite coast-line. through the geographical accident of separation by mountain and desert from the rest of the country, he becomes a mere shouter, hurrahing so assiduously that all variety in the voice is lost. then he tries gestures, and becomes flamboyant, rococo. these are the defects of the motion picture qualities also. its panoramic tendency runs wild. as an institution it advertises itself with the sweeping gesture. it has the same passion for coast-line. these are not the sins of new england. when, in the hands of masters, they become sources of strength, they will be a different set of virtues from those of new england. there is no more natural place for the scattering of confetti than this state, except the moving picture scene itself. both have a genius for gardens and dancing and carnival. when the californian relegates the dramatic to secondary scenes, both in his life and his photoplay, and turns to the genuinely epic and lyric, he and this instrument may find their immortality together as new england found its soul in the essays of emerson. tide upon tide of spring comes into california through all four seasons. fairy beauty overwhelms the lumbering grand-stand players. the tiniest garden is a jewelled pathway of wonder. but the californian cannot shout "orange blossoms, orange blossoms; heliotrope, heliotrope!" he cannot boom forth "roseleaves, roseleaves" so that he does their beauties justice. here is where the photoplay can begin to give him a more delicate utterance. and he can go on into stranger things and evolve all the splendor films into higher types, for the very name of california is splendor. the california photo-playwright can base his crowd picture upon the city-worshipping mobs of san francisco. he can derive his patriotic and religious splendors from something older and more magnificent than the aisles of the romanesque, namely: the groves of the giant redwoods. the campaign for a beautiful nation could very well emanate from the west coast, where with the slightest care grow up models for all the world of plant arrangement and tree-luxury. our mechanical east is reproved, our tension is relaxed, our ugliness is challenged every time we look upon those garden paths and forests. it is possible for los angeles to lay hold of the motion picture as our national text-book in art as boston appropriated to herself the guardianship of the national text-books of literature. if california has a shining soul, and not merely a golden body, let her forget her seventeen-year-old melodramatics, and turn to her poets who understand the heart underneath the glory. edwin markham, the dean of american singers, clark ashton smith, the young star treader, george sterling, that son of ancient merlin, have in their songs the seeds of better scenarios than california has sent us. there are two poems by george sterling that i have had in mind for many a day as conceptions that should inspire mystic films akin to them. these poems are the night sentries and tidal king of nations. but california can tell us stories that are grim children of the tales of the wild ambrose bierce. then there is the lovely unforgotten nora may french and the austere edward rowland sill. edison is the new gutenberg. he has invented the new printing. the state that realizes this may lead the soul of america, day after to-morrow. chapter xvii progress and endowment the moving picture goes almost as far as journalism into the social fabric in some ways, further in others. soon, no doubt, many a little town will have its photographic news-press. we have already the weekly world-news films from the big centres. with local journalism will come devices for advertising home enterprises. some staple products will be made attractive by having film-actors show their uses. the motion pictures will be in the public schools to stay. text-books in geography, history, zoõlogy, botany, physiology, and other sciences will be illustrated by standardized films. along with these changes, there will be available at certain centres collections of films equivalent to the standard dictionary and the encyclopædia britannica. and sooner or later we will have a straight-out capture of a complete film expression by the serious forces of civilization. the merely impudent motion picture will be relegated to the leisure hours with yellow journalism. photoplay libraries are inevitable, as active if not as multitudinous as the book-circulating libraries. the oncoming machinery and expense of the motion picture is immense. where will the money come from? no one knows. what the people want they will get. the race of man cannot afford automobiles, but has them nevertheless. we cannot run away into non-automobile existence or non-steam-engine or non-movie life long at a time. we must conquer this thing. while the more stately scientific and educational aspects just enumerated are slowly on their way, the artists must be up and about their ameliorative work. every considerable effort to develop a noble idiom will count in the final result, as the writers of early english made possible the language of the bible, shakespeare, and milton. we are perfecting a medium to be used as long as chinese ideographs have been. it will no doubt, like the chinese language, record in the end massive and classical treatises, imperial chronicles, law-codes, traditions, and religious admonitions. all this by the _motion picture_ as a recording instrument, not necessarily the _photoplay_, a much more limited thing, a form of art. what shall be done in especial by this generation of idealists, whose flags rise and go down, whose battle line wavers and breaks a thousand times? what is the high quixotic splendid call? we know of a group of public-spirited people who advocate, in endowed films, "safety first," another that champions total abstinence. often their work seems lost in the mass of commercial production, but it is a good beginning. such citizens take an established studio for a specified time and at the end put on the market a production that backs up their particular idea. there are certain terms between the owners of the film and the proprietors of the studio for the division of the income, the profits of the cult being spent on further propaganda. the product need not necessarily be the type outlined in chapter two, the photoplay of action. often some other sort might establish the cause more deeply. but most of the propaganda films are of the action variety, because of the dynamic character of the people who produce them. fired by fanatic zeal, the auto speeds faster, the rescuing hero runs harder, the stern policeman and sheriff become more jumpy, all that the audience may be converted. here if anywhere meditation on the actual resources of charm and force in the art is a fitting thing. the crusader should realize that it is not a good action play nor even a good argument unless it is indeed the winged victory sort. the gods are not always on the side of those who throw fits. there is here appended a newspaper description of a crusading film, that, despite the implications of the notice, has many passages of charm. it is two-thirds action photoplay, one-third intimate-and-friendly. the notice does not imply that at times the story takes pains to be gentle. this bit of writing is all too typical of film journalism. "not only as an argument for suffrage but as a play with a story, a punch, and a mission, 'your girl and mine' is produced under the direction of the national woman's suffrage association at the capitol to-day. "olive wyndham forsook the legitimate stage for the time to pose as the heroine of the play. katherine kaelred, leading lady of 'joseph and his brethren,' took the part of a woman lawyer battling for the right. sydney booth, of the 'yellow ticket' company posed as the hero of the experiment. john charles and katharine henry played the villain and the honest working girl. about three hundred secondaries were engaged along with the principals. "it is melodrama of the most thrilling sort, in spite of the fact that there is a moral concealed in the very title of the play. but who is worried by a moral in a play which has an exciting hand-to-hand fight between a man and a woman in one of the earliest acts, when the quick march of events ranges from a wedding to a murder and an automobile abduction scene that breaks all former speed-records. 'the cause' comes in most symbolically and poetically, a symbolic figure that 'fades out' at critical periods in the plot. dr. anna howard shaw, the famous suffrage leader, appears personally in the film. "'your girl and mine' is a big play with a big mission built on a big scale. it is a whole evening's entertainment, and a very interesting evening at that." here endeth the newspaper notice. compare it with the biograph advertisement of judith in chapter six. there is nothing in the film that rasps like this account of it. the clipping serves to give the street-atmosphere through which our woman's suffrage joan of arcs move to conquest and glory with unstained banners. the obvious amendments to the production as an instrument of persuasion are two. firstly there should be five reels instead of six, every scene shortened a bit to bring this result. secondly, the lieutenant governor of the state, who is the rudolf rassendyll of the production, does not enter the story soon enough, and is too james k. hacketty all at once. we are jerked into admiration of him, rather than ensnared. but after that the gentleman behaves more handsomely than any of the distinguished lieutenant governors in real life the present writer happens to remember. the figure of aunt jane, the queenly serious woman of affairs, is one to admire and love. her effectiveness without excess or strain is in itself an argument for giving woman the vote. the newspaper notice does not state the facts in saying the symbolical figure "fades out" at critical periods in the plot. on the contrary, she appears at critical periods, clothed in white, solemn and royal. she comes into the groups with an adequate allurement, pointing the moral of each situation while she shines brightest. the two children for whom the contest is fought are winsome little girls. by the side of their mother in the garden or in the nursery they are a potent argument for the natural rights of femininity. the film is by no means ultra-æsthetic. the implications of the clipping are correct to that degree. but the resources of beauty within the ready command of the advising professional producer are used by the women for all they are worth. it could not be asked of them that they evolve technical novelties. yet the figures of aunt jane and the goddess of suffrage are something new in their fashion. aunt jane is a spiritual sister to that unprecedented woman, jane addams, who went to the hague conference for peace in the midst of war, which heroic action the future will not forget. aunt jane does justice to that breed of women amid the sweetness and flowers and mere scenario perils of the photoplay story. the presence of the "votes for women" figure is the beginning of a line of photoplay goddesses that serious propaganda in the new medium will make part of the american spiritual hierarchy. in the imaginary film of our lady springfield, described in the chapter on architecture-in-motion, a kindred divinity is presumed to stand by the side of the statue when it first reaches the earth. high-minded graduates of university courses in sociology and schools of philanthropy, devout readers of the survey, the chicago public, the masses, the new republic, la follette's, are going to advocate increasingly, their varied and sometimes contradictory causes, in films. these will generally be produced by heroic exertions in the studio, and much passing of the subscription paper outside. then there are endowments already in existence that will no doubt be diverted to the photoplay channel. in every state house, and in washington, d.c., increasing quantities of dead printed matter have been turned out year after year. they have served to kindle various furnaces and feed the paper-mills a second time. many of these routine reports will remain in innocuous desuetude. but one-fourth of them, perhaps, are capable of being embodied in films. if they are scientific demonstrations, they can be made into realistic motion picture records. if they are exhortations, they can be transformed into plays with a moral, brothers of the film your girl and mine. the appropriations for public printing should include such work hereafter. the scientific museums distribute routine pamphlets that would set the whole world right on certain points if they were but read by said world. let them be filmed and started. whatever the congressman is permitted to frank to his constituency, let him send in the motion picture form when it is the expedient and expressive way. when men work for the high degrees in the universities, they labor on a piece of literary conspiracy called a thesis which no one outside the university hears of again. the gist of this research work that is dead to the democracy, through the university merits of thoroughness, moderation of statement, and final touch of discovery, would have a chance to live and grip the people in a motion picture transcript, if not a photoplay. it would be university extension. the relentless fire of criticism which the heads of the departments would pour on the production before they allowed it to pass would result in a standardization of the sense of scientific fact over the land. suppose the film has the coat of arms of the university of chicago along with the name of the young graduate whose thesis it is. he would have a chance to reflect credit on the university even as much as a foot-ball player. large undertakings might be under way, like those described in the chapter on architecture-in-motion. but these would require much more than the ordinary outlay for thesis work, less, perhaps, than is taken for athletics. lyman howe and several other world-explorers have already set the pace in the more human side of the educative film. the list of mr. howe's offerings from the first would reveal many a one that would have run the gantlet of a university department. he points out a new direction for old energies, whereby professors may become citizens. let the cave-man, reader of picture-writing, be allowed to ponder over scientific truth. he is at present the victim of the alleged truth of the specious and sentimental variety of photograph. it gives the precise edges of the coat or collar of the smirking masher and the exact fibre in the dress of the jumping-jack. the eye grows weary of sharp points and hard edges that mean nothing. all this idiotic precision is going to waste. it should be enlisted in the cause of science and abated everywhere else. the edges in art are as mysterious as in science they are exact. some of the higher forms of the intimate moving picture play should be endowed by local coteries representing their particular region. every community of fifty thousand has its group of the cultured who have heretofore studied and imitated things done in the big cities. some of these coteries will in exceptional cases become creative and begin to express their habitation and name. the intimate photoplay is capable of that delicacy and that informality which should characterize neighborhood enterprises. the plays could be acted by the group who, season after season, have secured the opera house for the annual amateur show. other dramatic ability could be found in the high-schools. there is enough talent in any place to make an artistic revolution, if once that region is aflame with a common vision. the spirit that made the irish players, all so racy of the soil, can also move the company of local photoplayers in topeka, or indianapolis, or denver. then let them speak for their town, not only in great occasional enterprises, but steadily, in little fancies, genre pictures, developing a technique that will finally make magnificence possible. there was given not long ago, at the illinois country club here, a performance of the yellow jacket by the coburn players. it at once seemed an integral part of this chapter. the two flags used for a chariot, the bamboo poles for oars, the red sack for a decapitated head, etc., were all convincing, through a direct resemblance as well as the passionate acting. they suggest a possible type of hieroglyphics to be developed by the leader of the local group. let the enthusiast study this westernized chinese play for primitive representative methods. it can be found in book form, a most readable work. it is by g.c. hazelton, jr., and j.h. benrimo. the resemblance between the stage property and the thing represented is fairly close. the moving flags on each side of the actor suggest the actual color and progress of the chariot, and abstractly suggest its magnificence. the red sack used for a bloody head has at least the color and size of one. the dressed-up block of wood used for a child is the length of an infant of the age described and wears the general costume thereof. the farmer's hoe, though exaggerated, is still an agricultural implement. the evening's list of properties is economical, filling one wagon, rather than three. photographic realism is splendidly put to rout by powerful representation. when the villager desires to embody some episode that if realistically given would require a setting beyond the means of the available endowment, and does not like the near-egyptian method, let him evolve his near-chinese set of symbols. the yellow jacket was written after long familiarity with the chinese theatre in san francisco. the play is a glory to that city as well as to hazelton and benrimo. but every town in the united states has something as striking as the chinese theatre, to the man who keeps the eye of his soul open. it has its ministerial association, its boys' secret society, its red-eyed political gang, its grubby justice of the peace court, its free school for the teaching of hebrew, its snobbish chapel, its fire-engine house, its milliner's shop. all these could be made visible in photoplays as flies are preserved in amber. edgar lee masters looked about him and discovered the village graveyard, and made it as wonderful as noah's ark, or adam naming the animals, by supplying honest inscriptions to the headstones. such stories can be told by the chinese theatrical system as well. as many different films could be included under the general title: "seven old families, and why they went to smash." or a less ominous series would be "seven victorious souls." for there are triumphs every day under the drab monotony of an apparently defeated town: conquests worthy of the waving of sun-banners. above all, the yellow jacket points a moral for this chapter because there was conscience behind it. first: the rectitude of the chinese actors of san francisco who kept the dramatic tradition alive, a tradition that was bequeathed from the ancient generations. then the artistic integrity of the men who readapted the tradition for western consumption, and their religious attitude that kept the high teaching and devout feeling for human life intact in the play. then the zeal of the drama league that indorsed it for the country. then the earnest work of the coburn players who embodied it devoutly, so that the whole company became dear friends forever. by some such ladder of conscience as this can the local scenario be endowed, written, acted, filmed, and made a real part of the community life. the yellow jacket was a drama, not a photoplay. this chapter does not urge that it be readapted for a photoplay in san francisco or anywhere else. but a kindred painting-in-motion, something as beautiful and worthy and intimate, in strictly photoplay terms, might well be the flower of the work of the local groups of film actors. harriet monroe's magazine, "poetry" (chicago), has given us a new sect, the imagists:--ezra pound, richard aldington, john gould fletcher, amy lowell, f.s. flint, d.h. lawrence, and others. they are gathering followers and imitators. to these followers i would say: the imagist impulse need not be confined to verse. why would you be imitators of these leaders when you might be creators in a new medium? there is a clear parallelism between their point of view in verse and the intimate-and-friendly photoplay, especially when it is developed from the standpoint of the last part of chapter nine, _space measured without sound plus time measured without sound_. there is no clan to-day more purely devoted to art for art's sake than the imagist clan. an imagist film would offer a noble challenge to the overstrained emotion, the over-loaded splendor, the mere repetition of what are at present the finest photoplays. now even the masterpieces are incontinent. except for some of the old one-reel biographs of griffith's beginning, there is nothing of doric restraint from the best to the worst. read some of the poems of the people listed above, then imagine the same moods in the films. imagist photoplays would be japanese prints taking on life, animated japanese paintings, pompeian mosaics in kaleidoscopic but logical succession, beardsley drawings made into actors and scenery, greek vase-paintings in motion. scarcely a photoplay but hints at the imagists in one scene. then the illusion is lost in the next turn of the reel. perhaps it would be a sound observance to confine this form of motion picture to a half reel or quarter reel, just as the imagist poem is generally a half or quarter page. a series of them could fill a special evening. the imagists are colorists. some people do not consider that photographic black, white, and gray are color. but here for instance are seven colors which the imagists might use: ( ) the whiteness of swans in the light. ( ) the whiteness of swans in a gentle shadow. ( ) the color of a sunburned man in the light. ( ) his color in a gentle shadow. ( ) his color in a deeper shadow. ( ) the blackness of black velvet in the light. ( ) the blackness of black velvet in a deep shadow. and to use these colors with definite steps from one to the other does not militate against an artistic mystery of edge and softness in the flow of line. there is a list of possible imagist textures which is only limited by the number of things to be seen in the world. probably only seven or ten would be used in one scheme and the same list kept through one production. the imagist photoplay will put discipline into the inner ranks of the enlightened and remind the sculptors, painters, and architects of the movies that there is a continence even beyond sculpture and that seas of realism may not have the power of a little well-considered elimination. the use of the scientific film by established institutions like schools and state governments has been discussed. let the church also, in her own way, avail herself of the motion picture, whole-heartedly, as in mediæval time she took over the marvel of italian painting. there was a stage in her history when religious representation was by byzantine mosaics, noble in color, having an architectural use, but curious indeed to behold from the standpoint of those who crave a sensitive emotional record. the first paintings of cimabue and giotto, giving these formulas a touch of life, were hailed with joy by all italy. now the church universal has an opportunity to establish her new painters if she will. she has taken over in the course of history, for her glory, miracle plays, romanesque and gothic architecture, stained glass windows, and the music of st. cecilia's organ. why not this new splendor? the cathedral of st. john the divine, on morningside heights, should establish in its crypt motion pictures as thoroughly considered as the lines of that building, if possible designed by the architects thereof, with the same sense of permanency. this chapter does not advocate that the church lay hold of the photoplays as one more medium for reillustrating the stories of the bible as they are given in the sunday-school papers. it is not pietistic simpering that will feed the spirit of christendom, but a steady church-patronage of the most skilful and original motion picture artists. let the church follow the precedent which finally gave us fra angelico, botticelli, andrea del sarto, leonardo da vinci, raphael, michelangelo, correggio, titian, paul veronese, tintoretto, and the rest. who will endow the successors of the present woman's suffrage film, and other great crusading films? who will see that the public documents and university researches take on the form of motion pictures? who will endow the local photoplay and the imagist photoplay? who will take the first great measures to insure motion picture splendors in the church? things such as these come on the winds of to-morrow. but let the crusader look about him, and where it is possible, put in the diplomatic word, and coöperate with the gray norns. chapter xviii architects as crusaders many a worker sees his future america as a utopia, in which his own profession, achieving dictatorship, alleviates the ills of men. the militarist grows dithyrambic in showing how war makes for the blessings of peace. the economic teacher argues that if we follow his political economy, none of us will have to economize. the church-fanatic says if all churches will merge with his organization, none of them will have to try to behave again. they will just naturally be good. the physician hopes to abolish the devil by sanitation. we have our utopias. despite levity, the present writer thinks that such hopes are among the most useful things the earth possesses. a normal man in the full tide of his activities finds that a world-machinery could logically be built up by his profession. at least in the heyday of his working hours his vocation satisfies his heart. so he wants the entire human race to taste that satisfaction. approximate utopias have been built from the beginning. many civilizations have had some dominant craft to carry them the major part of the way. the priests have made india. the classical student has preserved old china to its present hour of new life. the samurai knights have made japan. sailors have evolved the british empire. one of the enticing future americas is that of the architect. let the architect appropriate the photoplay as his means of propaganda and begin. from its intrinsic genius it can give his profession a start beyond all others in dominating this land. or such is one of many speculations of the present writer. the photoplay can speak the language of the man who has a mind world's fair size. that we are going to have successive generations of such builders may be reasonably implied from past expositions. beginning with philadelphia in , and going on to san francisco and san diego in , nothing seems to stop us from the habit. let us enlarge this proclivity into a national mission in as definite a movement, as thoroughly thought out as the evolution of the public school system, the formation of the steel trust, and the like. after duly weighing all the world's fairs, let our architects set about making the whole of the united states into a permanent one. supposing the date to begin the erection be . till that time there should be tireless if indirect propaganda that will further the architectural state of mind, and later bring about the elucidation of the plans while they are being perfected. for many years this america, founded on the psychology of the splendor photoplay, will be evolving. it might be conceived as a going concern at a certain date within the lives of men now living, but it should never cease to develop. to make films of a more beautiful united states is as practical and worth while a custom as to make military spy maps of every inch of a neighbor's territory, putting in each fence and cross-roads. those who would satisfy the national pride with something besides battle flags must give our people an objective as shining and splendid as war when it is most glittering, something napoleonic, and with no outward pretence of excessive virtue. we want a substitute as dramatic internationally, yet world-winning, friend making. if america is to become the financial centre through no fault of her own, that fact must have a symbol other than guns on the sea-coast. if it is inexpedient for the architectural patriarchs and their young hopefuls to take over the films bodily, let a board of strategy be formed who make it their business to eat dinner with the scenario writers, producers, and owners, conspiring with them in some practical way. why should we not consider ourselves a deathless panama-pacific exposition on a coast-to-coast scale? let chicago be the transportation building, denver the mining building. let kansas city be the agricultural building and jacksonville, florida, the horticultural building, and so around the states. even as in mediæval times men rode for hundreds of miles through perils to the permanent fairs of the free cities, the world-travellers will attend this exhibit, and many of them will in the end become citizens. our immigration will be something more than tide upon tide of raw labor. the architects would send forth publicity films which are not only delineations of a future cincinnati, cleveland, or st. louis, but whole counties and states and groups of states could be planned at one time, with the development of their natural fauna, flora, and forestry. wherever nature has been rendered desolate by industry or mere haste, there let the architect and park-architect proclaim the plan. wherever she is still splendid and untamed, let her not be violated. america is in the state of mind where she must visualize herself again. if it is not possible to bring in the new jerusalem to-day, by public act, with every citizen eating bread and honey under his vine and fig-tree, owning forty acres and a mule, singing hymns and saying prayers all his leisure hours, it is still reasonable to think out tremendous things the american people can do, in the light of what they have done, without sacrificing any of their native cussedness or kick. it was sprawling chicago that in achieved the white city. the automobile routes bind the states together closer than muddy counties were held in . a "permanent world's fair" may be a phrase distressing to the literal mind. perhaps it would be better to say "an architect's america." let each city take expert counsel from the architectural demigods how to tear out the dirty core of its principal business square and erect a combination of civic centre and permanent and glorious bazaar. let the public debate the types of state flower, tree, and shrub that are expedient, the varieties of villages and middle-sized towns, farm-homes, and connecting parkways. sometimes it seems to me the american expositions are as characteristic things as our land has achieved. they went through without hesitation. the difficulties of one did not deter the erection of the next. the united states may be in many things slack. often the democracy looks hopelessly shoddy. but it cannot be denied that our people have always risen to the dignity of these great architectural projects. once the population understand they are dealing with the same type of idea on a grander scale, they will follow to the end. we are not proposing an economic revolution, or that human nature be suddenly altered. if california can remain in the world's fair state of mind for four or five years, and finally achieve such a splendid result, all the states can undertake a similar project conjointly, and because of the momentum of a nation moving together, remain in that mind for the length of the life of a man. here we have this great instrument, the motion picture, the fourth largest industry in the united states, attended daily by ten million people, and in ten days by a hundred million, capable of interpreting the largest conceivable ideas that come within the range of the plastic arts, and those ideas have not been supplied. it is still the plaything of newly rich vaudeville managers. the nation goes daily, through intrinsic interest in the device, and is dosed with such continued stories as the adventures of kathlyn, what happened to mary, and the million dollar mystery, stretched on through reel after reel, week after week. kathlyn had no especial adventures. nothing in particular happened to mary. the million dollar mystery was: why did the millionaires who owned such a magnificent instrument descend to such silliness and impose it on the people? why cannot our weekly story be henceforth some great plan that is being worked out, whose history will delight us? for instance, every stage of the building of the panama canal was followed with the greatest interest in the films. but there was not enough of it to keep the films busy. the great material projects are often easier to realize than the little moral reforms. beautiful architectural undertakings, while appearing to be material, and succeeding by the laws of american enterprise, bring with them the healing hand of beauty. beauty is not directly pious, but does more civilizing in its proper hour than many sermons or laws. the world seems to be in the hands of adventurers. why not this for the adventure of the american architects? if something akin to this plan does not come to pass through photoplay propaganda, it means there is no american builder with the blood of julius cæsar in his veins. if there is the old brute lust for empire left in any builder, let him awake. the world is before him. as for the other utopians, the economist, the physician, the puritan, as soon as the architects have won over the photoplay people, let these others take sage counsel and ensnare the architects. is there a reform worth while that cannot be embodied and enforced by a builder's invention? a mere city plan, carried out, or the name or intent of a quasi-public building and the list of offices within it may bring about more salutary economic change than all the debating and voting imaginable. so without too much theorizing, why not erect our new america and move into it? chapter xix on coming forth by day if he will be so indulgent with his author, let the reader approach the photoplay theatre as though for the first time, having again a new point of view. here the poorest can pay and enter from the glaring afternoon into the twilight of an ali baba's cave. the dime is the single open-sesame required. the half-light wherein the audience is seated, by which they can read in an emergency, is as bright and dark as that of some candle-lit churches. it reveals much in the faces and figures of the audience that cannot be seen by common day. hard edges are the main things that we lose. the gain is in all the delicacies of modelling, tone-relations, form, and color. a hundred evanescent impressions come and go. there is often a tenderness of appeal about the most rugged face in the assembly. humanity takes on its sacred aspect. it is a crude mind that would insist that these appearances are not real, that the eye does not see them when all eyes behold them. to say dogmatically that any new thing seen by half-light is an illusion, is like arguing that a discovery by the telescope or microscope is unreal. if the appearances are beautiful besides, they are not only facts, but assets in our lives. book-reading is not done in the direct noon-sunlight. we retire to the shaded porch. it takes two more steps toward quietness of light to read the human face and figure. many great paintings and poems are records of things discovered in this quietness of light. it is indeed ironical in our ali baba's cave to see sheer everydayness and hardness upon the screen, the audience dragged back to the street they have escaped. one of the inventions to bring the twilight of the gathering into brotherhood with the shadows on the screen is a simple thing known to the trade as the fadeaway, that had its rise in a commonplace fashion as a method of keeping the story from ending with the white glare of the empty screen. as a result of the device the figures in the first episode emerge from the dimness and in the last one go back into the shadow whence they came, as foam returns to the darkness of an evening sea. in the imaginative pictures the principle begins to be applied more largely, till throughout the fairy story the figures float in and out from the unknown, as fancies should. this method in its simplicity counts more to keep the place an ali baba's cave than many a more complicated procedure. in luxurious scenes it brings the soft edges of correggio, and in solemn ones a light and shadow akin to the effects of rembrandt. now we have a darkness on which we can paint, an unspoiled twilight. we need not call it the arabian's cave. there is a tomb we might have definitely in mind, an egyptian burying-place where with a torch we might enter, read the inscriptions, and see the illustrations from the book of the dead on the wall, or finding that ancient papyrus in the mummy-case, unroll it and show it to the eager assembly, and have the feeling of return. man is an egyptian first, before he is any other type of civilized being. the nile flows through his heart. so let this cave be egypt, let us incline ourselves to revere the unconscious memories that echo within us when we see the hieroglyphics of osiris, and isis. egypt was our long brooding youth. we built the mysteriousness of the universe into the pyramids, carved it into every line of the sphinx. we thought always of the immemorial. the reel now before us is the mighty judgment roll dealing with the question of our departure in such a way that any man who beholds it will bear the impress of the admonition upon his heart forever. those egyptian priests did no little thing, when amid their superstitions they still proclaimed the judgment. let no one consider himself ready for death, till like the men by the nile he can call up every scene, face with courage every exigency of the ordeal. there is one copy of the book of the dead of especial interest, made for the scribe ani, with exquisite marginal drawings. copies may be found in our large libraries. the particular fac-simile i had the honor to see was in the lenox library, new york, several years ago. ani, according to the formula of the priesthood, goes through the adventures required of a shade before he reaches the court of osiris. all the egyptian pictures on tomb-wall and temple are but enlarged picture-writing made into tableaus. through such tableaus ani moves. the ani manuscript has so fascinated some of the egyptologists that it is copied in figures fifteen feet high on the walls of two of the rooms of the british museum. and you can read the story eloquently told in maspero. ani knocks at many doors in the underworld. monstrous gatekeepers are squatting on their haunches with huge knives to slice him if he cannot remember their names or give the right password, or by spells the priests have taught him, convince the sentinels that he is osiris himself. to further the illusion the name of osiris is inscribed on his breast. while he is passing these perils his little wife is looking on by a sort of clairvoyant sympathy, though she is still alive. she is depicted mourning him and embracing his mummy on earth at the same time she accompanies him through the shadows. ani ploughs and sows and reaps in the fields of the underworld. he is carried past a dreadful place on the back of the cow hathor. after as many adventures as browning's childe roland he steps into the judgment-hall of the gods. they sit in majestic rows. he makes the proper sacrifices, and advances to the scales of justice. there he sees his own heart weighed against the ostrich-feather of truth, by the jackal-god anubis, who has already presided at his embalming. his own soul, in the form of a human-headed hawk, watches the ceremony. his ghost, which is another entity, looks through the door with his little wife. both of them watch with tense anxiety. the fate of every phase of his personality depends upon the purity of his heart. lying in wait behind anubis is a monster, part crocodile, part lion, part hippopotamus. this terror will eat the heart of ani if it is found corrupt. at last he is declared justified. thoth, the ibis-headed god of writing, records the verdict on his tablet. the justified ani moves on past the baffled devourer, with the mystic presence of his little wife rejoicing at his side. they go to the awful court of osiris. she makes sacrifice with him there. the god of the dead is indeed a strange deity, a seated semi-animated mummy, with all the appurtenances of royalty, and with the four sons of horus on a lotus before him, and his two wives, isis and nephthys, standing behind his throne with their hands on his shoulders. the justified soul now boards the boat in which the sun rides as it journeys through the night. he rises a glorious boatman in the morning, working an oar to speed the craft through the high ocean of the noon sky. henceforth he makes the eternal round with the sun. therefore in ancient egypt the roll was called, not the book of the dead, but _the chapters on coming forth by day_. this book on motion pictures does not profess to be an expert treatise on egyptology as well. the learned folk are welcome to amend the modernisms that have crept into it. but the fact remains that something like this story in one form or another held egypt spell-bound for many hundred years. it was the force behind every mummification. it was the reason for the whole egyptian system of life, death, and entombment, for the man not embalmed could not make the journey. so the explorer finds the egyptian with a roll of this papyrus as a guide-book on his mummy breast. the soul needed to return for refreshment periodically to the stone chamber, and the mummy mutilated or destroyed could not entertain the guest. egypt cried out through thousands of years for the ultimate resurrection of the whole man, his _coming forth by day_. we need not fear that a story that so dominated a race will be lost on modern souls when vividly set forth. is it too much to expect that some american prophet-wizard of the future will give us this film in the spirit of an egyptian priest? the greeks, the wisest people in our limited system of classics, bowed down before the egyptian hierarchy. that cult must have had a fine personal authority and glamour to master such men. the unseen mysteries were always on the egyptian heart as a burden and a consolation, and though there may have been jugglers in the outer courts of these temples, as there have been in the courts of all temples, no mere actor could make an egyptian priest of himself. their very alphabet has a regal enchantment in its lines, and the same æsthetic-mystical power remains in their pylons and images under the blaze of the all-revealing noonday sun. here is a nation, america, going for dreams into caves as shadowy as the tomb of queen thi. there they find too often, not that ancient priestess and ruler, nor any of her kin, nor yet ani the scribe, nor yet any of the kings, but shabby rags of fancy, or circuses that were better in the street. because ten million people daily enter into the cave, something akin to egyptian wizardry, certain national rituals, will be born. by studying the matter of being an egyptian priest for a little while, the author-producer may learn in the end how best to express and satisfy the spirit-hungers that are peculiarly american. it is sometimes out of the oldest dream that the youngest vision is born. chapter xx the prophet-wizard the whirlwind of cowboys and indians with which the photoplay began, came about because this instrument, in asserting its genius, was feeling its way toward the most primitive forms of life it could find. now there is a tendency for even wilder things. we behold the half-draped figures living in tropical islands or our hairy fore-fathers acting out narratives of the stone age. the moving picture conventionality permits an abbreviation of drapery. if the primitive setting is convincing, the figure in the grass-robe or buffalo hide at once has its rights over the healthful imagination. there is in this nation of moving-picture-goers a hunger for tales of fundamental life that are not yet told. the cave-man longs with an incurable homesickness for his ancient day. one of the fine photoplays of primeval life is the story called man's genesis, described in chapter two. we face the exigency the world over of vast instruments like national armies being played against each other as idly and aimlessly as the checker-men on the cracker-barrels of corner groceries. and this invention, the kinetoscope, which affects or will affect as many people as the guns of europe, is not yet understood in its powers, particularly those of bringing back the primitive in a big rich way. the primitive is always a new and higher beginning to the man who understands it. not yet has the producer learned that the feeling of the crowd is patriarchal, splendid. he imagines the people want nothing but a silly lark. all this apparatus and opportunity, and no immortal soul! yet by faith and a study of the signs we proclaim that this lantern of wizard-drama is going to give us in time the visible things in the fulness of their primeval force, and some that have been for a long time invisible. to speak in a metaphor, we are going to have the primitive life of genesis, then all that evolution after: exodus, leviticus, numbers, deuteronomy, joshua, judges, and on to a new revelation of st. john. in this adolescence of democracy the history of man is to be retraced, the same round on a higher spiral of life. our democratic dream has been a middle-class aspiration built on a bog of toil-soddened minds. the piles beneath the castle of our near-democratic arts were rotting for lack of folk-imagination. the man with the hoe had no spark in his brain. but now a light is blazing. we can build the american soul broad-based from the foundations. we can begin with dreams the veriest stone-club warrior can understand, and as far as an appeal to the eye can do it, lead him in fancy through every phase of life to the apocalyptic splendors. this progress, according to the metaphor of this chapter, will be led by prophet-wizards. these were the people that dominated the cave-men of old. but what, more specifically, are prophet-wizards? let us consider two kinds of present-day people: scientific inventors, on the one hand, and makers of art and poetry and the like, on the other. the especial producers of art and poetry that we are concerned with in this chapter we will call prophet-wizards: men like albert dürer, rembrandt, blake, elihu vedder, watts, rossetti, tennyson, coleridge, poe, maeterlinck, yeats, francis thompson. they have a certain unearthly fascination in some one or many of their works. a few other men might be added to the list. most great names are better described under other categories, though as much beloved in their own way. but these are especially adapted to being set in opposition to a list of mechanical inventors that might be called realists by contrast: the wright brothers, and h. pierpont langley, thomas a. edison, charles steinmetz, john hays hammond, hudson maxim, graham bell. the prophet-wizards are of various schools. but they have a common tendency and character in bringing forth a type of art peculiarly at war with the realistic civilization science has evolved. it is one object of this chapter to show that, when it comes to a clash between the two forces, the wizards should rule, and the realists should serve them. the two functions go back through history, sometimes at war, other days in alliance. the poet and the scientist were brethren in the centuries of alchemy. tennyson, bearing in mind such a period, took the title of merlin in his veiled autobiography, merlin and the gleam. wizards and astronomers were one when the angels sang in bethlehem, "peace on earth, good will to men." there came magicians, saying, "where is he that is born king of the jews, for we have seen his star in the east and have come to worship him?" the modern world in its gentler moments seems to take a peculiar thrill of delight from these travellers, perhaps realizing what has been lost from parting with such gentle seers and secular diviners. every christmas half the magazines set them forth in richest colors, riding across the desert, following the star to the same manger where the shepherds are depicted. those wizard kings, whatever useless charms and talismans they wore, stood for the unknown quantity in spiritual life. a magician is a man who lays hold on the unseen for the mere joy of it, who steals, if necessary, the holy bread and the sacred fire. he is often of the remnant of an ostracized and disestablished priesthood. he is a free-lance in the soul-world, owing final allegiance to no established sect. the fires of prophecy are as apt to descend upon him as upon members of the established faith. he loves the mysterious for the beauty of it, the wildness and the glory of it, and not always to compel stiff-necked people to do right. it seems to me that the scientific and poetic functions of society should make common cause again, if they are not, as in merlin's time, combined in one personality. they must recognize that they serve the same society, but with the understanding that the prophetic function is the most important, the wizard vocation the next, and the inventors' and realists' genius important indeed, but the third consideration. the war between the scientists and the prophet-wizards has come about because of the half-defined ambition of the scientists to rule or ruin. they give us the steam-engine, the skyscraper, the steam-heat, the flying machine, the elevated railroad, the apartment house, the newspaper, the breakfast food, the weapons of the army, the weapons of the navy, and think that they have beautified our existence. moreover some one rises at this point to make a plea for the scientific imagination. he says the inventor-scientists have brought us the mystery of electricity, which is no hocus-pocus, but a special manifestation of the immanent god within us and about us. he says the student in the laboratory brought us the x-ray, the wireless telegraph, the mystery of radium, the mystery of all the formerly unharnessed power of god which man is beginning to gather into the hollow of his hand. the one who pleads for the scientific imagination points out that edison has been called the american wizard. all honor to edison and his kind. and i admit specifically that edison took the first great mechanical step to give us the practical kinetoscope and make it possible that the photographs, even of inanimate objects thrown upon the mirror-screen, may become celestial actors. but the final phase of the transfiguration is not the work of this inventor or any other. as long as the photoplays are in the hands of men like edison they are mere voodooism. we have nothing but moving day, as heretofore described. it is only in the hands of the prophetic photo-playwright and allied artists that the kinetoscope reels become as mysterious and dazzling to the thinking spirit as the wheels of ezekiel in the first chapter of his prophecy. one can climb into the operator's box and watch the sword-like stream of light till he is as dazzled in flesh and spirit as the moth that burns its wings in the lamp. but this is while a glittering vision and not a mere invention is being thrown upon the screen. the scientific man can explain away the vision as a matter of the technique of double exposure, double printing, trick-turning, or stopping down. and having reduced it to terms and shown the process, he expects us to become secular and casual again. but of course the sun itself is a mere trick of heat and light, a dynamo, an incandescent globe, to the man in the laboratory. to us it must be a fire upon the altar. transubstantiation must begin. our young magicians must derive strange new pulse-beats from the veins of the earth, from the sap of the trees, from the lightning of the sky, as well as the alchemical acids, metals, and flames. then they will kindle the beginning mysteries for our cause. they will build up a priesthood that is free, yet authorized to freedom. it will be established and disestablished according to the intrinsic authority of the light revealed. now for a closer view of this vocation. the picture of religious splendor has its obvious form in the delineation of biblical scenes, which, in the hands of the best commercial producers, can be made as worth while as the work of men like tissot. such films are by no means to be thought of lightly. this sort of work will remain in the minds of many of the severely orthodox as the only kind of a religious picture worthy of classification. but there are many further fields. just as the wireless receiving station or the telephone switchboard become heroes in the photoplay, so aaron's rod that confounded the egyptians, the brazen serpent that moses up-lifted in the wilderness, the ram's horn that caused the fall of jericho, the mantle of elijah descending upon the shoulders of elisha from the chariot of fire, can take on a physical electrical power and a hundred times spiritual meaning that they could not have in the dead stage properties of the old miracle play or the realism of the tissot school. the waterfall and the tossing sea are dramatis personæ in the ordinary film romance. so the red sea overwhelming pharaoh, the fires of nebuchadnezzar's furnace sparing and sheltering the three holy children, can become celestial actors. and winged couriers can appear, in the pictures, with missions of import, just as an angel descended to joshua, saying, "as captain of the host of the lord am i now come." the pure mechanic does not accept the doctrine. "your alleged supernatural appearance," he says, "is based on such a simple fact as this: two pictures can be taken on one film." but the analogy holds. many primitive peoples are endowed with memories that are double photographs. the world faiths, based upon centuries of these appearances, are none the less to be revered because machine-ridden men have temporarily lost the power of seeing their thoughts as pictures in the air, and for the time abandoned the task of adding to tradition. man will not only see visions again, but machines themselves, in the hands of prophets, will see visions. in the hands of commercial men they are seeing alleged visions, and the term "_vision_" is a part of moving-picture studio slang, unutterably cheapening religion and tradition. when confucius came, he said one of his tasks was the rectification of names. the leaders of this age should see that this word "_vision_" comes to mean something more than a piece of studio slang. if it is the conviction of serious minds that the mass of men shall never again see pictures out of heaven except through such mediums as the kinetoscope lens, let all the higher forces of our land courageously lay hold upon this thing that saves us from perpetual spiritual blindness. when the thought of primitive man, embodied in misty forms on the landscape, reached epic proportions in the greek, he saw the olympians more plainly than he beheld the acropolis. myron, polykleitos, phidias, scopas, lysippus, praxiteles, discerned the gods and demigods so clearly they afterward cut them from the hard marble without wavering. our guardian angels of to-day must be as clearly seen and nobly hewn. a double mental vision is as fundamental in human nature as the double necessity for air and light. it is as obvious as that a thing can be both written and spoken. we have maintained that the kinetoscope in the hands of artists is a higher form of picture writing. in the hands of prophet-wizards it will be a higher form of vision-seeing. i have said that the commercial men are seeing alleged visions. take, for instance, the large italian film that attempts to popularize dante. though it has a scattering of noble passages, and in some brief episodes it is an enhancement of gustave doré, taking it as a whole, it is a false thing. it is full of apparitions worked out with mechanical skill, yet dante's soul is not back of the fires and swords of light. it gives to the uninitiated an outline of the stage paraphernalia of the inferno. it has an encyclopædic value. if dante himself had been the high director in the plenitude of his resources, it might still have had that hollowness. a list of words making a poem and a set of apparently equivalent pictures forming a photoplay may have an entirely different outcome. it may be like trying to see a perfume or listen to a taste. religion that comes in wholly through the eye has a new world in the films, whose relation to the old is only discovered by experiment and intuition, patience and devotion. but let us imagine the grandson of an italian immigrant to america, a young seer, trained in the photoplay technique by the high american masters, knowing all the moving picture resources as dante knew italian song and mediæval learning. assume that he has a genius akin to that of the florentine. let him be a modernist catholic if you will. let him begin his message in the timber lands of minnesota or the forests of alaska. "in midway of this our mortal life i found me in a gloomy wood astray." then let him paint new pictures of just punishment beyond the grave, and merciful rehabilitation and great reward. let his hell, purgatory, and paradise be built of those things which are deepest and highest in the modern mind, yet capable of emerging in picture-writing form. men are needed, therefore they will come. and lest they come weeping, accursed, and alone, let us ask, how shall we recognize them? there is no standard by which to discern the true from the false prophet, except the mood that is engendered by contemplating the messengers of the past. every man has his own roll call of noble magicians selected from the larger group. but here are the names with which this chapter began, with some words on their work. albert dürer is classed as a renaissance painter. yet his art has its dwelling-place in the early romanesque savageness and strangeness. and the reader remembers dürer's brooding muse called melancholia that so obsessed kipling in the light that failed. but the wonder-quality went into nearly all the dürer wood-cuts and etchings. rembrandt is a prophet-wizard, not only in his shadowy portraits, but in his etchings of holy scenes even his simplest cobweb lines become incantations. other artists in the high tides of history have had kindred qualities, but coming close to our day, elihu vedder, the american, the illustrator of the rubáiyát, found it a poem questioning all things, and his very illustrations answer in a certain fashion with winds of infinity, and bring the songs of omar near to the book of job. vedder's portraits of lazarus and samson are conceptions that touch the hem of the unknown. george frederick watts was a painter of portraits of the soul itself, as in his delineations of burne-jones and morris and tennyson. it is a curious thing that two prophet-wizards have combined pictures and song. blake and rossetti, whatever the failure of their technique, never lacked in enchantment. students of the motion picture side of poetry would naturally turn to such men for spiritual precedents. blake, that strange londoner, in his book of job, is the paramount example of the enchanter doing his work with the engraving tool in his hand. rossetti's dante's dream is a painting on the edge of every poet's paradise. as for the poetry of these two men, there are blake's songs of innocence, and rossetti's blessed damozel and his burden of nineveh. as for the other poets, we have coleridge, the author of christabel, that piece of winter witchcraft, kubla khan, that oriental dazzlement, and the ancient mariner, that most english of all this list of enchantments. of tennyson's work, besides merlin and the gleam, there are the poems when the mantle was surely on his shoulders: the lady of shalott, the lotus eaters, sir galahad, and st. agnes' eve. edgar poe, always a magician, blends this power with the prophetical note in the poem, the haunted palace, and in the stories of william wilson, the black cat and the tell-tale heart. this prophet-wizard side of a man otherwise a wizard only, has been well illustrated in the avenging conscience photoplay. from maeterlinck we have the bluebird and many another dream. i devoutly hope i will never see in the films an attempt to paraphrase this master. but some disciple of his should conquer the photoplay medium, giving us great original works. yeats has bestowed upon us the land of heart's desire, the secret rose, and many another piece of imaginative glory. let us hope that we may be spared any attempts to hastily paraphrase his wonders for the motion pictures. but the man that reads yeats will be better prepared to do his own work in the films, or to greet the young new masters when they come. finally, francis thompson, in the hound of heaven, has written a song that the young wizard may lean upon forevermore for private guidance. it is composed of equal parts of wonder and conscience. with this poem in his heart, the roar of the elevated railroad will be no more in his ears, and he will dream of palaces of righteousness, and lead other men to dream of them till the houses of mammon fade away. chapter xxi the acceptable year of the lord without airing my private theology i earnestly request the most sceptical reader of this book to assume that miracles in a biblical sense have occurred. let him take it for granted in the fashion of the strictly æsthetic commentator who writes in sympathy with a fra angelico painting, or as that great modernist, paul sabatier, does as he approaches the problems of faith in the life of st. francis. let him also assume, for the length of time that he is reading this chapter if no longer, that miracles, in a biblical sense, as vivid and as real to the body of the church, will again occur two thousand years in the future: events as wonderful as those others, twenty centuries back. let us anticipate that many of these will be upon american soil. particularly as sons and daughters of a new country it is a spiritual necessity for us to look forward to traditions, because we have so few from the past identified with the six feet of black earth beneath us. the functions of the prophet whereby he definitely painted future sublimities have been too soon abolished in the minds of the wise. mere forecasting is left to the weather bureau so far as a great section of the purely literary and cultured are concerned. the term prophet has survived in literature to be applied to men like carlyle: fiery spiritual leaders who speak with little pretence of revealing to-morrow. but in the street, definite forecasting of future events is still the vulgar use of the term. dozens of sober historians predicted the present war with a clean-cut story that was carried out with much faithfulness of detail, considering the thousand interests involved. they have been called prophets in a congratulatory secular tone by the man in the street. these felicitations come because well-authorized merchants in futures have been put out of countenance from the days of jonah and balaam till now. it is indeed a risky vocation. yet there is an undeniable line of successful forecasting by the hardy, to be found in the scripture and in history. in direct proportion as these men of fiery speech were free from sheer silliness, their outlook has been considered and debated by the gravest people round them. the heart of man craves the seer. take, for instance, the promise of the restoration of jerusalem in glory that fills the latter part of the old testament. it moves the jewish zionist, the true race-jew, to this hour. he is even now endeavoring to fulfil the prophecy. consider the words of john the baptist, "one mightier than i cometh, the latchet of whose shoes i am not worthy to unloose: he shall baptize you with the holy ghost and with fire." a magnificent foreshadowing, being both a spiritual insight and the statement of a great definite event. the heeded seers of the civilization of this our day have been secular in their outlook. perhaps the most striking was karl marx, in the middle of the capitalistic system tracing its development from feudalism and pointing out as inevitable, long before they came, such modern institutions as the steel trust and the standard oil company. it remains to be seen whether the marxian prophecy of the international alliance of workingmen that is obscured by the present conflict in europe, and other of his forecastings, will be ultimately verified. there have been secular teachers like darwin, who, by a scientific reconstruction of the past, have implied an evolutionary future based on the biological outlook. deductions from the teachings of darwin are said to control those who mould the international doings of germany and japan. there have been inventor-seers like jules verne. in twenty thousand leagues under the sea he dimly discerned the submarine. there is a type of social prophet allied to verne. edward bellamy, in looking backward, reduced the world to a matter of pressing the button, turning on the phonograph. it was a combination of glorified department-store and coney island, on a cooperative basis. a seventeen-year-old boy from the country, making his first visit to the woolworth building in new york, and riding in the subway when it is not too crowded, might be persuaded by an eloquent city relative that this is bellamy's new jerusalem. a soul with a greater insight is h.g. wells. but he too, in spite of his humanitarian heart, has, in a great mass of his work, the laboratory imagination. serious americans pronounce themselves beneficiaries of wells' works, and i confess myself edified and thoroughly grateful. nevertheless, one smells chemicals in the next room when he reads most of wells' prophecies. the x-ray has moved that englishman's mind more dangerously than moonlight touches the brain of the chanting witch. one striking and typical story is the food of the gods. it is not only a fine speculation, but a great parable. the reader may prefer other tales. many times wells has gone into his laboratory to invent our future, in the same state of mind in which an automobile manufacturer works out an improvement in his car. his disposition has greatly mellowed of late, in this respect, but underneath he is the same wells. citizens of america, wise or foolish, when they look into the coming days, have the submarine mood of verne, the press-the-button complacency of bellamy, the wireless telegraph enthusiasm of wells. if they express hopes that can be put into pictures with definite edges, they order machinery piled to the skies. they see the redeemed united states running deftly in its jewelled sockets, ticking like a watch. this, their own chosen outlook, wearies the imaginations of our people, they do not know why. it gives no full-orbed apocalyptic joy. only to the young mechanical engineer does such a hope express real utopia. he can always keep ahead of the devices that herald its approach. no matter what day we attain and how busy we are adjusting ourselves, he can be moving on, inventing more to-morrows; ruling the age, not being ruled by it. because this utopia is in the air, a goodly portion of the precocious boys turn to mechanical engineering. youths with this bent are the most healthful and inspiring young citizens we have. they and their like will fulfil a multitude of the hopes of men like verne, bellamy, and wells. but if every mechanical inventor on earth voiced his dearest wish and lived to see it worked out, the real drama of prophecy and fulfilment, as written in the imagination of the human race, would remain uncompleted. as mrs. browning says in lady geraldine's courtship:-- if we trod the deeps of ocean, if we struck the stars in rising, if we wrapped the globe intensely with one hot electric breath, 'twere but power within our tether, no new spirit-power comprising, and in life we were not greater men, nor bolder men in death. st. john beheld the new jerusalem coming down out of heaven prepared as a bride adorned for her husband, not equipped as a touring car varnished for its owner. it is my hope that the moving picture prophet-wizards will set before the world a new group of pictures of the future. the chapter on the architect as a crusader endeavors to show how, by proclaiming that america will become a permanent world's fair, she can be made so within the lives of men now living, if courageous architects have the campaign in hand. there are other hopes that look a long way further. they peer as far into the coming day as the chinese historian looks into the past. and then they are but halfway to the millennium. any standard illustrator could give us verne or bellamy or wells if he did his best. _but we want pictures beyond the skill of any delineator in the old mediums, yet within the power of the wizard photoplay producer_. oh you who are coming to-morrow, show us everyday america as it will be when we are only halfway to the millennium yet thousands of years in the future! tell what type of honors men will covet, what property they will still be apt to steal, what murders they will commit, what the law court and the jail will be or what will be the substitutes, how the newspaper will appear, the office, the busy street. picture to america the lovers in her half-millennium, when usage shall have become iron-handed once again, when noble sweethearts must break beautiful customs for the sake of their dreams. show us the gantlet of strange courtliness they must pass through before they reach one another, obstacles brought about by the immemorial distinctions of scholarship gowns or service badges. make a picture of a world where machinery is so highly developed it utterly disappeared long ago. show us the antique united states, with ivy vines upon the popular socialist churches, and weather-beaten images of socialist saints in the niches of the doors. show us the battered fountains, the brooding universities, the dusty libraries. show us houses of administration with statues of heroes in front of them and gentle banners flowing from their pinnacles. then paint pictures of the oldest trees of the time, and tree-revering ceremonies, with unique costumes and a special priesthood. show us the marriage procession, the christening, the consecration of the boy and girl to the state. show us the political processions and election riots. show us the people with their graceful games, their religious pantomimes. show us impartially the memorial scenes to celebrate the great men and women, and the funerals of the poor. and then moving on toward the millennium itself, show america after her victories have been won, and she has grown old, as old as the sphinx. then give us the dragon and armageddon and the lake of fire. author-producer-photographer, who would prophesy, read the last book in the bible, not to copy it in form and color, but that its power and grace and terror may enter into you. delineate in your own way, as you are led on your own patmos, the picture of our land redeemed. after fasting and prayer, let the spirit conduct you till you see in definite line and form the throngs of the brotherhood of man, the colonnades where the arts are expounded, the gardens where the children dance. that which man desires, that will man become. he largely fulfils his own prediction and vision. let him therefore have a care how he prophesies and prays. we shall have a tin heaven and a tin earth, if the scientists are allowed exclusive command of our highest hours. let us turn to luke iv. . "and there was delivered unto him the book of the prophet esaias. and when he had opened the book he found the place where it was written:-- "the spirit of the lord is upon me because he hath anointed me to preach the gospel to the poor; he hath sent me to heal the broken-hearted, to preach deliverance to the captives, and recovering of sight to the blind, to set at liberty them that are bruised, to preach the acceptable year of the lord. "and he closed the book, and he gave it again to the minister, and sat down. and the eyes of all them that were in the synagogue were fastened on him. and he began to say unto them: 'this day is this scripture fulfilled in your ears.' "and all bare him witness, and wondered at the gracious words which proceeded out of his mouth. and they said: 'is not this joseph's son?'" i am moved to think christ fulfilled that prophecy because he had read it from childhood. it is my entirely personal speculation, not brought forth dogmatically, that scripture is not so much inspired as it is curiously and miraculously inspiring. if the new isaiahs of this time will write their forecastings in photoplay hieroglyphics, the children in times to come, having seen those films from infancy, or their later paraphrases in more perfect form, can rise and say, "this day is this scripture fulfilled in your ears." but without prophecy there is no fulfilment, without isaiah there is no christ. america is often shallow in her dreams because she has no past in the european and asiatic sense. our soil has no roman coin or buried altar or buddhist tope. for this reason multitudes of american artists have moved to europe, and only the most universal of wars has driven them home. year after year europe drained us of our beauty-lovers, our highest painters and sculptors and the like. they have come pouring home, confused expatriates, trying to adjust themselves. it is time for the american craftsman and artist to grasp the fact that we must be men enough to construct a to-morrow that grows rich in forecastings in the same way that the past of europe grows rich in sweet or terrible legends as men go back into it. * * * * * scenario writers, producers, photoplay actors, endowers of exquisite films, sects using special motion pictures for a predetermined end, all you who are taking the work as a sacred trust, i bid you god-speed. let us resolve that whatever america's to-morrow may be, she shall have a day that is beautiful and not crass, spiritual, not material. let us resolve that she shall dream dreams deeper than the sea and higher than the clouds of heaven, that she shall come forth crowned and transfigured with her statesmen and wizards and saints and sages about her, with magic behind her and miracle before her. pray that you be delivered from the temptation to cynicism and the timidities of orthodoxy. pray that the workers in this your glorious new art be delivered from the mere lust of the flesh and pride of life. let your spirits outflame your burning bodies. consider what it will do to your souls, if you are true to your trust. every year, despite earthly sorrow and the punishment of your mortal sins, despite all weakness and all of time's revenges upon you, despite nature's reproofs and the whips of the angels, new visions will come, new prophecies will come. you will be seasoned spirits in the eyes of the wise. the record of your ripeness will be found in your craftsmanship. you will be god's thoroughbreds. * * * * * it has come then, this new weapon of men, and the face of the whole earth changes. in after centuries its beginning will be indeed remembered. it has come, this new weapon of men, and by faith and a study of the signs we proclaim that it will go on and on in immemorial wonder. vachel lindsay. springfield, illinois, nov. , . the boy scouts with the motion picture players by robert shaler contents chapters i. the haunted make-believe "castle" ii. creating a panic iii. taking possession iv. scouting at midnight v. a startling surprise vi. guests at the camp fire vii. faced by a mystery viii. as in the days of chivalry ix. with the motion-picture people x. the assault on the "castle" xi. imitation and reality xii. when swords clashed xiii. well done, scouts! xiv. oakvale gets a thrill chapter i the haunted make-believe "castle." it was about the middle of a fall afternoon, and friday at that, when five well-grown lads, clad in faded khaki suits that proclaimed them to be boy scouts, dropped down upon a moss covered log near a cold spring at which they had just quenched their thirst. the one who acted as leader, and to whom the others often deferred, answered to the name of hugh. he was, indeed, hugh hardin, assistant scout master; and the others were also full-fledged members of the oakvale boy scout troop of which so much has been written and told. those fortunate readers who are familiar with previous volumes in this series need no introduction to these lively lads. for the benefit of others who have not up to this time made their acquaintance, it may be said that the boy next to hugh was alec sands; the stout, rosy-cheeked fellow with the beaming face, billy worth; the slender one, arthur cameron; and the uneasy chap "monkey" stallings, so nicknamed on account of his pet hobby for hanging by his toes from the cross-pieces of telegraph poles, or the lofty limbs of forest trees. it might also be noted further that hugh was known as a fine all-round scout; arthur's leading specialty lay in the line of amateur surgery, at which he was wonderfully proficient; alec gave the leader a pretty good race in nearly every line of scout activity, while billy,---well, to be frank, billy's strong points might be set down as an everlasting fund of cheery good-nature, and a remarkable capacity for stowing away "grub." apparently the boys were out on some sort of fall hike. each had burdened himself not only with a pack but a blanket as well, the latter secured, after the usual military habit, across one shoulder. each fellow also depended on a stout staff that, in a way, answered for an alpine stock, should they have to climb any hills. besides, it was handy as a weapon of defense in case they were attacked by a vicious dog. "well, the time limit you set has come, alec," hugh was saying after they had stretched themselves along the convenient log. "yes," burst out billy, eagerly, "you promised to tell us all what you confided to hugh before he agreed to get up this little weekend hike. i'm burning with curiosity to know what's in the wind." "we've taken a leap in the dark, you see," added arthur, "because when hugh said it would be well worth our while we just trusted him. now, open up, alec, and relieve our suspense. you said the next time we stopped you'd begin to explain all this dark mystery." "me, too," exclaimed the stallings boy, who was always turning his restless eyes upward, as though seeking some enticing branch where he could exercise his favorite antics. alec sands laughed softly. "i'm ready to tell my little story, boys," he remarked. "it isn't such a wonderful one, after all, but hugh agreed with me that it might give some of us an excuse for coming up this way. and my aunt had supplied all the necessary funds covering our railroad fare from oakvale to the little station where we jumped off the local train---scarsdale." "which aunt, alec?" demanded billy, whom it was always difficult to suppress. "oh! none of you ever met _this_ relative of mine, i guess," considered alec. "aunt susan is a very rich woman, and what you might call eccentric if you wanted to be particularly nice, and not use a harsher word. in fact, her nerves have gone back on her, and every little noise about sets her _wild_. she has taken a notion that the only salvation for her is to find some sort of a quiet country home in which her servants can glide around in felt slippers, with never a rooster's crow to disturb the dead silence." "whew! you must mean she's a regular crank, alec---excuse me for saying it!" exclaimed billy, wiping his heated brow, for when others were shivering the fat boy perspired. "well, forget that part of it," resumed alec, making a wry face. "aunt susan is peculiar, and immensely wealthy, so that money needn't stand in the way of her doing anything she fancies. in some way or other it seems she heard about a queer place away up here in the woods. it is known as randall's folly!" "why, seems to me i've heard something about that place!" burst out arthur cameron, in a surprised tone. "isn't it a modern castle built by a man years ago and meant to look like some british place in the days of queen elizabeth?" "just what it is, arthur," chuckled alec, as though highly amused. "let's see," pursued the other, uneasily, "there was some sort of story told in connection with the castle---strikes me folks said it was haunted, or something like that." "whew! and are we heading for that beautiful spot as fast as we can hike along?" demanded billy, his eyes round with wonder, perhaps uneasiness. "my aunt wrote to my mother that she wanted some one to come up here and investigate, so she could have a full description before going any further into the deal for the property. not that aunt susan bothered a bit about the ghost part of it, but she wanted to know whether the building was a ramshackle affair, or part-way decent. in fact, she asked for photographs of the place inside and out, and even requested that, if i could be induced to take the trip, along with some of those wonderfully bright chums of mine of whom she had been hearing such great stories, i was to buy the best camera that fifty dollars could command, and use the balance of the hundred for other expenses. so here we are close to randall's folly, with saturday ahead of us for business, and meaning to go back home sunday afternoon." "which lovely programme must include two nights spent under the roof of a haunted house!" gasped billy, still wiping his streaming forehead, though he really should have been cooled off by this time. "for my part," spoke up arthur cameron, "nothing would please me better than the chance to say i'd run across a real ghost. i've been reading lots of creepy stories connected with spooks, but they never could get me to believe in such silly things." "same here," added the stallings boy, though his voice sounded a trifle unsteady as hugh could not help noticing. "as for me," the scout master remarked, "i considered it a fine chance for a little excitement. i, too, had heard some stories about this gloomy make-believe castle that had been built in the lonely woods by old judge randall when he married a young wife, and wanted to carry her away from the rest of the world. they say it's getting to be an interesting ruin by now, though perhaps alec's aunt might choose to patch the crumbling walls up, if other things suited her." "huh! takes all sorts of freaks to make this world," grunted billy. "the idea of anybody actually wanting to bury themselves away up here, and never see a thing in the way of circus, baseball, winter hockey, boy scout rivalries and other good happenings. the old judge must have been crazy." "well, lots of people suspected it when he started to build this castle," said alec, drily. "they felt dead sure after it happened; for hold your breath now, fellows, because to be honest with you there was a terrible tragedy, and after the poor young wife was buried the judge lived as much as ten years in an asylum. he had become a maniac, you see, from jealousy of his beautiful wife." "i suppose it's all right, since there are four other fellows along," billy finally went on to say, "but honest injun, if i had known all this at the start, i don't believe i would have been so anxious to come. i expect that old toothache of mine would have cropped up and kept me home." "the walking is good down to the station, billy," murmured alec, "and we were told that a freight-train would come along around dark this evening, bound south, which was due to stop at the water-tank" "that'll be enough for you, alec," continued the fat boy, with a certain amount of dignity. "you never knew me to show the white feather, and back down, once i put my shoulder to the wheel. if the rest can stand it i ought to be able to do so." "good for you, billy," cried hugh. "alec here ought to make you an apology. but since we've rested up, and there's still half a mile to tramp, with the afternoon wearing on, suppose we make a fresh start." soon they were trailing along the dimly seen road, which evidently was not used to any great extent by the few scattered farmers in that vicinity. most of the talk was in connection with the weird mansion toward which they were heading. alec was coaxed to relate a number of other facts he had managed to pick up regarding its romantic history. "look out for signs of a high wall on the left, boys," he finally told them. "it may be almost hidden by vines and scrub trees by now, i was warned. it surrounds the whole place, though here and there it may be broken down. few people after dark want to pass this place except in a hurry, and although it's only a mile and a half from the railroad, i don't believe tramps ever think of coming here. you see, most of them know the stories told about randall's folly, and they steer clear of the place." a short time afterwards hugh's keen eyes made a discovery. "i think the wall you mentioned lies over yonder where all that wild tangle can be seen," he remarked, whereupon there was a hurried movement in that direction, followed by various exclamations to the effect that the scout master's announcement was indeed true. "seems as if the castle must be perched on a high piece of ground, commanding a pretty good view of the country around," observed arthur, as they sought for a broken place in the crumbling wall so as to gain an entrance to the grounds beyond. "the story goes that judge randall built it that way so he could keep watch, and know if any of his wife's former suitors were heading this way," alec explained. "why, he must have been a regular old bluebeard!" gurgled billy. "he was demented on that one subject," confessed alec, "and the disease kept getting a stronger grip on him until finally---but hello! here's the hole in the wall we wanted to find, so let's crawl over the broken-down stones and enter." "hold on," snapped hugh just then, "i thought you said, alec, no one was bold enough to trespass here! if you look down to where i point you'll see part of a footprint in mud, showing that a man must have come across this broken wall not half an hour or so ago!" chapter ii creating a panic when hugh gave utterance to this really startling announcement, he naturally lowered, his voice. the others came crowding up, and stared at the tell-tale mark. as their scout education had long since passed far beyond the novice range they had no difficulty in seeing that hugh had stated the truth. "a whopping big foot made that mark," whispered billy. "and see there," added alec, hastily, also in a low tone, "here's a second one not so big. two fellows crossed this hole in the wall, and only a short time ago, because the mud is as fresh as it can be." that caused the scouts to exchange significant looks. "anyhow," billy was heard to whisper to himself, "whoever made those footprints was a live human being, and no spook, that's sure." the thought evidently did much to relieve his mind, hugh realized. alec meanwhile was shaking his head as though not only puzzled but annoyed. "what do you make of it, hugh?" he asked, like most of the fellows turning to the scout master when there was a difficult problem to be solved. "oh! there might be several explanations," replied the other with a reassuring smile. "first of all, these fellows may be a couple of curious countrymen wanting to take a look around while the sun is still up, being afraid to come here after night sets in." "yes, go on, hugh; what next?" "then it might be they are men who have heard about the deserted castle, and wonder if they could pick up anything worth carrying off if they forced an entrance. but there's still another answer to your question, alec." "i can guess what you mean, hugh. my aunt, it may be, isn't the only person with money to burn who's taken a notion to buy randall's folly. is that what you've got on the tip of your tongue, hugh?" "just what i meant to say," he was told. "but no matter, if we find there's a rival in the field, perhaps we might scare him off in some way. that wouldn't be such a hard thing to do, when you've got a haunted house to work with." "oh! with my trick of throwing my voice, hugh," spoke up monkey stallings, "i bet you i could play the ghost racket to beat the band. just give me a try-out and see what i can do, hugh." "well, first of all," remarked the scout master, "we had better climb over the break in the wall here, and find the trail of these two unknown men. after all it may turn out they are simple country jakes wanting to take a peep at the mansion they've heard so many queer stories about." accordingly the five scouts hastened to clamber across the gap, a feat requiring little dexterity; though clumsy billy had to catch his toe among the stones, and come near pitching headlong down, were it not for hugh quickly throwing out his ready arm. it required little effort to find the tracks beyond the mass of fallen stones; a mere tyro of a scout could have succeeded in following such a plain trail, and at that hardly half test his ability along that line. bending partly over, the boys kept diligently at work pursuing the zigzag line of footprints. evidently the men had picked out the easiest way to advance. they must have either known where they were going, or else followed a former path that was not overgrown, and partly concealed with rank vegetation. "look! there's a glimpse of the castle!" whispered alec, suddenly. through the openings in the copse beyond they could see the gray walls rising up ahead. it was an impressive spectacle. the westering sun shone on the tower that had been made to look like some old-time type english masonry, famous in history, with its portcullis, drawbridge, and surrounding watery ditch known as a "moat." after silently inspecting the side of the old building thus presented to their gaze for a minute or so, the boys began to show their former restlessness. "the trail keeps right on, hugh!" whispered alec, which was as much as saying that he could see no reason for further delay. "listen!" cautioned arthur. "oh! what did you think you heard?" asked billy, with a gasp. "it must have been voices somewhere ahead of us," came the answer. "the men are talking it over, most likely." "debating whether they've got the nerve to go a step further and enter the haunted castle," chuckled alec. "let's move on, and get a squint at the bold trespassers, hugh." accordingly once more the whole party started to move ahead, foot by foot. all the woodcraft they had managed to pick up in previous exploits was brought into play as they crept along softly. "stop!" hugh gave the low order, finally. "i see them, hugh," announced alec, eagerly. "show me where," begged billy, pushing himself forward. a few seconds later arthur was heard to say disdainfully: "why, it looks to me as if they might be only a pair of weary willies, who had wandered up here from tramping the railroad ties. they must have heard about a fine house lying idle here, and have come to camp out for a spell. you can see they've got a chicken dangling by the neck, and some old tomato cans they mean to make coffee in. whew! but they are a tough looking pair, i tell you." alec looked, and sniffed disdainfully. "here's where we're up against it good and hard, fellows," he remarked, softly. "the question is, do we want to stand for that couple of greasy hoboes keeping us company while we camp out here in the deserted castle? everybody say his mind, and majority rules, you know." "excuse me, if you please," muttered arthur, with a shudder. "i'd sooner sleep in a pigpen than alongside such human animals as those unclean hoboes." "why," remarked billy, aghast at the thought, "they might rob us of our blankets; or worse, of our precious grub, which would be what i'd call a calamity without equal." "we've just got to bounce them, that's plain," said monkey stallings. "hugh, you remember what you the same as promised me?" "oh! if you think you can start something that will rid us of the pair," the scout master told him, "go to it right away. if you want us to help, say the word, monkey." already the other was feverishly attacking his pack, which he had tossed upon the ground. he soon found what he was looking for, to judge from the satisfied exclamation that passed his lips. "tell us what you've got there, monkey," urged alec. "yes, that's do," added billy, anxiously, "because we want to be on our guard. if it throws a scare into those tramps it might work just as bad with some other fellows i know, unless they were warned beforehand. show your hand, monkey, please." "oh! shucks! it's only a sort of wild-goose call i tried to make from directions i read in a little book," confessed the ingenious one. "it don't seem to imitate a wild honker much, but say, i c'n make the most _unearthly_ sounds come out of this hollow bone you ever listened to. why, it nigh about freezes my own blood when i try the call in the pitch dark. now watch and see what happens." "be careful, monkey," warned hugh, as the other prepared to creep away. "don't let them glimpse you at any time, or there may be serious trouble. they look like an ugly couple of customers. i suppose you mean to try and get around on the other side of them?" "sure thing," replied the originator of the scheme, "and if i were you, hugh, i'd make out to hide your bunch, because, believe me, that pair will come whooping along this way like mad pretty soon." "which is what we'll do right away, monkey, never fear," hugh told him. accordingly the four scouts disposed themselves in such fashion that while they would be hidden from view they could at the same time watch whatever took place, and enjoy the fun, if, by good luck, the scheme arranged for the entertainment of the bold hoboes, turned out successful. the two ragged wanderers were sitting on the stones bordering the ditch or "moat" that surrounded the make-believe ancient castle. they evidently debated as to the advisability of forcing an entrance to the wonderful mansion, and taking up temporary or permanent quarters there. perhaps the idea of spending the coming winter under so magnificent a roof, with frequent excursions around the countryside in search of necessary supplies, engrossed their attention. some little time passed away. the four boys began to show signs of impatience, believing that monkey stallings must surely by now have gained the place he had in mind when he left them. "there, i saw him wave his hand to us from that slit in the stone wall of the tower!" hissed alec, presently. "he's managed to find a way to get inside after all, and now the fun's going to begin." "it's time, too," added arthur, "because the hoboes have made up their minds to try and break into the house. see, that big chump has picked up a heavy rock, and he acts as if he meant to hurl the same against those stout oaken doors." indeed, that was just what happened. the collision, however, only resulted in a loud bang, for it would take many hundreds of like blows to do those stout doors any serious damage. the smaller tramp shook his head dubiously. "now they are talking it over again," whispered alec. "the short one is pointing as if he believes they can find a much easier way to get inside than trying to smash the door down. hey! monkey, better get busy or you'll find the pair treading close on your heels." hardly had alec spoken that last low word than a thrilling sound came floating to the ears of the four listening scouts. none of them could ever describe what it was like; indeed, it seemed to possess a character all its own, and somehow caused the "goose-flesh" to creep over their bodies, even though they knew the origin of the uncanny cry. the two tramps had jumped back at the first outburst. they seemed to be staring wildly toward the "donjon tower," as alec persisted in calling the round structure at one end of the imitation castle. louder and louder grew the racket. billy laid a trembling hand on hugh's arm as though seeking comfort from personal contact with the scout master. presently the pair of hoboes appeared to have reached the limit of their endurance. one snatched the dead fowl that had possibly been stolen from some farmyard on their way up from the railroad; while the other hastily gathered the rest of their primitive possessions in his trembling hands. then, as another fearful burst of strange cries broke forth from the haunted castle, the two men started wildly on the run. faster and faster grew their pace as monkey blew more furiously on his home-made "goose-call" with telling effect. as they passed the spot where hugh and the other three scouts were lying in concealment, the alarmed pair could be heard giving vent to excited remarks, and some strong language as well, though neither of them seemed to possess the nerve to turn his head and look back so as to find out if they were being pursued. so they went out of sight along the crooked trail they had made in approaching the deserted mansion; though for several minutes afterwards the sound of frequent collisions with trees, and stumbles over hidden vines proclaimed that their panic showed no signs of abating. chapter iii taking possession "don't all laugh at once," cautioned the scout master, knowing that an outburst was imminent. understanding what was meant, the boys threw themselves down upon the ground and gave way to merriment that was none the less overpowering because it had to be indulged in "with the soft pedal on," as arthur artfully expressed it. while they, were still enjoying themselves in this fashion, monkey stallings joined them. he had a huge grin on his rather odd-looking, face, showing that he felt fully satisfied with his recent fine work. "say, did i do the thing up in good style, boys?" he demanded. "i should say you did, monkey!" burst out billy. "makes me think of one of aesop's fables i used to read ever so long ago, about the lion and the donkey out hunting together." "suppose you tell us about it then," suggested arthur, a little wickedly, for he had, in truth, a pretty fair idea concerning its nature. "why," proceeded billy, hastily, "it seems they discovered a flock of goats in a cave, and the donkey suggested that he disguise himself with an old lion skin they found, and go in to scare the goats out, when the lion standing by the exit could kill the game. when he had hee-hawed and kicked up such a rumpus that the poor goats dashed out, to meet their fate at the exit, the donkey finally came along and proudly asked the lion what he thought of his antics. 'splendid,' said the lion, or something like that, and i guess you'd have frightened me, too, if i hadn't known you were only a donkey!" monkey stallings hardly knew whether that, was intended for a compliment or not, but he laughed because the others did. "all the same i had the longest pole that knocked down the persimmons," he asserted. "i gave that bunch the biggest scare of their lives. the way is clear for us now, and, thank goodness, we won't have to sleep under the same roof with that greasy pair of rascals, and, after all; that was the end in view." "monkey," said arthur, "you've put us all under heavy obligations by what you did, and for one i'm not going to forget it, or twit you about the funny noises you manage to coax out of that bone goose-call you made. the end justifies the means, is what i say every time. now, what's next on the programme, hugh?" "well, since we've met the enemy and won the fight," laughed the other, "i should say our best move would be to occupy the abandoned works. monkey can lead us to where he managed to get into the castle." "as easy as falling off a log," asserted the other, proudly, as became the principal actor in the late little "unpleasantness." "besides," added alec, impatiently, "we want to take a few pictures inside and out of the old shebang while the sun still hangs high." "what's the hurry?" asked billy, who liked to put off things to a more convenient season whenever he could find half of an excuse; "plenty of time to do all that to-morrow, i should think." "'strike while the iron is hot,' has always been my motto," asserted alec, when, in truth, it was mostly his impatience that hastened his actions. "how do we know what sort of a day to-morrow may turn out to be? suppose a storm came along, how could i get a good picture of the castle to send my aunt so as to pay for the elegant camera she gave me?" "guess you're right there, alec," admitted billy, always ready to own up when he felt that the argument was going against him. "besides, it needs plenty of light to get views inside the house, when the windows are as small and measly as they seem to be here." "oh! as for that," declared the other, airily, "leave it to me. i've been smart enough to fetch along an entire outfit for taking flashlight pictures; so you see we can get all we want after night comes." "you've certainly got a level head on your shoulders, alec," ventured arthur, giving the other a slap on the back that was intended for commendation, though it made the recipient jump, for he had not been expecting anything of the sort, and possibly there was that about the air of that haunted mansion which caused all of them to be a bit more nervous than usual. monkey stallings led them around to one side of the rambling building. as they went, they were loud in their expressions of amazement and even delight, for really, it was an impressive sight to the eyes of american lads not accustomed to crumbling ruins of old-time castles, where doughty knights of the middle ages may have fought in tournament with lance and sword. "wait up a bit, please, fellows!" suddenly exclaimed alec. "i couldn't find a better view of the castle than right here, with that sun blazing along the walls, the turrets and that magnificent donjon tower. i want every one of you to be in the picture at that, so place yourselves as i tell you." alec was something of a photographer, and had many good views in a book at home. he fully expected to do wonderful things with this expensive outfit, since the lens alone cost three times as much as his other camera complete. when he had snapped off several views he declared himself satisfied. "in the morning, if the weather holds good," he remarked as he gave them the "high sign" that he was through, and that they need not pose any longer, "i mean to pick up a couple of views from the other side. the morning sun will allow me to do that, you understand. and now, monkey, where did you climb inside?" they were soon able to gain the interior after the same manner in which the pilot of the exploring expedition had accomplished it. monkey's sharp eyes had discovered a small opening that might be called a slit in the solid wall, after the fashion of those to be seen in the dwellings of moors and arabs and turks. it was easy enough for each boy in turn to squeeze himself through that slender gap, though once there arose a serious doubt in billy's mind as to whether he would not stick fast, and have to be pushed through with a rammer, much to his bodily discomfort. two fellows behind assisted his progress, while the others in advance gave him a helping hand, so that finally billy gained his end, though he could long afterwards be seen ruefully rubbing his elbows and hips as though they had been scraped in the passage. after that they left their packs in one of the lower apartments, while they roamed all through the wonderful interior. apparently money had not been spared in the erection of an imitation castle, though hugh found, in some places where what was supposed to be solid rock, proved to be only wood, skillfully painted to resemble the more lasting material. "whew! it has about forty rooms all told, i should say," observed the steaming billy after they had wearied of wandering about the strange place, and came back to the apartment where their blankets and packs had been deposited. "wonder how aunt susan will like the blooming old shack?" alec was heard to say as though some doubt had already commenced to enter his mind. "you, said, she wanted it quiet, you know, alec," observed hugh. "i defy any one to find a place that fills that bill better than this one. why, not even the peep of a bird can be heard; it's just a brooding silence that would get on the nerves of most people and make them shout out loud." "let's hope it stays that way while we're up here," said billy, and then noticing that some of the other fellows were smiling broadly he hastened to add: "oh! it isn't that i really expect anything like a ghost to walk when it comes midnight, you understand, but i don't always sleep as sound as i would like, and i hate to have anything screechy wake me up. so, monkey, please keep that goose-call of yours in your pocket the rest of the time." "perhaps, we had better get ourselves comfortably fixed before night finds us," suggested hugh. "we can make a blaze in that fireplace and cook supper here as nice as any one would want. it's going to turn out a novel experience for the lot of us." "you bet it, will," asserted monkey stallings stoutly. "i always did think i'd like to spend just one night in a house they said was haunted. to tell you the honest-truth i'm real glad you asked me to come along, alec, even if there does seem to be a queer feeling running up and down my backbone. i never knew the like before save that time i was dared to walk through the graveyard at midnight, and some fellows tried to scare me with their old sheets. huh! i had made sure to carry tige, my bulldog, hid under my coat, and i just let him loose. it makes me sick with laughing even now when i remember how those sillies tore off, with that pup snapping at their legs." "i'm glad to notice," said billy, just then, "that we can fasten both doors to this lower room, if we feel like it. you see, they've got bolts that can be shot into the sockets." "shucks!" mocked alec, disdainfully. "what good are locks and bars and bolts when they say a ghost can ooze itself in through a keyhole even? but then don't get an idea in your head, billy, we're going to be bothered by anything except rats. that's the only kind of spooks you'll find in such a place as this. and after we've had our supper i hope you'll all accompany me while i take some views of the interior, because several of the rooms are going to make dandy pictures." so supper was cooked after their customary camp style, only in this instance, while the scouts had a roof overhead, and stout stone walls surrounding them, they missed the whispering of the treetops, as well as the star-studded sky. afterwards they gladly helped the aspiring photographer while he made good use of his flashlight apparatus. alec chose certain apartments in which he fancied his wealthy and eccentric aunt would be most interested. he also declared himself satisfied in the end that he had succeeded in getting some views that ought to turn out "gilt-edged." the mansion was unfurnished, so that they had no chance of finding sleeping quarters or beds of any kind above. whoever now owned the place had removed all such articles long since, possibly to prevent tramps from finding an inducement to lodge in the deserted and lonely, castle. however, this was nothing serious to fellows who had camped many a time among the rocks, where they were even debarred from having hemlock browse for a soft mattress. "we'll try the floor to-night, boys," said hugh, as he started to spread his blanket out in regulation style. "if it proves to be too hard for us, perhaps we can put in the second night outdoors somewhere. that will depend on the weather, for we have no tent to keep the rain or snow off, you remember." the others hastened to copy his example, for they were all fairly sleepy. billy told himself that he would very likely lie awake all nightlong, because he felt sure something strange was _bound_ to happen to them. he was shrewd enough to arrange his blanket bed directly in the middle, so that he had a pair of chums on either side of him. if the others noticed this sign of weakness they kindly overlooked it. perhaps, to tell the truth about it, monkey stallings and arthur cameron were themselves not entirely free from uneasiness, and deep down in their hearts wished the night well over with. hugh happened to awaken some time afterwards, and as the flames lazily lighted up the big room occasionally, he lay there watching them play upon the wall. so he allowed himself to figure what strange scenes these same rooms must have witnessed in those bygone days when the old judge and his young prisoner wife occupied the monstrosity of an imitation feudal castle. when hugh was about to turn over and compose himself to sleep, he heard a peculiar sound that caused his heart to beat much more rapidly than its wont. he suddenly sat up and listened again. chapter iv scouting at midnight it was certainly a queer sound that floated to the strained hearing of the boy as he crouched there on the floor of the room amidst the folds of his blanket and listened with might and main. there followed a brief period of silence and then he felt a thrill, for it came again, a peculiar whimpering that would have given billy a spasm of fright had he been awake to catch it, instead of calmly sleeping close by. "what in the mischief can it be?" whispered hugh to himself as he allowed his hand to grope around for something he wanted, and which he remembered placing conveniently by at the time he prepared his crude bed. the fire had died down again so that the big apartment on the main floor was almost wrapped in darkness. still, when tiny tongues of flame played at hide-and-seek about the charred log, they caused all sorts of odd shadows to run athwart the walls. hugh gave a grunt of satisfaction when his fingers closed upon the object he sought. it was only about the size of two fingers, and nickel-plated at that. in fact, hugh had made himself a trifling-present lately of a small vestpocket edition of a flashlight, controlled by a battery, and had thought it worth while to carry it along with him on this expedition, though not saying anything about it to the others, thus far. "i'm bound to find out what makes that noise, as sure as anything can be," was what the boy was telling himself resolutely, even while he crept out from among the folds of the warm blanket endeared to him by reason of many associations of the past, of which so much has been written in previous volumes. that was just like hugh hardin. a good many boys would possibly have concluded that going wandering about a great imitation castle like randall's folly, after midnight, trying to discover the origin of strange sounds, was no business of theirs, and would have cuddled down closer, even drawing their blanket over their heads in order that they might not hear a repetition of the noise. hugh was built on a different order. he knew full well that sleep with him was entirely out of the question so long as that chilling whimpering and rustling continued at regular intervals. now hugh was only a boy, it must be remembered, and many a strong man would have declined committing himself in the way the scout master intended doing. he had listened to all the talk about ghosts carried on by the other fellows, with more or less interest and amusement, for hugh refused to believe in spook manifestations. at the same time he admitted that his heart was fluttering at a much more rapid gait than customary when he started toward one of the doors of the room, using the little electric torch to light his way. if any one could have read the thoughts that were surging through the boy's excited mind, they would perhaps have been found to range about in this manner: "ghosts, eh? well, i've always said there never existed any, and perhaps i'll have a chance right now to prove it, one way or the other. a queer kind of a hobgoblin that must be to keep whimpering like a baby, and then fluttering to beat the band. but what in the wide world can it all mean? that's what i reckon on finding out, given half a chance." he had reached the door by that time. billy had seen to it that the bolt was shot into its socket before he lay down. more than that, he had even gone to the trouble to fill the keyhole full of crumpled paper, remembering that jibe on the part of one of his chums to the effect that spirits can "ooze like smoke" through even such small apertures. hugh had been wise enough to pick up a handy club before starting forth upon his mission of investigation. he did not anticipate finding a chance to make use of it, but when a man insures his house against fire he really does not expect it to be burned down. hugh wanted to be on the safe side, that was all. just at that point the boy, was influenced to turn around and cast the light of his torch upon the forms of his four comrades swathed in their coverings. not one of them moved, even in the slightest degree, so that, if hugh was half contemplating inviting company, he found no encouragement there. gritting his teeth, the boy calmly drew back the bolt, softly opened the massive door, slipped boldly through the aperture, and then as deftly closed the door behind him. standing there in the great hall he listened intently, meanwhile keeping his light turning this way and that in order to see if anything moved. perhaps, in the days when judge randall lived in his romantic castle, this massive hall had been decorated after the usual custom of feudal times. hugh could easily imagine shining suits of armor standing grimly in, the corners, like sentries on guard. he had detected marks on the walls betraying the fact that at some time they had borne all manner of relics of long-past age of chivalry, so that the illusion might be complete. but now they stood there bare and cold, and a chilly draught came down from the empty regions above that made the boy shiver. then he heard the strange sounds again. they were clearer now than before. "one thing certain," muttered hugh, between his set teeth, "whatever makes that noise it comes from up above. and the thing for me to do is to climb the stairs; so here goes." if he felt any hesitation he did not show it as he made his way to the foot of the broad stairway and commenced mounting, step after step. always the sounds seemed to grow a little clearer, and this fact told hugh his scout instinct must be truly leading him directly toward the place from which they issued. he had reached the second floor, and was pushing steadily onward. several times he stopped short to listen, nor would he make a move at such intervals unless he had received his clue again. not once did he manifest any weakness in the line of shrugging his shoulders, and saying that it was none of his business if the night air played pranks by forcing its way through some hole in the wall, with a whine and a gurgle. when hugh once set himself a task it was his nature to carry the thing through to the end. he would despise himself if he allowed any weak fear to triumph over his common-sense. a brief time later he found himself standing near where he knew one of the several turrets stood. he remembered now that while they had investigated more or less of the big building, they were forced to skip several portions, leaving them for the next morning's survey; and doubtless this turret chamber must have been in the list of those unexplored places. "whatever it may be," hugh was telling himself, "the thing making all that noise is in there! i'll listen once more, and then take a peek." when he again heard the gurgling, the fluttering, and the strange whimpering hugh had his hand on the door knob. he quickly threw the barrier open and flashed his light into the chamber. instantly there was a scurry of wings. queer glowing balls of yellow connected with obscure, shadowy figures stared at him. the wings winnowed the air, and again he caught that peculiar whinny. hugh laughed aloud. "why, it's only a family of owls after all," he said, in great relief, "that's taken up quarters here in this turret, where they can go in and out as they please. yes, and those things that flapped away must have been some ugly bats in the bargain, that haven't gone into winter quarters yet. well, this is a pretty good sell, i must say. i'm glad i made up my mind to find out what that noise was. now i guess i can go to sleep again. ghosts! well, like as not every ghost that ever was heard of would turn out to be as simple a thing as this, if only some one had the nerve to investigate." he closed the door to the turret chamber. let the owls and bats have their quarters if they wanted to. there was plenty of room in that great castle for himself and chums to sleep without ousting, the happy family from their roost. so hugh started down the stairs feeling much lighter of heart than when he had so recently climbed upward. the tension and strain had been removed from his boyish heart, and he was ready to confess that things had seemed pretty ticklish at one time, and had required all his resolution to push ahead. he found the right door, and softly opening it made his way into the big room in which the others were sleeping. while fastening the door again hugh could hear the regular breathing of billy, and possibly of the others. as he incidentally flashed his light on them before turning in he was surprised to see alec sands sitting bolt upright and watching him curiously. hugh held up a warning finger. he did not want alec to talk out loud and needlessly awaken all of the other fellows. at the same time he know full well he must give some sort of explanation for his strange absence. "i heard it, too, hugh," whispered alec, with a half grin. "woke up and found you gone when i put out my hand to feel your blanket. then i caught those awful ghoulish sounds somewhere. wanted to creep after you, but say, i own up i didn't have the nerve to try it. so here i've been sitting, hugging my knees, and listening till i'm shivering as if i had the ague. now tell me what it is, hugh, for i just know you've found out." hugh chuckled and said: "oh! just a family that has squatted down on these premises, and hates to be evicted in case your rich aunt, or anybody else, buys the same!" "come off, hugh; don't try to muddle me all up like that, when i'm dying to know what could make such awful sounds. what kind of a family is it?" "owls, with a few big bats thrown in for good measure," explained hugh. "they've taken up their quarters in one of the turret chambers where slits in the walls allow them to go and come as they please." "you woke up and heard that gibberish, didn't you, hugh? and you made up your mind on the spot that you just had to find out what it meant? it's like you to do such a thing! but, hugh, why didn't you let me in on it? i'd have been glad to keep you company, sure i would." "i knew that, alec," apologized the other, yawning as he began to creep under his blanket again, "but all of you seemed to be sound asleep, and i hated to wake anybody up. besides---well, i just felt like going it alone, you see." "of all the nerve, you've got it to beat the band," commented alec. "i thought i could stand for a good deal, but let me tell you i draw the line at creeping upstairs in this spooky old castle, and investigating such a fierce noise as that. listen, will you, they're at it again, hugh? why, if billy woke up and heard that he'd throw a fit." "then we want to quit talking and not wake him," cautioned the scout master, as he gathered the folds of his covering about him, much as a soldier of olden times might wrap his martial cloak around his body while settling down calmly to sleep on the battlefield. alec was chuckling as though something amused him. "tell you what," he presently whispered, as a last thought, "if my aunt susan is as dead set for silence as she says, those noisy owls are going to vacate their snug quarters up there in a hurry. i honestly believe, hugh, this lonely old curiosity of a castle is going to please my queer relative a whole lot. the chances are she'll plank down the money to buy randall's folly when she gets my report, accompanied by the pictures i'm taking. well, here goes for another nap, hoping the owl family will settle down and not disturb us again to-night." chapter v a startling surprise "hello! is it safe to come out; and is the coast clear of ghosts?" that was billy addressing hugh on the following morning, the scout master, as well as alec sands and arthur cameron, being up and around. they looked at billy poking his head out from amidst the folds of his capacious red-and-black striped blanket, and laughed, for somehow he reminded them of a cautious old tortoise trying to spy out the land before entrusting his flippers beyond the confines of his shell. "nothing doing in the ghost line, billy," hugh told him, "so you can stretch yourself as much as you please. hurry up a little! alec here was just suggesting that as the morning looks so fine we might as well go outside and build a cooking fire under the trees for a change" billy thereupon threw the blanket aside and hopped to his feet. "when you say anything about _eating_," he observed as he started to finish his dressing with feverish haste, "seems like my whole system responds. alec, i want to tell you the idea isn't half bad either. dining in this musty old room seems too much as if we were still at home, you know. nothing like being under the trees when you're taking an outing. i haven't got any gypsy blood in me that i know of, but i do like the big outdoors a heap, better than anything else going---that is, except eating." monkey stallings was by this time also awake and fixing himself to defy the chilly morning atmosphere. they abandoned the castle, taking their belongings with them. at the time it was looked upon only as a little incident, and no one dreamed that afterwards they would find themselves very thankful for having done this very thing. back of the building the trees grew thickly, and it did not take the scouts long to discover a very good location for a temporary camp, where they could build a fire and cook breakfast. "another thing," said alec, "if the weather holds good i'm going to suggest that we hunt a place back there, half a mile, perhaps, away from the castle, to spend the night in. like billy here, i don't fancy sleeping under a roof when i can have a chance to camp out under the stars and hear the whispering of the trees." the others were quick to seize upon the idea. "it's our only chance to sleep out," said the stallings boy, "because we've got to make tracks to-morrow afternoon, you remember." "i should say that alec ought to be able to take all the pictures he needs of this old rookery this morning," remarked arthur. "as for me, i've seen all i want of the place. it makes me feel sad, because i can't help thinking of what happened up here so long ago. it was a crazy man's scheme to start with, and then there was the terrible tragedy that happened later on. ugh! let's climb out right now." so they built a nice cooking fire, and started to get breakfast. it was while they discussed the morning meal with the eagerness that boys' healthy appetites alone can display, that billy asked a leading question. "i forgot to ask if anybody heard a ghost laugh in the night?" he demanded. "once i happened to wake up, and imagined i could hear somebody laughing away off in the distance; but say, i only pulled my head further under my blanket, and went to sleep again just like an innocent little babe. how about that, hugh, alec, and the rest? was there anything doing?" this was the time for alec to tell about the little adventure hugh had met with. billy's eyes grew round with wonder and awe as the story proceeded, and seeing this, alec did his best to keep up the interest at fever heat to the point where hugh burst into the haunted turret chamber, and made the discovery that it was tenanted by a family of owls, and some bats. "gee whiz!" ejaculated billy, heaving a great sigh of relief, "i honestly began to believe you meant to tell us that turret-tower room was the place where the tragedy happened, and that hugh had watched it all being repeated over again. owls, hey? well, they're an innocent lot when you get acquainted with 'em. all the same, let me tell you i'm glad we expect to sleep outdoors to-night." "when we get through breakfast, boys," suggested arthur, greatly interested in what he had just heard, "let's all go up and be introduced to hugh's pets, if they haven't vamoosed the ranch. i always did like to watch owls stare at you with their big yellow eyes; but you want to keep away, for they've got wicked beaks, and can take a piece of skin off your hand as easy as anything." accordingly this programme was carried out. the visit to the turret chamber was not as productive of results as some of the boys might have wished, for most of the owls and bats went scurrying forth through the slits in the wall as soon as the door was opened, despite the garish light of day which they were supposed to dislike. still, enough were seen to satisfy billy the story had been no "fake." alec said he was disappointed because he could not take a picture of the whole outfit; though not necessarily for the benefit of his rich aunt. "but the sun seems just about right for the several exposures i want to make of the southeastern side of the castle," he told them, "so let's climb down out of this and get busy." "i'll tell you what i think," ventured billy as they were making for outdoors once more. "like as not that same family of owls has been responsible for a lot of that silly talk about this place being haunted. people imagine all sorts of things, you know, when they don't understand queer sounds." "yes," retorted alec, with a chuckle, "that's so, they do, billy; and i've known them to pull their heads under blankets. it's all very well for you to talk so bravely when the sun's shining overhead; but everybody knows how different things look and seem at midnight. we'll forgive you this time, billy, because the rest of us, all but hugh perhaps, were in something of the same boat, i'm afraid." the photographic work went on apace, and as alec had in times past proven his abilities in this line, he was apparently justified in believing that success was going to crown his present efforts. "i tell you aunt susan will be tickled half to death when she gets prints of these pictures," he remarked again and again as he worked, never missing a single object that he considered would lend additional enchantment to the views. "i ought to consider myself mighty lucky to be presented with such a dandy camera as this. i've made sure to fetch my daylight developing tank along with me, because if any of the exposures turn out to be poor ones i'll have another chance to duplicate the same tomorrow morning, even if it is sunday." "so far," observed monkey stallings, with a chuckle of satisfaction, "there isn't any sign of those two hoboes turning up here again---which pleases me a heap, let me tell you." "oh! no danger of them coming back again," billy assured him. "they got the scare of their lives when you tooted that goose-call. long before now that brace of tramps has struck the railroad ties, and are making tracks for other regions where they don't have old castles haunted by spooks." the last picture was finally taken. alec seemed satisfied with what he had done. "i've got two rolls of film left," he explained, "which i'm going to hold for an emergency. you never know what may happen when you're taking pictures. something is apt to come along that you would give a heap to get, and if you're out of films you feel like kicking yourself." "you've got a long head on your shoulders, alec," commented arthur. "i guess you must believe in the old saying that 'an ounce of prevention is better than a pound of cure.'" "also," added billy drily, "that in times of plenty it's wise to lay in a stock against the dry spell that's coming. i've been there myself, and ought to know what it means to go hungry just because you've been careless. that's one reason i always try to put in a spoonful of coffee for every fellow, and then add one for the pot." that was always the way with billy; he seemed to view almost every subject as inevitably connected with the one absorbing idea of supply and demand. by this time these good chums of his knew his weakness so well that they generally let such allusions pass unnoticed. "how would it do for us to root around a bit while we have the time?" ventured monkey stallings, who liked to investigate better than anything else, except in an old mansion where the dust of years had settled, and there were uncanny things to be run across. "if you mean," hugh told him, "we might move around some, and look for that place where we want to make our camp for the rest of our stay up here, i'd say it was a good idea." "of course," supplemented arthur, "we could move back to the castle late this afternoon if the weather turned out bad, and a storm threatened, which, according to all the known signs, isn't going to be the case." "glad to hear you say that, old weather bureau prophet," laughed alec; for the scout who had just made that bold assertion had long been looked up to as an authority on the subject of changes of the weather, and could reel off a dozen reasons for the prediction he was making, all founded on a good sensible basis. accordingly they all started forth, having deposited most of their belongings in a good hiding-place where they would be perfectly safe. since there had been no attempt to clean up the grounds surrounding the wonderful "castle" after its abandonment, some ten years or so before, of necessity they had gone back to their original, wild condition. nature always seeks to hide the cruel gashes made by the hands of man, covering the wound with all manner of growth from trailing vines to young saplings, brush and weeds. passing through a dense wilderness of this newer growth, the scouts pushed on into the heavier woods. here they found things much more to their way of looking at it. indeed, with the stately forest trees rising up all around them, and shutting out that queer building on the point of land overlooking the broad valley beyond, it seemed an ideal spot for making a camp. they were not long in deciding on where they would stay, and two of the fellows, alec and monkey stallings, were dispatched back to carry their personal belongings to the new site. alec was anxious to get to work developing some of the rolls of films he had taken, in the expectation of making good any failures. by ten o'clock everything had been gathered in the new camp, which was situated not much more than a quarter of a mile away from the deserted mansion. the boys believed they could already call their mission a success; and after alec had been heard from in connection with his photographic work, this would be set down as a certainty. "listen!" called out monkey stallings about this time, for he happened to have remarkable hearing. "seemed to me that was some one talking over yonder." "mebbe the tramps have come back after all," exclaimed billy looking startled. "you know they always say a bad penny is sure to turn up again." "better look for some good handy clubs, i say," observed alec, pouncing on just such a stout stick as he had in his mind's eye when speaking. "whoever it is coming," remarked hugh, uneasily, "we'll soon know the worst, for i can see them through the bushes there. they know we're here in the bargain, because they're making straight for this place." the scout master had hardly finished saying this when two men dressed in gray uniforms and carrying guns suddenly stepped out of the bushes, one calling aloud: "hold up your hands there, every one of you, and don't try to run, or it will be the worse for you. we've tracked you up here, and you're under arrest. steady now!" chapter vi guests at the camp fire "do what he says, fellows!" urged hugh, sensibly, at the same time elevating both hands above his head, in which ludicrous feat he was speedily imitated by his four chums. the two armed men continued to advance cautiously toward the scouts. at the same time it could be seen that they appeared more or less surprised on account of discovering that it was a parcel of fairly well grown boys whom they were making prisoners. "is this a joke?" asked alec sands, with a tinge of a sneer in his voice. "if so i want to say it's in pretty bad taste, don't you know." "you'll find it a serious kind of a joke, young fellow," snarled one of the two men in uniform, who seemed to be huffed over something, perhaps the scratches he had received in plenty where the brambles had scraped his face. "perhaps you'll be kind enough to explain what we're being held up this way for?" asked hugh, as pleasantly as he could, for he realized that these men must represent some sort of authority, and in all probability were laboring under a misapprehension. "who are you all, anyway?" demanded the taller of the two men, and hugh saw that he had better address himself to this person, since he seemed to be the more even-tempered of the pair. "our suits ought to tell you that," alec managed to snap out, not fancying the idea of being forced to keep his hands elevated in such a fashion, just as though he might be a miserable criminal trying to escape from the penitentiary. "we are boy scouts," said hugh, hastily, seeing the men frown at alec's impatient remark. "we belong in oakvale, and have come up here to spend a couple of days camping out. besides that one of us has been commissioned to take some pictures of an old deserted mansion not far away from here, which his aunt in the city is expecting to buy, if his report turns out favorable. that's the whole story, i give you my word of honor, sir." the tall man looked straight into hugh's face. what he saw there seemed to impress him very favorably, for the expression of distrust quickly faded from his own countenance, and a friendly smile began to take its place. "i reckon we've been and made a mistake this time, pete," he said, turning to his companion. "these young chaps don't look like they'd have a hand in trying to get a crazy man free, after the law had shut him up in an asylum!" "what's that you say?" exclaimed arthur, while billy's eyes were like small editions of saucers, in so far as being round was concerned. "we belong at the state asylum for the criminal insane," explained the taller man, whom hugh now understood must be a guard. "there was a notorious party shut up there, and he managed to escape by the aid of his money and the help of some friends outside. men are searching the whole country over for signs of him. we got a clue that he might be found up here in this region, and that he was being taken care of in a camp, until such time as he could cross the line into canada." "can we lower our hands now, friend?" asked hugh, seeing that billy for one was getting very red in the face with the exertion of stretching upward so long. "i guess you don't none of you look very dangerous," he was told, "so drop back as you please. we can't take chances, you understand, so we'll ask you to produce proofs that you're what you claim. then if everything is o.k. p'raps now you might invite a couple of hungry and tired guards to hang around a while until you rustled up a bit of grub, and a cup of hot coffee which would go straight to the spot, for we haven't had a thing to eat since last night." "oh! that's really too bad!" exclaimed billy, immediately sympathizing with any one who knew, the pangs of hunger. "sure, we'll invite you to stay with us to lunch. luckily my policy of always providing a little extra will come in handy, for we can fit you out with a pretty fair meal." even the shorter guard grinned on hearing this. he seemed to have quite lost the feeling of suspicion he had at first entertained toward hugh and his chums. in fact, he even stood his repeating rifle up against the tree nearest him, and seemed bent on taking things easy. hugh was pleased because the adventure had after all turned out so harmless. he had been a little startled when the demand was first made that they should surrender, and mention made of the startling fact that they must consider themselves under arrest. every one busied himself in gathering wood, and making preparations for building a fire, even though, under ordinary conditions the boys might not have started in to cook for some time to come. billy, however, seemed to consider it always in order to think of such an important subject as "preserving life"; for that was what he was pleased to call eating. no one ever heard a groan or complaint from billy when the order was given to prepare a meal; if the occurrence happened six times a day he would have shown up smiling and hungry on each and every occasion. the taller guard became more and more friendly as he watched these preparations going on. he also asked numerous questions concerning hugh and his chums. "now that i think of it," he remarked presently, "it strikes me i read something about a batch of oakvale scouts that helped the people over in lawrence when they had that big flood there. are you some of that lot, boys?" "several of us were there, and had great times, i assure you," hugh modestly replied, nor did he offer to enter into any particulars of what had happened in the imperiled town at the time of their visit, though those boys from oakvale had certainly earned the medals they proudly wore for saving life at the risk of their own on that special occasion. "why, yes," the shorter guard now remarked, "and when i went down home last week in chester they were talking about how some scouts had helped fight the forest fires over oakvale way. mebbe now you chaps had a hand in that game, too?" for answer billy thrust out his left hand before the man's eyes. "see that red scar on the back of my hand?" he asked. "well, i got that up there fighting the fire on the mountain that was trying to wipe out the home of mrs. heffner, a widow." "good for you, billy!" exclaimed the taller guard, for by now they had come to know the scouts by their several names, feeling quite at home in the temporary camp. "i'd like to wager that there must have been some tall doings when _you_ got busy with the water pails. i've been on the same line myself, and know what it means to fight a forest fire with the wind a-blowin' it right along, spite of all you can do to stop it." "about this crazy man you were speaking about," observed alec, as though a sudden suspicion might have struck him, "it doesn't happen that his name could be randall, judge anson randall, does it?" "oh! what if it should turn out that way?" gasped billy, as he comprehended the nature of the idea that must have flashed through the other's mind. the tall guard, however, shook his head in the negative. "that isn't his name at all," he told them. "this man did something terrible, and his money hired the best lawyers in the country to defend him. in the end he was called insane, and sent to the asylum. then his folks tried every way they knew how to get him free. at last a scheme was hatched up so he could make a break for liberty. well, their plans have succeeded. he's escaped. they're searching for him all over the country up here. but i reckon, because their plans have been laid so carefully, all our efforts to catch the conspirators will be in vain." "money talks!" said alec, laconically. "well, it talks pretty loud in a case like this," the man added. when the meal was ready they all sat around to enjoy it. billy in particular seemed very much taken with the idea that they had company. "we've known some queer happenings in our camping out experiences, fellows," he told the others, as they started in to dispose of the immense amount of food the generous fat scout had cooked. "this is the first time, however, we've had for guests a couple of gentlemen guards from the state asylum for the criminal insane. i'm glad to see you are enjoying my little snack, thrown together in so hasty a manner." "well, me and my side partner," commented the taller guard, with a wink at his companion, "wouldn't mind if a prisoner managed to break away every day in the week if we could be sure of getting such a fine treat as this, eh, pete?" pete declared that he could truthfully echo that assertion, though his mouth being so full at the time he could hardly more than mumble his sentiments. the two men did full justice to the meal, and then announced that, much to their everlasting regret, they felt compelled to bid the friendly scouts good-bye, though they would like nothing better than staying over the night with them. it was hardly full noon when they took their departure, waving a farewell from the edge of the thick brush before plunging into the same. they had another clue that was worth following up, for those who were fortunate enough to recapture the escaped prisoner would be in line to receive some satisfying sort of reward, either in the shape of money, or a betterment in their condition of employment at the asylum. "well, they're gone!" remarked alec, as he busied himself with his development tank, anxious to find out how his films were going to turnout. billy heaved a sigh that seemed to come from the soles of his feet. "to tell the honest truth," he admitted, "i ain't sorry a bit. those fellows could give me points about how to stow stuff away, and then not half try. why, they acted as if they were hollow clean down to their shoes. i guess they told the truth when they said they hadn't had a bite of breakfast this morning." "but, billy," interposed arthur, "i thought you loved to see people eat heartily all the time? we've always believed you were the most hospitable fellow going." "huh! i used to think the same," grunted billy, scratching his head, "but then you know there's such a thing as piling on the agony. those fellows weren't just hungry men---they were cannibals, regular human graveyards, i should say, by the way the stuff disappeared down their throats. if they drop around again to-night i reckon our stock of grub will be lowered so much we'll all of us have to go on half rations the rest of the time we stay here---something i don't look forward to with much joy." "don't worry, billy," hugh told him. "they said they would be miles away long before night set in. the country is safe, and we're not likely to starve." alec interrupted the conversation to call out exultantly: "oh! this first roll is coming along dandy, let me tell you! it's going to be the best thing i ever did; and my stars, but that lens does cut fine! it was a lucky day for me when aunt susan got track of this old castle up here in the woods, for it's given me a regular jewel of a camera outfit." every one felt pleased on hearing this, since it would save alec the trouble of snapping the pictures over again. billy was taking things easy after getting up the midday meal, as he felt he had earned a rest. at the same time the fat scout's mind was busily employed. "i was just thinking," he finally broke out with, "what a lot of queer things have happened to us since we came up here. i wonder what we'll strike next. we've rubbed up against raiding tramps, mewing owls, ghosts in the night, and guards hunting for an escaped insane criminal. besides, there are still a few more hours left for a new batch of exciting happenings. i tell you, boys, this little side trip proposed by alec and engineered by hugh bids fair to equal anything we've endured in our whole checkered career." chapter vii faced by a mystery to tell the truth, hugh was thinking something along those same lines himself, so that he felt in a mood to quite agree with the enthusiastic billy. "take it all in all," he remarked, reflectively, "we're one of the luckiest lot of scouts that ever wandered down the pike. most fellows experience a regular rut, and never run up against anything out of the way. but i have to shake myself very time i look back over our calendar, for fear it's only a dream." "we certainly have had more than our share of things happening to us," admitted alec, proudly, "but the wheel of the mill will never run again with the water that is past. so i forget the things that are gone, and keep looking hopefully forward to other glorious events that lie waiting for us in the dim future." "hear! hear!" exclaimed billy, clapping his hands, "alec is getting quite poetical these days." "i only hope," continued the other, with a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes, for one of alec's weak spots was a love of flattery, "that our latest venture will turn out just as successful as many others have done before it." "no reason that i can see why it shouldn't," spoke up arthur cameron. "we've run across the lonely castle your aunt is negotiating for, and it seems to fill the bill to a dot." "yes," remarked monkey stallings, anxious to have a hand in the discussion, "and your pictures, you tell us, are turning out dandies at that. you ought to be as happy as a clam at high tide, as they say, though i never asked one of the bivalves just why he felt that way." "oh, i am!" declared alec; "and i reckon the chances are three to one aunt susan is going to enjoy this delightful quiet up here, where not even the squawk of a crow, or the, crow of a squawking rooster can be heard the livelong day. still, somehow i seem to feel a queer sense of oppression bearing down on me. i hope now it isn't a bad omen of coming trouble, and that, after all, my rich aunt is doomed to lose out in the deal for castle randall." the others laughed at the idea. "why, it's a cinch for your side, alec," said hugh. "the owner of this ancient and half-ruined pile of stone and make-believe rocks," arthur told the doubter, "couldn't find a purchaser in a coon's age. who would ever want to come away up here to bury themselves from civilization, and in such a silly old rookery as this? well, it was one chance in a thousand that a nervous wreck like your aunt heard of it." "don't worry, alec, you've got a snap, believe me," chuckled stallings; and then unable to longer resist a certain alluring limb which he had been eying longingly for some little time, he bolted up the trunk of the overspreading tree, to hang by his toes, and swing daringly to and fro as some of them had seen a yellow-headed, green-bodied poll-parrot do from his perch. alec continued his work, and from time to time announced that every roll was indeed turning out superbly. no one had ever seen him quite so happy. the possession of a lens that did better work than anything he had ever known in all his experience was enough in itself to make his boyish heart thrill with joy. and then the singular character of the film subjects added to the sense of satisfaction, for they were sure to enhance the attractiveness of his collection, as well as please aunt susan immensely. it must have been about one o'clock when the boys received their first rude shock. hugh had just been thinking of giving orders for another walk in the direction of the deserted building about a quarter of a mile away. alec had finished his work and had the well-developed films hanging to dry, securely fastened to his stout cord with snap clothes-pins, so there was no danger of any unfortunate catastrophe happening to them before they were thoroughly dry. "listen, will you?" suddenly exclaimed monkey stallings, sitting bolt upright, and raising one hand impressively. "oh, my stars! what do you call that?" gurgled billy. from the manner in which the color deserted his ruddy cheeks one might have imagined he feared they were about to be attacked by a host of savage pirates bent on plunder. alec and arthur could also be seen to stare vacantly at the distance while they strained their ears to listen. as for hugh himself he found it hard to believe his senses, for the absolute quiet and dead calm brooding all day long over that retired spot in the wilderness had been rudely shattered by a most astonishing noise as of many hoarse voices, making a jumble and roar of sound unlike anything save the confusion of battle. it rose, it died away again, and then once more swelled to an amazing extent, after which it finally stopped as suddenly as it had begun. five scouts stared at each other. billy rubbed his eyes as though he really began to believe he must be asleep, and passing through a vivid dream bordering on the nightmare. "hugh! what can it be?" demanded alec, a bit pale with sudden excitement, for which in truth he could not be at all blamed under the circumstances. for once the scout master seemed puzzled himself. he shook his head in a way that brought new consternation to the heart of billy worth. "you've got me up against a hard proposition when you ask me that, alec!" was what hugh declared. "then you can't even give a guess, can you, hugh?" billy besought him. "we all heard the racket, that's sure," muttered stallings, as though he had possibly begun to suspect he might be a victim of some delusion, and wished to make certain the others were in the same boat as himself. "and it sounded just like a dozen, yes, three dozen men shouting like anything," arthur assured him. "i wonder-----" began billy, starting up eagerly. "if you've got an idea hurry and tell us what it is!" urged the impatient alec. "i'll be hanged if i can grapple anything, it's given me such a bad shock." "go on, billy!" added arthur. "why," explained the fat scout, "you see, i was thinking that p'r'aps those tramps we scared off had come back with a big bunch of their kind, meaning to take possession of the castle. now, you needn't all jump on me and say that's silly, because i happen to know those hoboes often gather in regular armies about this time of year, heading for the cities. hugh, it isn't such a bad idea, after all, is it?" "since none of us seem able to think of any other explanation," the scout master told him, reassuringly, "it will have to stand until we can strike on a better. it seems to me the sooner we hike over that way the quicker we'll learn the real facts." "true enough, hugh," assented alec, readily, while the others showed by their actions that they were perfectly willing to make the start. their preparations for leaving their camp were few and simple. what food they had left was thrust up in the crotch of a big tree, so that it might not be carried off by any wandering wild animal, though they had no reason to believe there was anything larger than a 'coon' or a 'possum' around that region. the blankets and a few other things of value were also placed in safety, while alec again tested the supports of his "clothes line" on which those precious films were strung to dry. "i hate to leave them," he told the others, mournfully, "but now that they're wet and sticky they can't be packed away. i almost wish i hadn't been in such a hurry to develop them." he stared at billy as though almost tempted to beg that worthy to stay behind and protect the films by his presence, which billy absolutely refused to do, rightly interpreting the look. "not on your life, alec, much as i would like to oblige you!" asserted the fat scout, positively. "i want company when there's all sorts of strange things happening around. you don't catch me sticking to this camp by my lonely. stay back yourself if somebody has just got to hold the fort. my duty lies in the front rank. history tells that the worths were always found in the van when danger loomed up. sorry not to oblige you, alec, but it's simply impossible. william worth will sink or swim with his comrades." as alec could not think of staying back when the rest were bent on learning the secret of all that terrible clamor of human voices raised in angry shouts and whoops, he took his place alongside hugh, and they all started forth. "one thing sure, to begin with," remarked hugh, after they had left the camp behind them, "we're a unit in saying that racket came from where we happen to know the old castle lies." "oh! that's an easy nut to crack!" declared monkey stallings. "the sounds came right down the wind, and any one can see it's blowing softly straight from the haunted mansion." "we might guess that the ghosts were having a hop all by themselves," ventured billy, "only you know they say spirits never show themselves in the daytime. anyway, those whoops were more like wild injuns on the warpath than just spooks." "well, as we don't happen to have any indians left in this region nowadays," added hugh, drily, "we can put that explanation down as impossible. but we'll know more about it before three minutes more have passed, because, unless i miss my guess, we can glimpse the castle when we strike that rock yonder. i remember taking a look back as we came along, so as to impress distances and direction on my mind, and could see the whole structure looming up." "whee! listen again, will you?" exclaimed billy, aghast. the strange noise had again broken out. they could hear many husky voices shouting in unison, and, besides, there were other odd sounds such as might be made by a small army of desperate assailants beating wildly against that stout door of the lonely castle. no wonder the five boys stared at one another, with vacant looks on their several faces. it would have puzzled smarter people than they pretended to be to analyze such a remarkable jumble of noises as their ears now caught. hugh would not let them stop for a second. indeed, if anything, he hurried them along faster than ever, as though fully determined to have the mystery cleared up without further loss of time. if billy's footsteps were inclined to make him linger behind his mates he bestirred himself to assume a faster gait, for at such a critical moment the fat scout did not wish to find himself left in the lurch. the horrid din continued as they hurried forward. if anything it grew more and more maddening, causing the boys to shiver with mingled impatience and alarm. now they were close on the rock mentioned by hugh. in another ten seconds they would be able to at least see the walls of the grim castle in the near distance. billy wondered whether, after all, they might not discover that there was not the slightest sign of a living human being in sight. he was rapidly coming to believe there might be something ghostly about these sounds. billy was just then in a fit condition to believe anything, no matter how absurd, for his poor heart was fluttering in his manly bosom just as you have doubtless felt the tiny organ of a bird throb when you held the frightened thing in your hand. they all kept in a bunch, and thus arrived at the rock at the same time. every scout came to a sudden stop. their eyes, dilated with amazement, were turned toward the region where those sounds still welled forth, shouts and blows and shrieks making a conglomeration that was simply appalling. so stunned were hugh and his mates that for a brief time their tongues clove to the roofs of their mouths. chapter viii as in the days of chivalry "w-what's it all mean, hugh?" billy was gasping, as he stood there with quaking knees, and just stared and stared. indeed, for the moment hugh could not have answered him, he was himself so busily engaged in looking. there was good and sufficient reason for the eyes of every one being glued on the remarkable sight taking place before them, for surely such an amazing spectacle had never before been witnessed in america, nor indeed for some hundreds of years even in the old country. the castle was no longer given over to the owls and bats and rats. it now seemed to be fairly swarming with moving figures, and such figures! hugh blinked, and took a second look before he could actually believe his eyes. why, there were horses clad in all the panoply of the fourteenth century, on the backs of which sat knights in shining armor, with long lances, and great two-handed swords for their weapons, and waving plumes dangling from their helmets. men with bare legs and all manner of weird apparel were attacking the castle, using clubs, rocks, and queer arrangements for casting missiles; some of them were climbing short scaling ladders only to be rudely hurled down again by some of the valiant defenders who manned the top of the walls. the drawbridge had been raised, and the portcullis protected the door, but the gallant assailants had apparently thrown a bridge hastily constructed across the moat, and they were certainly as busy as a hive of bees that had struck a mine of sugar. it was a wonderful scene, and the five scouts could hardly be blamed for thinking they must be dreaming, everything was so unreal, so like a page torn from history in the times of the crusaders. perhaps one or more of them began to believe that a host of spirits belonging to ancient worthies, long since dead, while passing by had recognized in the make-believe castle such a wonderful copy of something they had known in life that they were tempted to stop and play their parts again with all this gusto and confusion. if this were the case, however, hugh quickly disillusioned the rest of the group. his quick eye had found an explanation for all this remarkable happening. "well, i declare, who would ever have believed it?" they heard him saying, for again the riot was beginning to die out, men were brushing themselves off, while a few others, less fortunate than their companions, were being pulled out of the moat surrounding the castle, which evidently held some water, for they appeared to be dripping wet, though taking it all in good part. "what have you guessed, hugh?" demanded arthur, knowing from the manner of the scout master that he had apparently solved the mystery. hugh was laughing now. the strained look had passed from his young face. it seemed to him like a jump from the sublime to the ridiculous. "if you fellows will look over to one side to where that man was turning the handle of some sort of box just as if he might be an organ grinder, you'll guess what it all means," hugh told them, pointing as he spoke. cries of wonder and comprehension immediately arose from alec and arthur, though even then billy and stallings did not seem to fully grasp the facts. "motion-picture actors at work!" exclaimed alec. "oh! did you ever hear of such a thing?" gurgled billy, at the same time beginning to lose the haunted look on his face. "sure thing!" added arthur, grinning now. "that chap is the camera man---what is it they call it, a cinematoscope or something that way. he's been grinding like mad while all that battle on the walls was taking place. and i can see him laughing from here, as if that last scrap pleased him a whole lot." "well, if that don't beat everything!" said monkey stallings, in mingled awe and delight. "to think of a company finding out about that queer old imitation castle, and coming all the way up here so as to stage one of their shakespeare plays around it!" "and look at all the actors they've gone and fetched along with them, will you?" billy went on to say. "why, there must be scores of men and women there, all dressed in fancy costumes. gee! it must cost _rafts_ of money to stage just one of those dramas." "oh!" said hugh; "expense doesn't seem to enter into their calculations when they think they've got something that will go. a thousand people have been used in, one play, i've read, and as much as two hundred thousand dollars spent on it!" "say, here's our same old luck come along again, fellows!" declared arthur, as though it gave him a tremendous amount of satisfaction to realize it. "i've always had a sort of hankering after a chance to learn just how these queer people managed when staging one of their plays, and as sure as you live we're in a fair way to find out now." "was there ever anything so strange as our being up here just at the time they came to play their game?" demanded monkey stallings. "why, it begins to look as if they must have engaged the old castle especially to cast their play here, and make it seem the real stuff, don't you think so, hugh?" "that's not so very remarkable, after all," ventured hugh, as all of them continued to stare at the many moving figures, apparently resting for the next stage in the exciting drama that was being reeled off. "i understand that all those big companies have spies out everywhere about the country." "spies!" echoed billy; "and what for, hugh, when we're not at war with anybody?" "there's a tremendous amount of competition afloat between the numerous companies," explained the other. "they are looking for all sorts of queer settings for their plays. houses have to be burned down, bridges blown up, railroad trains ditched, and all manner of stunts pulled off to satisfy the public greed for thrilling spectacles." alec gave a plain, unmistakable groan. "that's it," he said disconsolately, "it's going to spell my finish. i knew that i didn't have that heavy feeling for nothing. there was something in the air that told me my fine dreams were going to be wrecked, sooner or later. chances are now this big company has gone and stepped in to buy the old castle for a song, and in the course of their reproduction of history they expect to blow the same up, or at least set fire to that part made of wood. it's all off, boys!" "but you've got your pictures to show for it, alec," hugh told him, consolingly, "and your aunt wouldn't think of taking back your camera after you've done so well with it. she can see that it isn't your fault, no matter what happens to the old building now." alec gave a cry of triumph. "say, that's right, hugh, and thank you for reminding me i'm carrying that same camera at this very minute. what's to hinder me snapping off a few pictures on my own account of what's going on over there? what do you say to that, hugh?" "i should say you'd be foolish not to take the chance," returned the scout leader. it was surprising to see how alec forgot his keen disappointment as he commenced to focus his instrument upon the easily seen building, with all those strange costumed figures about the walls. "the sun is just right for a cracker-jack snap-shot from here," he remarked, as he proceeded to press the bulb, and then carefully change the exposure so that he might not inadvertently take two pictures on the same portion of film; for alec was exceedingly systematic in most things he did, which was one secret for his wonderful success at photography, a profession that allows no haphazard habits. "there, i reckon they're staging another picture over yonder, boys!" cried arthur, as a new bustle was noticed amidst the group of players. "two of the men appear to have been knocked out in that attack, for there's a chap who looks like he might be a doctor attending to them under that tree. i wonder if they'd care to let me lend a hand at that part of the game? i'm sure i can be of help." arthur was never happier than when plying his favorite vocation of amateur surgeon. he had really done some fine work along those lines, and received the approbation of those who were well up in medical practice. "whee, if all that scrapping was half-way real!" burst out the admiring billy; "the only thing i wonder at is how any of those fellows manage to come out of the fight with whole heads or limbs. some of them were sent crashing down when that short ladder was hurled back by the defenders on the walls. it looked pretty real stuff from here." "it is pretty near the genuine thing." said hugh. "i've often wondered whether they faked those wonderful affairs, but after, what i've seen this day i'm going to believe they're as close to the original as can be. there, you see how the fat man beside the operator is waving his arms. he's got a megaphone, too, and as the scene goes along he bawls through that to tell them to keep on, or change the way they're doing things." alec got ready to take another snap-shot when the battle was well on. he was as excited as hugh had ever seen him, and the other took occasion to warn the photographer to be careful. "get a grip on yourself, alec," he said. "hold yourself steady, or else you'll be making some fearful blunder, and spoiling the best chance you ever had to get a prize picture. now they are starting in again, you see!" every one of the five scouts was straining his eyesight to the extreme limit in the, endeavor not to lose the slightest incident. never before had such a glorious opportunity come to any of their kind to actually watch how those astonishing scenes of olden times were taken by the motion-picture players; and they did not want to miss any part of it. again did the great noise break forth as the valiant assailants commenced their new attack upon the apparently impregnable walls of the ancient castle, so gallantly defended by the occupants. this small army of players had descended on the region like a flood of seventeen-year locusts. an hour or two before and there had apparently not been a living thing in the neighborhood of the mansion, and now it was the centre of a swarming horde of earnest workers, each trying to earn his salary as best he knew how, both by shouting, and also fighting in yeoman style. "oh! why can't we get closer than this, hugh?" begged alec, after he had taken another snap at the animated spectacle that would later on thrill many a boyish heart in the way of a picture, and also cause a feeling of envy to arise because a cruel fate had prevented them from participating in the wonderful adventure. "nothing to hinder that i can see," he was told. "fact is, i was going to suggest that same thing myself. so let's get a move on, fellows." eagerly they kept pace with hugh as he started to run toward the castle. it would be a shame not to take full advantage of the golden opportunity offered them to get in close touch with these motion-picture actors who, unaware of the fact that they had a small and select audience in the way of boy scouts, were each and every one working like troopers to fulfill their difficult duties. alec kept close "tabs" on what was going on ahead presently, possibly fearing that the excited, fat manager, who was dancing up and down, mopping his forehead with a red bandanna with one hand, and waving the megaphone with the other when not shouting through the same, might call the scene off, the boy stopped short, focussed again on the amazing picture, and got another snap-shot at closer range. in this fashion the runners managed to come close up before there was a sudden cessation to all the tumult of hideous war, and the actors, laughing and evidently enjoying it to the utmost, began to crowd around the stage director as if to learn whether the scene had met with his approval. chapter ix with the motion-picture people "where did you boys spring from, i'd like to know?" it was the perspiring stage manager who asked this question when hugh and the other four scouts came hurrying up to where he was sitting on a rock, fanning himself with his hat, while the dozens of knights, squires and bowmen were puffing cigarettes, and apparently resting up for the next exciting scene in the wonderfully realistic drama of olden times. "well, you see, sir, we happen to belong to a scout troop over in oakvale," explained hugh. "we came up here to spend the weekend, and transact some business at the same time. this chap here, alec sands, has a peculiar old aunt in the city who is anxious to buy just such a quiet retreat as this place, where she wouldn't hear a sound, for she's got a case of nerves, you see. and one of our objects was to take some pictures of the castle, as well as spy around a bit." the red-faced stage-director laughed even as he kept on mopping his forehead. evidently it mattered little to him that the air was quite chilly, for his duties kept him so much on the jump he was sweltering from the perspiration of hard, honest labor. "say you so, my young friend?" he exclaimed. "well, if we leave any part of the old ruin intact when we're through with this series of startling pictures the old lady can doubtless buy it at a small figure." "does that mean you'll wreck a big structure like this, sir, just to get a picture of it being blown up?" asked alec, dismayed. "oh, that doesn't cut any figure in the bill!" he was told flippantly. "the public demands the best there is, and money must flow like water in order to keep up with our rivals. we're going to give them something novel this time, you see." "how, sir?" monkey stallings found the courage to ask, his curiosity getting the better of his modesty. "this new play isn't really a play at all," said the stout man, with a touch of pride in his voice. "it's a stunt of my own we're pulling off to-day. you see, the public sometimes expresses a desire to learn just how these magnificent pictures are done, and we expect to show them the whole thing from beginning to end. they'll see my company starting out in a string of motor cars for this place; watch them getting rigged out in their spic-and-span suits of mail, and old-time stuff; feast their eyes on just such wonderful feats as you have seen pulled off beside these massive walls; and step by step, be taken into our confidence as we progress, until finally the amazing climax arrives. right now you can hear the machine clicking away, as the operator takes a crack at the players resting between their acts. perhaps it may please you chaps to know that you'll be seen in the finished production along with the rest of the troupe." billy seemed quite awed at the idea. he was observed to slyly pull down his vest, and straighten himself up as though on dress parade. if countless thousands of people were going to gaze upon his person throughout the whole length and breadth of the land, billy wanted to do his family justice, and not disgrace his bringing up. plainly, the stage director seemed to be considerably interested in the scouts. possibly he may have had a boy or two of his own in his metropolitan home who also wore the khaki, and consequently any fellow who sported such a uniform was of some value in his eyes. then again, in his hard labors, the coming of hugh and his four comrades may have seemed like a breath of fresh air, something to temporarily distract him from the routine of his trying business. at any rate, he seemed disposed to continue the conversation while his people were resting, and making ready for the next act in the drama of publicity. "although all this seems very wonderful to you boys," he went on to remark, lighting a cigarette as he spoke, at which he took several puffs and then nervously threw it away again, "it represents only one little event in the bustling activities of my force here, as any regular member of it could tell you." "i suppose you must have been around some, sir?" ventured monkey stallings, at which the red-faced manager looked queerly at him and then chuckled. "well, it's a hustling age, you know," he told them. "i've been at this business over four years now, and so far it hasn't quite reduced me to a skeleton in spite of the fierce work. i've taken the leading members of my famous players across the desert in egypt to the pyramids, explored spain and the heart of india, traveled across japan, gone into china, camped in central american jungles, wandered into the heart of africa hunting big game, toured away up in alaska as well as traveled all through the wild west, and in mexico among the fighting that's always going on down there. and i've got a few more stunts mapped out that will dwarf everything else that's ever been undertaken. oh! this is only a little picnic for a motion-picture stage director." he may have been stretching the truth more or less, but then hugh saw no reason to disbelieve what he said. the boy realized that in these modern days those who would succeed in the midst of fierce competition must have something very unusual to offer the fickle public in the way of adventure and novel effects. why, the mere fact of this manager learning about the deserted castle in the lonesome valley, and fetching such an army of players all the way up there to impersonate the genuine characters of olden days, was proof enough that what he had just been saying might be considered in the line of reason. at all events, there was no ground on which to doubt him. billy was casting frequent nervous glances over toward the spot where the operator was still grinding lustily away, seeking to get a good picture of the actors in one of their off-periods, when they were taking things easy after a recent "engagement." when, by accident, monkey stallings chanced to step in the way, billy hastily moved his position. when a worth was being immortalized in this fashion far be it for a worthy scion of the race to allow a mere stallings to crowd him out. when, presently, the grinding ceased, with the operator hurrying across to report his success to the bustling stage director, billy grinned in conscious triumph, for he felt convinced that he stood out prominently in that picture, so that any one who saw it must notice what a handsome chap one of the boy scouts appeared to be on the screen, at least. the man who was running all this wonderfully complicated affair looked just like a goodnatured, red-faced bank cashier, but hugh realized that he must have an amazing capacity for detail work, as well as a remarkable faculty for organization. now and then he would refer to a sheaf of papers he carried around with him, fastened together with a little arrangement that allowed of their being rapidly turned over from time to time. doubtless this was his plan of campaign. hugh would have given something for the privilege of examining the same, but lacked the assurance to ask such a favor of one who was an utter stranger to him, and moreover could not afford to spend much time with a pack of mere boys. it could be seen that the players expected to be soon called around the managing director for instructions connected with motion pictures were taken. so hugh pulled at the sleeves of monkey stallings, to intimate that they had better fall back. arthur had already left them. hugh hardly needed to take a look around to understand what it was that had drawn the other. yes, he was over there where the man in a business suit seemed to be bathing the limb of a super who had suffered more or less severely when the ladder on which he was mounted had been roughly dislodged from the walls, throwing all upon it to the ground beneath. if arthur were given half a chance he would soon be busily engaged assisting the doctor wrap some linen bandages about that bruised limb. by his eager remarks he would also arouse considerable interest on the part of the company's physician, who probably always accompanied the troupe wherever they traveled, as his services were in frequent demand. indeed, sometimes he became a very busy man. "i wonder," billy was saying, becoming more and more audacious, it seemed, on the principle that give one an inch and he will want an ell---"i wonder now if he'd listen to me if i asked him to let us have a chance to get in the next picture?" monkey stallings laughed harshly at hearing that. "well, you are a greeny, billy, i must say," he declared. "stop and think for a minute, will you, how silly it would look to see a bunch of boy scouts dressed in khaki clothes helping those old-time yeomen tackle the walls of that ancient castle. why, we'd queer the whole business, that's what!" "yes, but didn't you hear him say we'd appear in that last scene?" disputed the eager billy, loth to give up his ambitious plan to have a leading place in the exposition showing how this famous group of motion-picture players did their perilous work. "sure he did," retorted the other, with a shrug of his shoulders as if he pitied billy's ignorance, "but then you must remember that was intended to show the players resting up between acts, and not at their work. there's a whole lot of difference between the two jobs, let me tell you." billy made no reply, but it could be seen that he looked greatly disappointed as he watched the myriad of actors begin to get in position for the opening of the next scene. this might possibly represent the triumphant entry of the assailants into the castle of the enemy, which, in turn, would lead up to the rescue of the lovely heroine just when the villainous knight was about to hurl her into the blazing tower. the chattering began to die away as the harsh voice of the stage director was heard through his megaphone, giving directions as to how this or that group should carry out their parts. hugh wondered how many turns it would take before that exacting manager felt like calling it a satisfactory picture. perhaps they might be forced to repeat the scene many times, simply because some clumsy fellow did something to injure its value. alec was busily manipulating his camera, and hugh chuckled when he found that the other was taking in the entire scene, showing the operator with his instrument, as well as the scouts gathered near by. billy, too, had made the same discovery, for he was smiling as sweetly as he knew how, and had again assumed that martial attitude which he seemed to consider made him such a striking figure. evidently this little expedition was bound to be fruitful with results, and on their return home those who were along would have something to show for their labors. even if that eccentric relative of alec's lost the chance to obtain a quiet retreat "far from the madding crowd," as billy had once described it, their week-end outing promised to be well worth the effort it cost them individually and collectively. they watched everything that was being done. it was astonishing to see what an amount of stuff the players had fetched along from the city, in order to carry out the battle scene true to the original, as they understood it. why, even the rude bridge that had been thrown across the moat had been fashioned beforehand, and was carried with them in sections, like one of those ready-built houses hugh remembered seeing advertised, that "any boy could put together." the stage director was fuming, and saying a lot of hard things, as though some of the stupid acts of the army of _supers_ nearly drove him distracted. by degrees he managed to whip his forces into the shape he wanted before he gave the warning signal that the fun was about to commence. "whee!" billy was saying half to himself as he stared at the bustling scene, "but wouldn't it be great if only we'd been asked to put on some suits like those fellows are wearing, and have a chance to climb up the ladders? i bet you now we'd show them how to break through, no matter what the men on the walls tried to put on us. but shucks! that'd be too big luck; and besides, it could hardly be fair for us boys to steal the thunder of those hard-working actors. there, he's going to give the signal for the mimic war to begin. everybody take a big breath and sail in! now, go it, you terriers; the battle's on again!" chapter x the assault on the "castle." "yes, there goes the signal!" burst from the excited alec, as they saw the manager suddenly raise his hand, and fire a revolver three times in quick succession. immediately everybody seemed to get busy at once. most of the battle-scarred veterans, who knew their business so well, started in just about where the last stirring scene had left off. possibly those who had been "killed" in the former desperate assault had found time to come mysteriously to life again, leaving a dummy in their stead to be ruthlessly trampled on, now assumed new places in the ranks, to make the assailants and defenders look more like a veritable "host." the scouts held their breath in very awe. what they were looking at was indeed quite enough to make any one do that. certainly no such remarkable scene had ever before been "set" since those actual days when crusaders and saracens met in mortal combat on the plains of the holy land, and knights went forth to battle in joust and tournament wearing a fair lady's glove on their helmet as a talisman for luck. of course hugh, as well as most of his young companions, had read some of the romantic works of sir walter scott, and were familiar with his vivid descriptions of just such warlike pictures as they now saw delighted hugh, indeed, was of the opinion that it might be one of these that the famous players of the motion picture world were now acting, and the name of "ivanhoe" was uppermost in his mind as he watched the progress of the furious battle. there were women folks in the castle, too, for occasionally they could be seen frantically spurring their defenders on to renewed exertions. others may have been playing the part of prisoners, for the boys discovered a white handkerchief waving from a window in one of the turrets, as though to encourage the assailants in their work. perhaps this was rebecca in her cell, hugh thought. all of this just about suited the imagination of red-blooded boys as proper and right. it had been virtually going on ever since the world began, and would in all probability endure so long as men lived on this planet. now and then, when one of the scouts discovered something that particularly interested him, and to which he wished to draw the attention of his mates, he found it necessary to fairly bawl the fact, so as to be heard above the wild clamor. as a rule, this appertained to monkey stallings and billy. hugh was wrapped up in observing all that went on, and it required his undivided attention, just as on the occasion of his visiting a big circus where wonderful events were taking place in three rings at the same time. arthur cameron, on his part, was mentally figuring on how much surgical attention some of these doughty warriors would need after this amazing fracas; and when arthur had his mind set upon that entrancing subject he might be considered blind to all ordinary matters. as for alec, his one idea was to snap off an occasional picture that would show the astonishing thing he and his lucky comrades had run across when the motion-picture players came to make use of the imitation castle on the peak. the only trouble with alec was a dreadful fear that his supply of film might run out, and then he stood a chance of missing what was likely to prove the best part of the whole proceedings. already he had reached number ten on his last roll, with but two more to wind up. oh, what would he not have given for a couple more rolls of a dozen exposures each; just then they would have been worth their weight in silver to the ambitious photographer. vague hopes had been playing at leap-tag in the mind of the scout picture-taker. he wondered if there might not be some way in which they could succeed in influencing that hopping stage manager to promise to sell them a duplicate set of the pictures when they were ready for showing to the public. alec knew that they were rented out, and sometimes sold outright. if hugh now, with his persuasive tongue, could only exact such a promise from the gentleman in charge, would it not be a splendid achievement to incidentally have the picture included in the programme to be run at the town hall for some local benefit; and then hear the shouts from the boys of oakvale when they discovered familiar uniforms and faces amidst the actors at rest? from various remarks which the boys had heard shouted by the stage directors in giving his last directions they understood that this attack was calculated to carry the fort. already the men who wielded that heavy battering ram made from a convenient log, seemed to be smashing in the stout oaken front door, never built to resist such a desperate assault. it quivered with each blow. the director was shouting a medley of orders through that wonderful megaphone of his. he seemed to be able to see everything that took place. hugh compared him to what he had once read about the eminent conductor of orchestra and musical festivals, theodore thomas, who when more than a hundred musicians were practicing under his direction, with a fearful outburst of sound and melody, would suddenly stop the proceedings, and scold a certain player whose instrument had "flatted," or come in just an ace behind the regular time. and every member of that vast company was keeping a wary eye on the director all the time seeming to be working like mad. they were waiting to catch the signal that was to inaugurate the final scene, where those on the walls were to weaken, allowing one after another of the ascending men on the ladders to crawl over the parapet. the door was really giving way now under the bombardment brought to bear upon it. indeed, not to be premature those who wielded the battering ram had to slacken their efforts more or less, though pretending to work as furiously as heretofore. one thing alone seemed lacking, according to the mind of billy, to make the battle seem the real thing. there were no cannon shots, and even the rattle of muskets and small arms appeared lacking. later on, when by chance in a carping, critical mood he mentioned this fact, he was greeted by a roar of derision from monkey stallings and alec, who told him to brush up a little on history. he must remember that in those ancient days gunpowder had not been invented, and that consequently all missiles that passed through the air had to be hurled by machines fashioned after the style of the familiar rubber sling so well known to all boys. "it's coming soon now, fellows!" shouted the stallings boy, whose quick eye no doubt noted certain preparations for the final scene, such as a gathering of the assailants on the ladders, now no longer being overthrown, and also clinging to such projections of the stone walls near the escarpment as they could find. alec held his hand. "only one more picture!" he was groaning, disconsolately, at the same time determined that it should be the climax of the whole affair, when the castle walls were actually carried by the energetic horde pushing against them. more wildly than ever waved those frantic appeals for "help" from the narrow window slits in the tower room. the "fair lady" was apparently doing everything in her power to encourage her knight and his followers to renewed efforts in her behalf. of course, it was a foregone conclusion that the gallants who were doing the assaulting would be victorious in the end. motion-picture patrons differ from those who attend the grand opera, since they will not stand to have their drama turn out disagreeably. right must always triumph over might, regardless of how it actually happens in real life; and the villainous knight was sure to be punished as soon as the heroic leader of the attacking party could force an entrance to the castle, and chase after him to the tower room. hugh drew a long breath. just as the sagacious monkey had declared at the top of his voice, the finish was close at hand now. at any second hugh expected to hear the volley of shots from the stage director's weapon sounding high above the clamor. indeed, much of the racket had died down, showing that the actors themselves were looking for it, and did not want to do anything to smother the welcome sound that would mean their release from further toil and turmoil, for the moment, at least. all this while the operator was grinding away assiduously. he knew his duty was to get down everything that happened regardless of what his judgment might be. if certain sections of the film proved objectionable from any cause it would be an easy matter to eliminate that part; whereas nothing new could be supplied without going over the whole scene again at tremendous cost of energy. it was certainly an education for hugh. he had never dreamed that such a splendid chance would come his way, allowing him to learn just how motion pictures were made. truly, the wonderful good luck that had been the portion of himself and comrades for so long a period seemed to still follow their footsteps, as one of the boys had only recently declared. and just then the shrill voice of monkey stallings rang out again, this time with a note of genuine alarm pervading its tones. "look, oh, look!" was what he shrieked, excitedly; "that wall is sure going to collapse right down on those men! that's real, not make-believe! oh, hugh, can't something be done to warn the poor fel---there, it's coming now!" and right through it all the imperturbable operator kept grinding away. it was a part of his business to get everything down, real or imitation; and even an accident that imperiled human life might make good "stuff." chapter xi imitation and reality perhaps it was almost mechanically that alec pressed the bulb of his camera at just the very second when that wall was toppling over. he had a faint recollection afterwards of doing so, though only filled with horror at the moment itself. there was a sudden cessation to all the clamor as the accident happened. indeed, the three quick reports from the director's revolver hardly seemed needed to bring a halt to the proceedings. as the door was about burst in, anyway, and some of the men could not longer be restrained from clambering over the top of the walls, it would answer just as well as though things had proceeded in their regular routine. immediately afterwards a new kind of noise burst forth. women shrieked, and men shouted. there were also cries of pain intermingled with the rest, hugh noticed. before the scout master could even give an order he missed one of his companions. of course, this was arthur cameron. the sight of that mass of rock toppling over upon several of the motion-picture actors, and carrying others down amidst a perfect jumble of heaped up stones, acted on arthur as a red flag does upon the angry bull in the ring. nothing could have kept him back, for his ears would have been deaf even to an order from the leader, whom he delighted to obey. arthur's surgical instincts were aroused, and he saw the path of duty before him. and arthur never shirked his duty. hugh waited not upon the order of his going, but immediately chased after the other. monkey stallings was not far behind him, with billy tagging along of necessity. as for alec, he only waited to gather up his beloved camera, even neglecting to turn the last exposure down as a completed roll. in fact everyone seemed to be trying to converge upon the spot where the wall had collapsed. the manager was pushing his way through the crowd, waving his megaphone, and looking somewhat alarmed, for he felt dismayed at the idea of having so many of his supers being injured more or less seriously. it would mean not only pain and suffering for the poor fellows but a pretty heavy bill of damages to pay by the company. and yet, such is the force of education which becomes second nature with men, that even in the midst of all this confusion the manager could think to bawl out to the operator not to neglect to get all this in his reel, as it was going to show what actual perils the actors ran in making their pictures. another queer thing happened that must be set down. hugh actually forgot he was only a boy, and had been given no authority over these men. he saw that the first to arrive on the scene acted as though ignorant of the best way to go about rescuing the poor chaps who were partly buried under all that wreckage of the fallen wall. so what did he do but begin to order them about as though they were slaves. he told a couple of them off to lift a heavy stone from the lower limbs of a man who seemed to be unconscious, and then there came arthur actually directing them how to raise the wounded super and carry him to where he could be laid under the nearest tree. stranger still the men did just as they were bidden. in moments like this the stronger mind dominates the situation, regardless of age or stature. those supers were in the habit of taking orders, and never stopped to question when told to follow out a line of work, especially when the command came in a tone of authority. that was the remarkable picture that met the eye of the stage manager when he presently reached the scene. hugh seemed to be telling the others what to do as if all his life he had been accustomed to the position of chief. no wonder the experienced manager stared at the boy who wore the faded suit of khaki, and even allowed a faint smile to wreathe his lips; for did he not have a beloved lad like that at home, and in his heart he felt that perhaps some day, in a time of desperate necessity, his son might likewise rise to an occasion as this young chap was doing. there was no lack of eager workers, and they seemed to fall in with whatever hugh told them to do. he pointed this way and that as he directed them to dig in the mass of debris for any unfortunate who might be buried quite out of sight. and not once did it enter into the head of the earnest lad that the machine close by was clicking away merrily through it all, showing everything that was being done in the shadow of a real tragedy. here was realism for fair! already three poor chaps had been either carried off or assisted. there were two of them grunting as though quite badly injured. arthur, now joined by the regular doctor who accompanied the troupe of actors on their many lengthy trips, was busily engaged, endeavoring to ascertain the extent of the damages. a dozen of the awed actors and actresses surrounded the impromptu field hospital, and upon every face could be seen only the deepest sympathy. still, after the worst was known and the last of the injured taken care of, no doubt the task of completing the picture would go on, just as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. these roving players become so accustomed to accepting risks in the pursuit of their calling that a little thing like this cannot be allowed to interfere with the main object of their business for any great length of time. other supers would be called upon to take the places of those injured, if there was any necessity for reenforcements, and the work of completing the drama would proceed apace. by degrees the mass of fallen material was pulled aside, many hands making light work. half a dozen of the agile players had managed to save themselves, receiving only slight skin abrasions which would hardly keep them from earning their salaries. there were just four who had been carried or helped to the "hospital" under the tree near by in the grounds of the castle. it was when the pleasing fact had been communicated by one of the workers that the last victim of the accident was found, with no fatalities to account for, that the stage manager came up to hugh with outstretched hand. he had his megaphone slung over his back as a sportsman might his fowling-piece. with that everlasting red bandanna he was mopping his forehead again, and this time it may have been as much anxiety as action that started the perspiration streaming down his rosy face. "i want to thank you from my heart, son," he told the pleased scout master, as he gripped his hand in a warm clutch. "you have proved yourself a jewel in this emergency. if this is one of the things scouts learn, i'm glad my boy has taken up the subject. i'm proud of you all. i don't see, how we could have done things half as well if you hadn't been on the ground to assist, yes, to take the lead. once more, i thank you!" he glanced to where arthur, with his coat thrown off, was working over one of the victims of the near-tragedy. the sight seemed to affect the stage manager, for he nodded his head violently, and hugh believed he could see a moisture in his eyes just then. "i had another boy some years back, i want to tell you," he said, softly. "he was drowned while swimming in the river. his companions succeeded in getting tad out, but they were utterly ignorant as to how to go to work to restore him to consciousness---and so my boy died. i believe before heaven that if they had been raised in the knowledge of the things you boy scouts learn in these days, my poor wife and i need not have suffered such a cruel loss. when i learned something about the education of a scout, i made up my mind that since i had still one son left to me there would never be a repetition of that calamity. he is now a patrol leader in his troop in brooklyn, and can swim like a duck. come, let's go over and see what the worst is going to be." hugh gladly accompanied the genial stage manager. his heart burned within him, not with silly pride, but sincere gratification, on account of what he had just heard. the boy's mind was so wrapped up in the glorious possibilities that an aspiring scout ever has at his finger-tips that commendation like this always pleased him. it was hugh's ambition to have the oakvale troop embrace every lad of suitable age in and around his home town. he would not have a single one refused an opportunity to enjoy those privileges and advantages which membership with the scouts assures. so they joined the circle around the temporary "hospital." the doctor had not allowed the anxious crowd to press in too closely, for he understood the value of plenty of fresh air and working room when engaged in cases of this kind. besides, most of the picture players knew from former experiences what they must do, and were only eager to be of any possible help. even the women, clad in their strange gowns of a bygone age, and wearing astonishing head-dresses and shoes, showed remarkable courage. their nerves had been steeled by long association with perils of various types, so that they manifested none of the weaknesses people expect to find in connection with the gentler sex. one of the leading actresses was assisting in washing quite an ugly wound that a poor fellow had received in his arm. he seemed to be bearing his suffering like a hero, and acted as though he rather enjoyed having one of the heroines play the part of nurse to a humble understrapper. hugh allowed his eyes to fall with pardonable pride upon his chum, arthur, for he saw that, as usual, the ambitious amateur surgeon was doing fine work, of which no one need be ashamed. and all of this remarkable happening was being faithfully recorded upon the rapidly shifting thousand feet of film in the hopper of the machine, to later on astonish gaping crowds with a faithful delineation of the perils attending the ordinary life of a motion-picture player. chapter xii when swords clashed "i wonder if that winds up the whole show?" asked billy worth, a short time later, as alec and monkey stallings joined him, while there was an unusual bustle among the numerous retinue of the hard-working stage manager. "not on your life, billy," observed alec, "though i'm all in myself so far as taking any more wonderful pictures goes, because i've used my last film, which i consider hard luck. hugh just told me the worst is yet to come." "what! are they going to make out to burn the old castle down? is that worrying you, alec?" asked the stallings boy. "sure it is," frankly confessed alec. "of course, the fire will be a whole lot of a fake; that is, much smoke, and no real danger to the girl shut up in that high turret room; but, all the same, it's going to do considerable harm to the building, which may queer it for aunt susan's purposes." "well, what can you say?" demanded billy. "these people have put up the money to cover any damage they may do, and money talks every time. here comes hugh back to tell us what the programme is. he's just left that hustler of a director, and the chances are hugh knows all about it, because he's made a big hit with the manager." "hugh always does make people look up to him, somehow," mused alec, as though it often puzzled him to know just how the other managed it. "there, arthur has joined him, too, and is coming along," billy went on to say. "he's about finished helping the doctor take care of the wounded yeomen who had the bad luck to be caught when that treacherous old wall caved in." the scout master, accompanied by arthur, quickly joined them, to be greeted by a shower of eager questions. "i can tell you all about it, fellows," said hugh, making as if to ward off an attack. "mr. jefferson, the manager, says he figures on completing his work in the one visit, and has made all necessary preparations. it's a tremendous job to fetch his big company all the way from new york up here. if they make good to-day they expect to go back in the morning, or perhaps to-night, if they can catch the late train. otherwise they'll have to make another try to-morrow. personally, i think they'll make good to-day." "what's the next stunt, hugh?" asked alec, his voice more or less betraying the eagerness and concern he felt. "oh, from what i can gather," answered the scout master, smilingly, "it runs about like this: the forces headed by the hero knight have carried the outer works of the fortress castle in which the villain has the fair heroine shut up in that turret room. the invaders, having made a breach in the walls and swarmed over in various places, will now pursue the few desperate defenders of the castle through this passage; and that, with many a desperate hand-to-hand fight. always the knight in armor is seen hewing his way steadily through all opposition, with one object in view. of course this is to meet the scoundrel, and finish him, which he eventually does after a dreadful sword fight." "whew!" gasped billy, listening with round eyes to the stirring story. alec, too, was deeply interested, but his professional instinct caused him to remark: "they'll have to burn heaps and heaps of flashlight powder to get all those inside effects. wish they'd let me see just how they manage it, but it would be apt to queer the value of the picture to have, a modern boy scout appear in it. if i get a good chance, though, i've a notion to ask mr. jefferson." "you'll never be able to make it, alec," hugh told him. "he's the busiest man on earth. he has to be thinking of fifty things at once." "go on, hugh, and tell us the rest," urged billy, pawing at the sleeve of the other, which action he doubtless meant to be an urgent second to his appeal. "every once in a while there will be glimpses shown of rebecca in her dungeon, looking out of the little opening, and carrying on as if nearly frightened to death, for gusts of smoke will be circling around her, and she is supposed to know that the fire is getting closer all the time." "wow, that must make it a thriller for fair!" exclaimed monkey stallings, who was known to love exciting stories, though his watchful mother kept a tight rein on his propensity to indulge along those lines, and censored all books he brought into the house before allowing him to devour them. "of course," remarked alec, flippantly. "it goes without saying that eventually knight in shining armor, ivanhoe, or whoever he may be, gets to the locked door of the turret tower room, bursts his way through, and saves the lovely maiden, like they always do in stories of those olden times. but here's hoping the fire doesn't get out of control, and set in to destroy the best part of this wonderful castle. such things have been known to happen, i've read." "gosh!" ejaculated billy with morse than his accustomed vigor, "you're only thinking of the humbug old castle, alec, and what chance there would be for your rich aunt to buy the same if half burned down. guess you forget the poor girl shut up in that lonesome turret room; what d'ye suppose would become of _her_ if the fire got beyond control?" "and not a ladder in sight, either," added monkey stallings, dismally, as he swept his eyes around in a nervous way. "as for a fire company, there isn't one closer than danbury, which is all of ten miles away. whew! i'm beginning to wish the whole business was over with, boys, and the troupe jogging along back to the town they came from in all those big automobiles." hugh made no remark just then, but perhaps this suggestion of possible trouble cause him a little concern. he could be seen looking gravely toward the immense pile of real and imitation stone as though mentally figuring what it might be possible to do in a sudden emergency. as numerous events in the past had proved, hugh hardin was always a great hand for mapping out things beforehand. he believed in the principle of preparing for war in times of peace, so as not to be taken unawares. "a man insures his home," hugh often said in explanation of this habit, "when everything seems lovely and safe, not when the fire is raging, and his property going up in flame and smoke." the stage manager had determined that there was no need of repeating the last wild scene where the castle was taken, and a tottering wall fell unexpectedly in the midst of the furious struggle. let it stand, he had determined, accident and all. it appeared to be almost perfect "copy," and would show up as a faithful portrayal of the stupendous perils attending the efforts of his company in enacting just one phase of a romantic drama of the days of chivalry. "i notice that they are meaning to use two machines and a couple or camera men, so as to get all the excitement down pat," ventured alec, presently, as they stood and watched the hurrying people of the play in their remarkable attire suggestive of those feudal days of old. "one is to be kept busy outside," explained hugh, "while the other takes pictures of the fighting going on through the corridors and apartments of the castle, while the knight and his valorous retainers are battling their way closer and closer to the place where the captive 'maiden' is held fast behind the locked door. i got all that stuff straight from mr. jefferson, and those are his own words, so don't laugh." "huh! it's too serious a business to do much laughing," grunted billy. "i'm just itching all over to see how it comes out. there, that must have been the signal to start. i can see some of the men beginning to make an awful smoke with the apparatus they're handling. what a good imitation of the real thing it is!" "whoopee! listen to the big swords clashing inside the castle, will you?" cried monkey stallings. "say, we're missing great stunts, believe me, in having to stay out here. i've got half a notion-----" however, monkey did not finish the sentence, whatever rash notion was flitting through his active mind. possibly he had indulged in a wild dream that for one of his climbing abilities it might prove feasible to reach a window above, and by thrusting his head through the aperture see something of the wonderful things going on in the passages where the crowd was thronging. it was the fact of hugh looking meaningly at him that caused monkey to stop in the midst of his sentence, for he saw by the expression on the face of the scout master that hugh would not permit any meddling. the enormous expense and labor attending the taking of that picture must not be wasted through any injudicious act on the part of himself or one of his chums. as the minutes passed the confusion became almost a riot, so it seemed to billy. the shouts of the fighting men grew hoarse with constant repetitions, for naturally they had to give vent to their emotions, or else much of their efforts would have lacked in the genuine feeling. how those swords did whack and beat upon each other as slowly but surely the defenders of the castle were being cut down one by one! it was terribly realistic, too, with the vast volumes of smoke rising up in billows, and here and there what seemed to be a red tongue of fire shooting through the appalling waves of black vapor. presently, as the boys understood, matters would reach a climax. this was when the hero knight attained the goal for which he was striving so valiantly. then he would be seen attacking the fastened door furiously, while inside and out that ominous smoke curled in wreaths about him. in the end, just when it seemed as though all would be lost, of course, the knight must batter his way in through the broken door, and the dashing rescue would be complete. hugh was beginning to feel nervous, and with a reason. while his chums' were wholly wrapped up in observing the numerous exciting incidents that fell under their observation, and connected with the work of the laboring players, the scout master had made a sudden discovery that worried him. it was a very small matter, and would never have been noticed by any one whose training had not been that of a scout, accustomed to observing everything happening around him. but small matters may become _deciding_ factors. the wind had shifted all of a sudden, and besides coming from a new quarter was rapidly growing in violence. hugh knew this from the way the smoke had turned and was now sweeping toward the southeast. this fact, while trifling in itself, might, as he well knew, assume a terrible significance when it was remembered that a dozen industrious supers were playing with fire, and causing it to appear that the whole wing of the castle were enveloped in flames, real or make-believe. hugh had eyes for nothing else after making that thrilling discovery. he watched with his nerves on edge, and at the same time began to think within that active brain of his what his plan of campaign must be should the worst that he feared come to pass. those hoarse shouts of the combatants, the clang of steel smiting steel, the roar of the manager's voice through his big megaphone, the shrieks of the women connected with the troupe, induced by the real excitement of the occasion---all these sounds fell upon deaf ears as hugh gripped his chum arthur by the arm and called his attention to the impending peril, becoming greater with every second. "the wind, don't you see it's whipped around, and is coming from a new quarter?" was the tenor of what he called in the other's ear. "if that fire gets away from those supers it's going to give them a heap of trouble! yes, it will chase those fighters out of the passages in a hurry, and i'm afraid it'll even cut off the poor girl who is supposed to be locked in that turret room." "hugh, look! look!" ejaculated arthur, in sudden excitement; "just as you said, i do believe the fire has got beyond their control already. listen to the way everybody is whooping it up now. it's real fright that we hear, and no make-believe!" chapter xiii well done, scouts! hugh was glad that he had foreseen just such an emergency as the one that now confronted the motion-picture players. it afforded him a chance to get busy without wasting any precious time in laying out plans. the men who had been inside the building began to come rushing out, some dragging comrades who may have temporarily found themselves unable to walk, owing to the fatigue influenced by their recent terrific efforts, and also the weight of the armor which they were wearing. everybody looked alarmed and distressed, and with reason, for it was now seen that the wing where the girl was shut up in that turret room was enveloped in real flames, which, whipped by the rising wind, threatened to consume the whole structure in so far as it consisted of wood made to resemble genuine stone. the director was again shouting hoarsely through his megaphone, but he was now up against a situation that none of them had foreseen, so that consequently no preparations had been made toward meeting it. men ran this way and that as though they had temporarily taken leave of their senses. women could be seen wringing their hands, and shrieking wildly. although the outside camera man undoubtedly realized that this was anything but a sham now, he never once ceased grinding away at his machine. long experience in these lines had convinced him of the great value of a stirring scene like this; and besides, his services were hardly needed in the work of saving the one whose life seemed to be in deadly peril. "we must do something, and right away at that!" called hugh. "come along with me, every one, i've got a scheme that may be made to work." they followed close at his heels. evidently it did not enter into the head of the scout master to think, of applying for permission from the stage manager before starting to try out his suddenly formed plan. hugh realized very well that this was an occasion where that energetic gentleman would be at a loss what to tell him. besides, a wideawake scout, accustomed to doing his own thinking, should be better equipped to manage such an affair as this than a man whose talents ran in quite another direction. the first thing hugh sought to get hold of was a long and stout rope which he had noticed lying on the ground near by, together with numerous other things which the company had thought to fetch along with them, having an eye to possible need. "lay hold of that ax, alec!" he told the other, who had managed to leave his beloved camera back of a tree, under the impression that it would hinder him in the execution of the work hugh had laid out for himself and churns to perform. some of the players had by this time begun to notice the little bunch of khaki-clad lads running toward the burning wing of the castle. they commenced to shout out to them, perhaps encouragingly, or it may be intending to warn them not to attempt anything rash. little hugh cared what their cries might mean. he had his plan arranged, and believed it could be carried to success if only speedy action were taken. "we've got to get to the roof of that tower!" he told the others, as they drew near the fire, and could begin to feel the heat it was beginning to throw out as it crept upward, whipped by the rising wind. "billy, i want you and arthur to stay down under the walls and be ready to receive the girl, if we manage to, get things going. understand that, both of you?" "all right, if you say so, hugh!" replied arthur, though it could be noticed that he looked greatly disappointed because he had not been selected to accompany the rescuing party. billy did not make any reply. perhaps he was, secretly, as well pleased to be assigned to that task, because billy, being a heavy-weight, never made a success of climbing; and from all appearance there was bound to be more or less of that style of work ahead of those who were chosen to go aloft. having thus divided his party, hugh hurried toward a window of the main building close by. he remembered that it was possible to gain, the roof of the castle---and unless the flames became too menacing---by creeping along this they would be able to reach the top of the turret tower. if no other means were found available for gaining access to the room of the prisoner, hugh expected to make good use of that axe, and force an entrance through the roof itself, as he had seen the oakvale volunteer firemen do on more than one occasion. billy and arthur watched their chums climbing hastily through that window. doubtless their hearts were throbbing with excitement, and deep down those two were hoping and praying that not only would hugh, alec and monkey stallings be able to come back alive and unharmed, but that they might also accomplish the object that had enlisted their services. meanwhile the trio of scouts found themselves groping their way along smoke-filled passages. hugh made the others keep in close touch with him while this was going on. he did not mean that they should become separated, and something dreadful mar their endeavor to make themselves useful. fortunately the fire had not as yet reached the stairway leading upward, so that in a brief space of time the three scouts found themselves in the corridor where so lately a terrific combat had been taking place. they even stumbled over some fragment of imitation steel armor which may have been hurriedly thrown aside at the time the alarm of fire had sounded, causing such a hasty stampede on the part of the motion-picture players. apparently, while the retreat of the actors in this near-tragedy had been of a hurried nature, they had seen to it that no one of their number had been left in the corridor to become a victim of the flames. hugh made sure of this, even as he pushed his way along. a minute later and the boys were climbing out of a certain window on to the roof. hugh had taken note of that very circumstance himself when prowling about the remarkable building; in fact, he had even half pulled himself up to see what the roof looked like, though never dreaming at the time he would so soon find need of his knowledge. monkey stallings was, of course, in his element. none of the others could do nearly so well as he when it came to this sort of thing. probably hugh had remembered this circumstance when picking the acrobat out as one of his party, instead of choosing arthur cameron. he sent the stallings boy on ahead, and gave him to understand that he was expected to assist the others whenever he could. so they managed to gain the roof of the main building, and started in, the direction of the wing that was being fast enveloped in fiercely leaping flames. when the trio of scouts were discovered by the clusters of appalled actors down below, and many fingers were pointed up at them, cheers began to arise. undoubtedly those quick-witted players guessed what hugh had in mind, and as it seemed to be the only possible chance to save the poor girl from her prison room, they one and all wished the courageous lads godspeed in their mission. hugh felt considerably relieved when he discovered that it would be possible to gain the other roof from the main structure. there was really no time to lose, however, for the fire seemed to be getting a pretty good headway, and any delay was likely to imperil their chances of success. they had to get down on their hands and knees and crawl part of the way across. had they been less agile they never could have made it, and just here it was seen how wisely the scout master had acted when he failed to choose clumsy if willing billy worth as one of their number. once upon the smaller roof covering the turret tower, hugh found that it was a matter of impossibility to lower themselves so as to gain the slits of windows in the walls, made more for appearances than for any particular use. and even though they were able to reach one of these he doubted whether any of them could manage to crawl through. there was nothing for it then but to attack the roof with the ax, which alec had managed to cling to through all his climbing. hugh snatched the implement from the hands of his churn, and went at it. the ax bit into the roof with each hearty blow, and hugh worked like a beaver, knowing that there was constant danger they might be caught by the creeping flames before their object had been accomplished. afterwards, when speaking about their experiences up there on that roof, alec and monkey stallings always declared they had never seen any one wield an ax with more telling effect than hugh did on that wonderful occasion. those who were below had a fair view of what was going on aloft, whenever the wind carried the smoke aside, as their encouraging cheers testified from time to time. when hugh found his muscles beginning to lag, he handed the implement over to alec, knowing the other must be fairly wild to have a hand in the labor. how the chips did fly and scatter with each and every blow of that descending ax! alec put every ounce of vim he could muster into each stroke, while if he faltered there was monkey stallings opening and shutting his two hands as though eager to take up the good work. then came the critical moment when the ax cut through, and a small gap appeared out of which a spiral of smoke began to ooze. larger grew the hole, and then alec, dripping with perspiration, fairly gasping for breath, handed the ax over to the third member of the group, after which the work continued furiously. finally hugh stopped monkey stallings and made motions that he was about to go through the aperture. the others saw him vanish, and a brief but terrible period of suspense followed. then through the gap in the roof appeared the head of the young woman who was playing the romantic part of the jewess, rebecca. through all this tragic happening she, must have managed to retain her self-possession in a way that was simply wonderful, for she was now able to do her part toward working up through the hole in the roof, assisted by the two scouts above. when those below discovered how success had thus far rewarded the efforts of hugh and his equally quick-witted fellow scouts, the cheer that broke forth could have been heard miles away, so great was their admiration for the work of the three boys. however, there was still more to be done if they would escape from the trap arranged between the rival elements, the wind and the fire. to return over the same route by which they had come was now impossible, since the fire had cut off escape by that course. this was a possibility foreseen by hugh when he concluded to take that long and serviceable rope aloft with him. by this means the girl could first be lowered to the ground at a point where the flames had not yet reached; and afterwards it would be little trouble for, himself and chums to also slide down to safety. hugh always paid much attention to details. accordingly this was what they hastily set about doing. they were fortunate in having to deal with a plucky little woman. she understood just what was expected of her, and indeed, to see the way she assisted them secure the rope about her body under the arms, and then bade them swing her free, from the parapet of the tower, one might suspect that she had long since practiced for just this sort of thrilling picture. all went well, and one by one the three scouts came sliding down the rope later on, none of them so much as having an eyelash singed, though the flames roared as if angry at having lost a victim. "and," billy was heard to remark when the boys could break away from the excited players, all of whom wanted to squeeze their hands, and say what they thought of the clever work, "don't forget every minute of the time that camera man was turning his crank like fury. he got it all down pat, too, boys, as maybe we'll see for ourselves one of these fine days." chapter xiv oakvale gets a thrill "what's the news, alec?" demanded billy worth, some weeks after the events narrated in the foregoing chapters took place. they were just entering the town hall of oakvale, where there was about to be given a select entertainment consisting of the most part of educational motion pictures. it was intended for the benefit of the local orphan asylum, so that every seat in the big building was being rapidly filled. a number of the other members of the scout organization were gathered near by, as a special section of the chairs had been reserved for the troupe, for certain reasons which no one seemed exactly to understand. it was only known that hugh and lieutenant denmead, the regular scout master, had made some arrangement with those who were, responsible for getting up the benefit performance. "oh! i had a letter from my aunt susan in this afternoon's mail," replied alec, as he nodded to several acquaintances near by, girls belonging to oakvale high school. "about that place up in the country where we spent our last week-end outing, and had such a lively time---eh, alec?" suggested billy, with a wide grin. "yes, and the meanness of you fellows keeping the whole business to yourselves all this time," commented blake merton, severely. "we just know there was something _remarkable_ happened to you up there," spoke up don miller, the leader of the fox patrol, "but no matter what we hinted, never a word could we get any of you to explain about it. what's it all mean, hugh?" "wait and see," was the mysterious answer that again baffled the curiosity of the eager listeners, some of whom had really begun to hope that hugh might think it time to remove the seal of absolute secrecy with which the outing had been enveloped so long. "and alec, suppose you tell us what your aunt said in her letter. you don't look as if it held good news, that's certain." alec laughed good-naturedly. "oh! she complimented me like everything because of those grand pictures i sent her, and said that the account i gave of the thrilling happenings up there made her satisfied with the little investment she had incurred. i was welcome to the camera, and she also meant to send me another present soon, because she found herself quite interested in scout work. but she couldn't think of putting the deal through for that---er---place. she says after what happened there, it's likely to be a shrine for curious-minded folks for a long time to come, and as she wants absolute quiet, that would not suit her. so you see, just as i expected, that deal's off." all this strange manner of talk greatly aroused the listeners curiosity. they tried in turn to coax hugh, billy, alec, arthur or monkey stallings to "open up and tell us what it all means, won't you like a good fellow?" but those worthies only looked wise, nodded their heads, and told them to "hold their horses," and in good time they would be treated to a little surprise that would pay them for all their waiting. the hall soon filled up, with seating space at a premium. it was in a good cause and backed by the women's league for town improvement. the orphans needed a good many things to make them comfortable for the winter, and this was to be one of several methods employed to obtain these articles, which the town did not see fit to supply. walter osborne, bud morgan and several of the other scouts had been silently watching hugh and his immediate chums. their attention was especially directed toward billy worth, who seemed to be so nervous that he could hardly keep his seat. "it's my opinion," remarked walter, sagely, "that there's going to be something of a surprise sprung on the rest of us to-night. i've been keeping tabs on billy, and to see him grin, and look so happy and proud gives the thing away. he just can't keep his face straight, he feels so important." "but what can it be?" asked jack durham. "the whole entertainment to-night is made up of professor wakefield with his violin, and three selected moving pictures." "yes," added bud morgan, referring to a paper he held in his hand, "and one of these is a comic, a second a trip through the island of ceylon, showing things just as if a fellow was there on the spot, while the third and last seems to be a series of pictures showing just how a company of players go about when engaged in making one of their wonderful films." "i don't see how billy can expect to be in touch with any of those things," commented walter, more puzzled than ever. "we'll just have to wait and see, as hugh told us. it may be that they've coaxed hugh to consent to get up there on the platform to-night, and tell all about what happened to them the time they went off to spend the week-end up the country." "walter, i wouldn't be surprised if you'd guessed it, after all," said one of the other fellows; and then as a loud clapping of hands announced that the well-known local violinist was about to make his bow to the big audience, the boys stopped exchanging opinions, and settled down to the policy of "watchful waiting" so often spoken of by the occupant of the executive chair at washington. the educational value of the "trip through ceylon" could not be gainsaid, and the humorous film caused much laughter, and boisterous merriment. finally the announcement was made that they were now about to be treated to a most wonderful series of pictures, showing the details of how one of the best-known companies of moving-picture artists went about their work when engaged in producing a drama of olden days, with an appropriate setting and background. they were first of all discovered starting forth from their hotel in the city, and taking train for some place in the country, together with much paraphernalia connected with their undertaking, so that it looked very much like an exodus on the part of a whole village of fashionables. next the pictures showed them leaving the train, at some country town, where a whole string of capacious cars awaited them, into which they crowded, joking and laughing, and carrying bundles without end. then another scene disclosed the company clad in all manner of remarkable garments, all of which might be recognized as having to do with the historical time of the crusades, when knights in armor attended by their faithful squires were wont to roam the country in search of adventure. of course the younger element in the audience watched all this with exceeding interest. they doubtless sensed with that intuition boys always display, that sooner or later there would necessarily come along heaps of fighting, and stirring pictures, when those men in shining armor met in deadly combat. one by one, the scenes passed in review, and finally there was flashed upon the screen a picture of what seemed to be a veritable olden castle, true to tradition, turreted tower, drawbridge, portcullis, deep moat, apparently unscalable walls, and all. just at this interesting juncture, as the music happened to die down temporarily, a boy who had been around some was heard to say aloud, though he had not expected to make himself conspicuous: "if that isn't the old place called randall's folly, i'll eat my hat!" walter osborne gave dud morgan a quick dig in the ribs. "hey! it's coming, you mark my words if it isn't!" he hissed in the other's ear. "just look at billy worth there, bobbing up and down as if he might be sitting on tacks. and see how he grins, and looks prouder than a turkey gobbler. something's going to break loose right away, bud, believe me." well, it did. when presently, after that first onslaught of the gallant followers of the hero knight, the motion-picture players were seen to be "resting up" between acts, and those who had been injured in the fracas were being attended to, a shout arose. "hey! what's this i see?" yelled a boy's strident voice. "right there along with all them knights and ladies there's a boy scout helping take care of the fellows knocked out in that scrap. and, say, it's our own arthur cameron, would you believe it?" "and there's hugh! yes, and look at our billy worth strutting around there as big as life. oh, you billy, it takes, you to get in, the limelight every time!" all sorts of shouts were rising in different parts of the hall as the audience discovered the well-known lads belonging to their own town. most of them began to understand now why those fellows had persisted in keeping so mute. evidently they must have known that this wonderful picture was coming in time to be shown at the benefit performance. everybody was eagerly waiting to see what followed. when the wall fell there was a series of low exclamations of horror, for they were intelligent enough to realize that this had not been a part of the real programme, and also that the chances were some of the unfortunates must have been severely injured. then came the picture revealing how the five scouts sprang forward and assisted in the work of rescuing those caught by the falling rocks; also how arthur, as might be expected, did his part in taking care of the injured. how proud many of those present felt at seeing the manly way in which hugh and his comrades rose to the occasion, and did their calling great credit. a tense stillness followed those loud cheers, for, an announcement had been displayed relating how, owing to a shift of the wind, the fire had spread, causing a sudden evacuation of the forces battling in the passages and rooms of the castle; and also how through some misfortune the lovely heroine was really and truly caught up there in that lonely tower room, hemmed in by the cruel flames. then, as the startling scene moved on, the five hundred eager spectators saw hugh lead his fellow scouts to the rescue---watched three of them vanish through that gaping window, to appear a little later on the roof, followed with strained eyes their furious attack on the roof of the tower, and finally saw them lower the lady in safety to the ground, where billy and arthur, and many of the motion-picture players, waited to receive them. and last but not least, just as the scene closed, the three scouts were discovered sliding swiftly down the rope past the hungry tongues of fire. the triumph of the scouts was complete. men shouted, boys shrilled, and women laughed and cried and kissed each other. never before had such excitement taken possession of an audience in oakvale. how proud it made them to realize that their local organization was being advertised all over the broad land, yes, even in other foreign lands as well, it might be, so that oakvale would soon become famous because of its scout troop. through it all hugh seemed to sit unmoved, though he shook hands with the admiring crowds as they came up to offer congratulations, and laughed heartily to see how billy worth strutted around, swelled with pride. "it was a whole lot of fun while it lasted," hugh was telling a bunch of the fellows, after the show was over. "but when a thing is done with you can't extract much enjoyment out of the memory. what i'm more concerned about right at this, minute is where we are going to find another chance for an outing in the coming thanksgiving holidays. i'd like some of you to get busy thinking up a scheme, that will just about fill the bill." that somebody did engineer a plan along lines that promised to take some of the fellows out of the beaten rut for the brief holidays, can be set down as certain, judging from the nature of the title of the succeeding volume of this series, "the boy scouts on the roll of honor," and which, it is hoped; all who have enjoyed the present story will procure without delay. the end the moving picture girls or first appearances in photo dramas by laura lee hope author of the bobbsey twins, the bobbsey twins in the country, the bobbsey twins at snow lodge, the outdoor girls of deepdale, the outdoor girls at rainbow lake, etc. _illustrated_ [illustration: in one scene alice and ruth hold the stage alone. _the moving picture girls.--page ._] the world syndicate publishing co. cleveland new york made in u. s. a. copyright, , by grosset & dunlap press of the commercial bookbinding co. cleveland contents chapter page i an unceremonious departure ii russ dalwood apologizes iii the old trouble iv despondency v replaced vi a new proposition vii alice changes her mind viii "pay your rent, or----" ix mr. devere decides x the man in the kitchen xi russ is worried xii the photo drama xiii mr. devere's success xiv an emergency xv jealousies xvi the moving picture girls xvii a promise xviii a hit xix a bit of outdoors xx farmer sandy apgar xxi overheard xxii the warning xxiii the missing model xxiv the pursuit xxv the capture chapter i an unceremonious departure "oh, isn't it just splendid, ruth? don't you feel like singing and dancing? come on, let's have a two-step! i'll whistle!" "alice! how can you be so--so boisterous?" expostulated the taller of two girls, who stood in the middle of their small and rather shabby parlor. "boisterous! weren't you going to say--rude?" laughingly asked the one who had first spoken. "come, now, 'fess up! weren't you?" and the shorter of the twain, a girl rather plump and pretty, with merry brown eyes, put her arm about the waist of her sister and endeavored to lead her through the maze of chairs in the whirl of a dance, whistling, meanwhile, a joyous strain from one of the latest broadway successes. "oh, alice!" came in rather fretful tones. "i don't--" "you don't know what to make of me? that's it; isn't it, sister mine? oh, i can read you like a book. but, ruth, why aren't you jolly once in a while? why always that 'maiden all forlorn' look on your face? why that far-away, distant look in your eyes--'anne, sister anne, dost see anyone approaching?' talk about bluebeard! come on, do one turn with me. i'm learning the one-step, you know, and it's lovely! "come on, laugh and sing! really, aren't you glad that dad has an engagement at last? a real engagement that will bring in some real money! aren't you glad? it will mean so much to us! money! why, i haven't seen enough real money of late to have a speaking acquaintance with it. we've been trusted for everything, except carfare, and it would have come to that pretty soon. say you're glad, ruth!" the younger girl gave up the attempt to entice her sister into a dance, and stood facing her, arm still about her waist, the laughing brown eyes gazing mischievously up into the rather sad blue ones of the taller girl. "glad? of course i'm glad, alice devere, and you know it. i'm just as glad as you are that daddy has an engagement. he's waited long enough for one, goodness knows!" "you have a queer way of showing your gladness," commented the other drily, shrugging her shapely shoulders. "why, i can hardly keep still. la-la-la-la! la-la-la-la! la-la-la!" she hummed the air of a viennese waltz song, meanwhile whirling gracefully about with extended arms, her dress floating about her balloonwise. "oh, alice! don't!" objected her sister. "can't help it, ruth. i've just got to dance. la-la!" she stopped suddenly as a vase crashed to the floor from a table, shattering into many pieces. "oh!" cried alice, aghast, as she stood looking at the ruin she had unwittingly wrought. "oh, dear, and daddy was so fond of that vase!" "there, you see what you've done!" exclaimed ruth, who, though only seventeen, and but two years older than her sister, was of a much more sedate disposition. "i told you not to dance!" "you did nothing of the sort, ruth devere. you just stood and looked at me, and you wouldn't join in, and maybe if you had this wouldn't have happened--and--and--" she did not finish, her voice trailing off rather dismally as she stooped to pick up the pieces of the vase. "it can't be mended, either," she went on, and when she looked up the merry brown eyes were veiled in a mist of tears. ruth's heart softened at once. "there, dear!" she said in consoling tones. "of course you couldn't help it. don't worry. daddy won't mind when you tell him you were just doing a little waltz of happiness because he has an engagement at last." she, too, stooped and her light hair mingled with the dark brown tresses of her sister as they gathered up the fragments. "i don't care!" announced alice, finally, as she sank into a chair. "i'll tell dad myself. i'm glad, anyhow, even if the vase is broken. i never liked it. i don't see why dad set such store by the old thing." "you forget, alice, that it was one of--" "mother's--yes, i know," and she sighed. "father gave it to her when they were married, but really, mother was like me--she never cared for it." "yes, alice, you are much as mother was," returned ruth, with gentle dignity. "you are growing more like her every day." "am i, really?" and in delight the younger girl sprang up, her grief over the vase for the moment forgotten. "am i really like her, ruth? i'm so glad! tell me more of her. i scarcely remember her. i was only seven when she died, ruth." "eight, my dear. you were eight years old, but such a tiny little thing! i could hold you in my arms." "you couldn't do it now!" laughed alice, with a downward glance at her plump figure. yet she was not over-plump, but with the rounding curves and graces of coming womanhood. "well, i couldn't hold you long," laughed ruth. "but i wonder what is keeping daddy? he telephoned that he would come right home. i'm so anxious to have him tell us all about it!" "so am i. probably he had to stay to arrange about rehearsals," replied alice. "what theater did he say he was going to open at?" "the new columbia. it's one of the nicest in new york, too." "oh, i'm so glad. now we can go to a play once in a while--i'm almost starved for the sight of the footlights, and to hear the orchestra tuning up. and you know, while he had no engagement dad wouldn't let us take advantage of his professional privilege, and present his card at the box office." "yes, i know he is peculiar that way. but i shall be glad, too, to attend a play now and again. i'm getting quite rusty. i did so want to see maude adams when she was here. but--" "i'd never have gone in the dress i had!" broke in alice. "i want something pretty to wear; don't you?" "of course i do, dear. but with things the way they were--" "we had to eat our prospective dresses," laughed alice. "it was like being shipwrecked, when the sailors have to cut their boots into lengths and make a stew of them." "alice!" cried ruth, rather shocked. "it was so!" affirmed the other. "why, you must have read of it dozens of times in those novels you're always poring over. the hero and heroine on a raft--she looks up into his eyes and sighs. 'have another morsel of boot soup, darling!' why, the time dad had to use the money he had half promised me for that charmeuse, and we bought the supper at the delicatessen--you know, when mr. blake stopped and you asked him to stay to tea, when there wasn't a thing in the house to eat--do you remember that?" "yes, but i don't see what it has to do with shipwrecked sailors eating their boots. really, alice--" "of course it was just the same," explained the younger girl, merrily. "there was nothing fit to give mr. blake, and i took the money that was to have been paid for my charmeuse, and slipped out to mr. dinkelspatcher's--or whatever his name is--and bought a meal. well, we ate my dress, that's all, ruth." "why, alice!" "and i wish we had it to eat over again," went on the other, with a half sigh. "i don't know what we are going to do for supper. how much have we in the purse?" "only a few dollars." "and we must save that, i suppose, until dad gets some salary, which won't be for a time yet. and we really ought to celebrate in some way, now that he's had this bit of good luck! oh, isn't it just awful to be poor!" "hush, alice! the neighbors will hear you. the walls of this apartment house are so terribly thin!" "i don't care if they do hear. they all know dad hasn't had a theatrical engagement for ever so long. and they know we haven't any what you might call--resources--or we wouldn't live here. of course they know we're poor--that's no news!" "i know, my dear. but you are so--so out-spoken." "i'm glad of it. oh, ruth, when will you ever give up trying to pretend we are what we are not? you're a dear, nice, sweet, romantic sister, and some day i hope the fairy prince will come riding past on his milk-white steed--and, say, ruth, why should a prince always ride a milk-white steed? there's something that's never been explained. "all the novels and fairy stories have milk-white steeds for the hero to prance up on when he rescues the doleful maiden. and if there's any color that gets dirtier sooner, and makes a horse look most like a lost hope, it's white. of course i know they can keep a circus horse milk-white, but it isn't practical for princes or heroes. the first mud puddle he splashed through--and, oh, say! if the prince should fail in his fortunes later, and have to hire out to drive a coal wagon! wouldn't his milk-white steed look sweet then? there goes one now," and she pointed out of the window to the street below. "do, ruth, if your prince comes, insist on his changing his steed for one of sober brown. it will wear better." "don't be silly, alice!" "oh, i can't help it. hark, is that dad's step?" the two girls listened, turning their heads toward the hall entrance door. "no, it's someone over at the dalwoods'--across the corridor." the noise in the hallway increased. there were hasty footsteps, and then rather loud voices. "i tell you i won't have anything to do with you, and you needn't come sneaking around here any more. i'm done with you!" "that's russ," whispered alice. "yes," agreed ruth, and her sister noted a slight flush on her fair cheeks. then came a voice in expostulation: "but i tell you i can market it for you, and get you something for it. if you try to go it alone--" "well, that's just what i'm going to do--go it alone, and i don't want to hear any more from you. now you get out!" "but look here--" there was a sound of a scuffle, and a body crashed up against the door of the devere apartment. "oh!" cried ruth and alice together. their door swung open, for someone had seemingly caught at the knob to save himself from falling. the girls had a glimpse of their neighbor across the hall, russ dalwood by name, pushing a strange man toward the head of the stairs. "now you get out!" cried russ, and the man left rather unceremoniously, slipping down two or three steps before he could recover his balance and grasp the railing. "oh, shut the door, quickly, alice!" gasped ruth. chapter ii russ dalwood apologizes the portal was closed with a bang--so closed because alice in a mad rush threw herself against it and turned the key in the lock. then she gained a place by her sister's side, and slipped an arm about her waist. "he--he won't come in," alice whispered. "i saw him going down the stairs." "who--who was it?" faltered ruth. she was very pale. "i don't know," alice made answer. "i don't believe he meant to come in here. it was--was just an accident. but the door is locked now. maybe it was some collector--like those horrid men who have been to see us lately. the dalwoods may be short of money, too." "i don't think so, alice. russ makes good wages at the moving picture place. oh, are you sure the door is locked?" "positive. don't worry." "let's slip down the back stairs to mrs. reilley's flat. she has a telephone, and we can call the police," suggested the taller girl, in a hoarse whisper, her eyes never leaving the hall door that had been so unceremoniously thrust open. "silly!" returned alice. "there's no danger now. that man has gone. i tell you i saw him hurrying down the stairs. russ sent him about his business, all right--whatever his business was." "oh, it's terrible to live this way!" wailed ruth. "with--with common fighting going on in the halls! if poor mother were alive now--" "she wouldn't be a bit afraid, if what you tell me of her is true!" insisted alice, stoutly. "and i'm not a bit afraid, either. why, russ is just across the hall, and it was only the other day you were saying how strong and manly he was. have you forgotten?" "no," answered ruth, in a low voice, and again the blush suffused her cheeks. "then don't be a silly. i'm not going down and ask mrs. reilley to 'phone for the police. that would cause excitement indeed. i don't believe anyone else heard the commotion, and that was only because our door flew open by accident." "oh, well, maybe it will be all right," assented the taller girl who, in this emergency, seemed to lean on her younger sister. perhaps it was because alice was so merry-hearted--even unthinking at times; despising danger because she did not know exactly what it was--or what it meant. yet even now ruth felt that she must play the part of mother to her younger sister. "are you sure that door is locked?" she asked again. "positive! see, i'll slip on the chain, and then it would tax even a policeman to get in. but, really, ruth, i wouldn't go to mrs. reilley's if i were you. she'll tell everyone, and there doesn't seem to be any need. it's all over, and those below, or above us, seem to have heard nothing of it." "oh, i wish daddy would come home!" "so do i, for that matter. that's sensible. what did he say," asked alice, "when you went down to mrs. reilley's telephone to talk to him?" for that neighbor had summoned one of the girls when she learned, over the wire, that mr. devere wished to speak with his daughters about his good fortune. "he didn't have time to say much," replied ruth. "he just stole a minute or two away from the conference to say that he had an engagement that was very promising." "and didn't he say when he'd be home?" "no, only that it would be as soon as possible." "well, i suppose he'll come as quickly as he can. let's see what we can get up in the way of a lunch. we may have to resort to the delicatessen again. i do want father to have something nice when he comes home with his good news." "so do i," agreed ruth. "i'm afraid our ice box doesn't contain much in the way of refreshments for an impromptu banquet, though, and i positively won't go out after--after what happened. at least not right away!" "pooh, i'm not afraid!" laughed alice, having recovered her spirits. "on the ice box--charge!" she cried gaily, waltzing about. the girls found little enough to reward them, and it came, finally, to the necessity of making a raid on the nearest delicatessen shop if they were to "banquet" their father. in fact since the devere family had come to make their home in the fenmore apartment house, on one of the west sixtieth streets of new york city, there had been very little in the way of food luxuries, and not a great deal of the necessities. their life had held a little more of ease and comfort when they lived in a more fashionable quarter, but with the loss of their father's theatrical engagement, and the long period of waiting for another, their savings had been exhausted and they had had recourse to the pawn shop, in addition to letting as many bills as possible go unpaid until fortune smiled again. hosmer devere, who was a middle-aged, rather corpulent and exceedingly kind and cultured gentleman, was the father of the two girls. their mother had been dead about seven years, a cold caught in playing on a draughty stage developing into pneumonia, from which she never rallied. ruth and alice came of a theatrical family--at least, on their father's side--for his father and grandfather before him had enviable histrionic reputations. mrs. devere had been a vivacious country maid--or, rather, a maid in a small town that was classed as being on the "country" circuit by the company playing it. mr. devere, then blossoming into a leading man, was in the troupe, and became acquainted with his future wife through the medium of the theater. she had sought an interview with the manager, seeking a chance to "get on the boards," and mr. devere admired her greatly. their married life was much happier than the usual theatrical union, and under the guidance and instruction of her husband mrs. devere had become one of the leading juvenile players. both her husband and herself were fond of home life, and they had looked forward to the day when they could retire and shut themselves away from the public with their two little daughters. but fortunes are seldom made on the stage--not half as often as is imagined--and the time seemed farther and farther off. then came mrs. devere's illness and death, and for a time a broken-hearted man withdrew himself from the world to devote his life to his daughters. but the call of the stage was imperative, not so much from choice as necessity, for mr. devere could do little to advantage save act, and in this alone could he make a living. so he had returned to the "boards," filling various engagements with satisfaction, and taking his daughters about with him. rather strange to say, up to the present, though literally saturated with the romance and hard work of the footlights, neither ruth nor alice had shown any desire to go on the stage. or, if they had it, they had not spoken of it. and their father was glad. mr. devere was a clever character actor, and had created a number of parts that had won favor. he inclined to whimsical comedy rôles, rather than to romantic drama, and several of his old men studies are remembered on broadway to this day. he had acted in shakespeare, but he had none of that burning desire, with which many actors are credited, to play hamlet. mr. devere was satisfied to play the legitimate in his best manner, to look after his daughters, and to trust that in time he might lay by enough for himself, and see them happily married. but the laying-aside process had been seriously interrupted several times by lack of engagements, so that the little stock of savings dwindled away. then came a panicky year. many theaters were closed, and more actors "walked the rialto" looking for engagements than ever before. mr. devere was among them, and he even accepted a part in a vaudeville sketch to eke out a scanty livelihood. good times came again, but did not last, and finally it looked to the actor as though he were doomed to become a "hack," or to linger along in some stock company. he was willing to do this, though, for the sake of the girls. a rather longer period of inactivity than usual made a decided change in the devere fortunes, if one can call a struggle against poverty "fortunes." they had to leave their pleasant apartment and take one more humble. some of their choice possessions, too, went to the sign of the three golden balls; but, with all this, it was hard work to set even their scanty table. and the bills! ruth wept in secret over them, being the house-keeper. and, of late, some of the tradesmen were not as patient and kind as they had been at first. some even sent professional collectors, who used all their various wiles to humiliate their debtors. but now a ray of light seemed to shine through the gloom, and a tentative promise from one theatrical manager had become a reality. mr. devere had telephoned that the contract was signed, and that he would have a leading part at last, after many weeks of idleness. "what is the play?" asked alice of her sister, when they had decided on what they might safely get from the delicatessen store. "did dad say?" "yes. it's 'a matter of friendship.' one of those new society dramas." "oh, i do hope he gets us tickets!" "we will need some dresses before we can use tickets," sighed ruth. "positively i wouldn't go anywhere but in the gallery now." "no, we wouldn't exactly shine in a box," agreed alice. "hark!" cautioned her sister. "there's someone in the hall now. i heard a step----" there came a knock on the door, and in spite of themselves both girls started nervously. "that isn't his rap!" whispered alice. "no. ask who it is," suggested ruth. somehow, she looked again to the younger alice now. "who--who is it?" faltered the latter. "maybe it's one of those horrid collectors," she went on, in her sister's ear. "i wish i'd kept quiet." but the voice that answered reassured them. "are you there, miss devere? this is russ dalwood. i want to apologize for that row outside your door a few minutes ago. it was an accident. i'm sorry. may i come in?" chapter iii the old trouble for a moment the girls faced each other with wide-opened eyes, the brown ones of alice gazing into the deep blue ones of ruth. ruth's eyes were not the ordinary blue--like those of a china doll. they were more like wood-violets, and in their depths could be read a liking for the unusual and romantic that was, in a measure, the key to her character. not for nothing had alice laughed at her sister's longing for a prince, on a milk-white steed, to come riding by. ruth was tall, and of that desirable willowy type, so much in demand of late. alice was just saved from being a "bread-and-butter" girl. that is, she had wholesomeness, with a round face, and ruddy cheeks--more damask than red in color--but she also had a rollicking, good-natured disposition, without being in the least bit tomboyish. she reminded one of a girl just out of school, eager for a game of tennis or golf. "are you busy?" asked the voice on the other side of the door. "i can call again!" "no, wait--russ!" replied ruth, with an obvious effort. "we had the chain on. we'll let you in!" the deveres had only known their neighbors across the hall since coming to the fenmore apartment. yet one could not live near motherly mrs. sarah dalwood and not get to know her rather intimately, in a comparatively short time. she was what would have been called, in the country, "a good neighbor." in new york, with its hurry and scurry, where people live for years in adjoining rooms and never speak, she was an unusual type. she knew nearly every one in the big apartment--which was almost more than the janitor and his wife could boast. a widow with two sons, mrs. dalwood was in fairly good circumstances--compared with her neighbors. her husband had left her a little sum in life insurance that was well invested, and russ held a place as moving picture machine operator in one of the largest of those theaters. he earned a good salary which made it unnecessary for his mother to go out to work, or to take any in, and his brother billy was kept at school. billy was twelve, a rather nervous, delicate lad, liked by everyone. there was a rattle as the chain fell from the slotted slide on the door, and alice opened the portal, to disclose the smiling and yet rather worried face of russ. the girls had come to know him well enough to call him by his first name, and he did the same to them. it might not be out of place to say that russ admired ruth very much. "i'm awfully sorry about what happened," began russ. "you see i didn't mean to shove that fellow so hard. but he was awfully persistent, and i just lost my temper. i was afraid i'd shoved him downstairs." "so were we," admitted ruth, with a smile. "did he try to come in here, to escape from you?" asked alice, with a frank laugh. "indeed he did not," replied russ. "he caught at your door to save himself from falling. i guess he thought i was going to hit him; but i wasn't. i just shoved him away to keep him from coming back into our rooms again. mother was a little afraid of him." "was he--was he a----" alice balked at the word "collector." "he was a fellow who's trying to steal a patent i'm working on!" exclaimed russ, rather fiercely. "he's as unscrupulous as they come, and i didn't want him to get a foothold. so i just sent him about his business in a way i think he won't forget." "oh, are you working on a patent?" cried ruth. "how nice! what's it about? oh, i forgot! perhaps you can't tell. it's a secret, i suppose. all patents are." "well, it isn't a secret from you folks," returned russ. "i don't mind telling you, even though i haven't perfected it yet." "especially as you can be sure we girls wouldn't understand the least thing about it--if it has anything to do with machinery," put in alice, laughing. "well, it is something about machinery," admitted russ. "it is something new to go on moving picture machines, to steady the film as it moves behind the lens. you've often noticed how jerky the pictures are at times?" he asked. "yes; though we don't go very often," responded ruth. "well, i've made a simple little device that fits on the machine. i needn't go into all details--to tell you the truth i haven't got 'em all worked out yet; but i think it will be a good thing, and bring me in some money. "i've spoken to mr. frank pertell, manager of the comet film company, about it. i have done some work for him, you know. he says it will be a good thing, and, while it may not make me a millionaire, it will help a lot. so i'm working hard on it." "but who was this man--what did he have to do with it?" asked alice. "he didn't have anything to do with it--but he wanted to. his name is simpson wolley--simp, he's called for short, though he is not as simple as his name sounds. he heard about my invention--how, i don't know--and he's trying to get it away from me." "get it away from you?" echoed alice. "yes. he came to me and wanted me to sell him the rights, just as it was, for a certain sum. i refused. then to-day i came home unexpectedly. i found him in the room where i work, looking over my drawings and models. mother had let him in to wait for me. she put him in the parlor, but he sneaked into my room. that's why i sent him flying." "i don't blame you!" exclaimed alice, with flashing eyes. "only i'm sorry he disturbed you," went on russ. "i didn't mean to be quite so hasty; but he got on my nerves, i expect." "oh, that's all right," said ruth, graciously. "mother said you might be frightened," went on the young man, "so she sent me here to tell you what it was." "don't mention it," laughed alice. "we were a bit frightened at first, and we put the chain on the door. but are you sure you're all right--that he won't come back again?" "oh, you need not worry," russ assured her. "he won't come here again; though i don't fancy i'm through with him. simp wolley hasn't much principle, and i know a lot of fellows who have done business with him to their sorrow. but he'll have to work hard to fool me. so my apology is accepted; is it?" "of course," laughed ruth, blushing more than before. another step was heard in the hall. "there's dad!" cried alice. "oh, where have you been?" she exclaimed, as she ran to her father's arms. "i couldn't come sooner," the latter explained in his deep, mellow voice--a voice that had endeared him to many audiences. "we had to arrange about the rehearsals. haven't you a kiss for dad, ruth" he went on, putting his arms about the taller girl. "how are you, russ?" and he nodded cordially. "isn't it fine to have two such daughters as these?" he held them to him--one on either side. "father!" objected ruth, blushing. "ha! ashamed of her old daddy hugging and kissing her; is she?" mr. devere laughed. "well, i am surprised; aren't you, russ? some day----" "dad!" expostulated ruth, blushing more vividly, and clapping a small hand over her father's mouth. "you mustn't say such things!" "what things?" with a simulated look of innocent wonder. "what you were going to say!" "well, as long as i didn't, no harm is done. what about lunch? i must go back this afternoon." "i'll see you again," called russ, retiring, for he knew father and daughters would want to exchange confidences. "it's good news, russ!" called alice, as he departed across the hall. "daddy has an engagement at last!" "glad to hear it, mr. devere. i knew you'd land one sooner or later." "well, it came near being later, russ, my boy." "now, daddy dear, tell us all about it," begged alice, when they were by themselves. "isn't it just splendid! i wanted to get up a banquet, only there's nothing much on which to bank----" "alice, dear--such slang!" reproved ruth. "never mind, better days are coming," said the actor. "at last i have a part just suited to me--one of the best for which i have ever been cast. it's with the 'a matter of friendship' company, and we open in about three weeks at the new columbia. i feel sure i'll make a hit, and the play is a very good one--i may say a fine one." "and you open in three weeks, you say, dad?" asked ruth, thoughtfully. "yes; or, rather, in two weeks from to-night. there are two weeks' rehearsals. but what--oh, i see. you mean there won't be any money coming in for three weeks--or until after the play has run a week. well, never mind. i dare say we will manage somehow. i can likely get an advance on my salary. i'll see. and now for lunch. i'm as hungry as a stranded road company. what have you?" "not so very much," confessed ruth. "i was hoping----" there came a knock at the door. "come!" invited mr. devere, and russ appeared. "excuse this interruption," the young moving picture operator began, "but mother sent over to ask if you wouldn't take dinner with us. we have a big one. we expected my uncle and aunt, and they've disappointed us. do come!" alice and ruth looked at each other. then they glanced up at their father, who regarded them thoughtfully. "well, i don't know," began the actor, slowly. "i--er----" "mother will be disappointed if you don't come," urged russ. "she has chicken and biscuit for dinner, and she rather prides herself on it. the dinner will be spoiled if it isn't eaten hot--especially the biscuit, so she'll take it as a favor if you'll come over, and take the places of my uncle and aunt. do come!" and he looked earnestly at ruth. "well, what do you say, girls? shall we accept of our neighbor's hospitality?" asked mr. devere. "please do!" exclaimed alice, in a tense whisper. "you know we haven't got a decent thing to eat in the ice box, and that delicatessen stuff----" "alice!" chided ruth. "well, it's the truth!" insisted the merry girl, her brown eyes dancing with mischief. "russ knows we aren't millionaires, and with papa out of an engagement so long--oh, chicken! come on. i haven't tasted any in so long----" "alice--dear!" objected ruth, sharply. "you mustn't mind her, russ," she went on, rather embarrassed. "i don't," he laughed. "but if you'll all come i'll promise you some of the best chicken you ever tasted. and mother's hot biscuits in the chicken gravy----" "don't you say another word, russ dalwood!" interrupted alice. "we're coming!" "i--i think we will," agreed mr. devere, with a laugh. thus was his new engagement fittingly celebrated. the memory of that chicken dinner lingered long with the devere family. for though there was daylight ahead there were dark and dreary days to be lived through. as usual in theatrical companies, no salaries were paid while "a matter of friendship" was being rehearsed. neither mr. devere, nor any of the company, received any money for those two weeks of hard work. those actors or actresses who had nothing put by lived as best they could on the charity of others. it was indeed "a matter of friendship" that some of them lived at all. and for a week after the play opened they could expect nothing. then if the play should be a failure---- but no one liked to think of that. the rehearsals went on, and the play was going to be a great success, according to mr. devere. but then he always said that. what actor has not? how he and his family lived those two weeks none but themselves knew. they had pawned all they dared, until their flat was quite bare of needed comforts. tradesmen were insistent, and one man in particular threatened to have mr. devere arrested if his bill was not paid. but it was out of the question to meet it. what little money was on hand was needed for food, and there was little enough of that. mr. devere did negotiate some small loans, but not enough to afford permanent relief. perhaps motherly mrs. dalwood suspected, or russ may have hinted at their neighbors' straits, for many a nourishing dish was sent to ruth and alice, on the plea that there was more of it than mrs. dalwood and her sons could eat. there were more invitations from the dalwoods to dinner or supper, but mr. devere was proud, and declined, though in the most delightfully polite way. "i--i don't see how he can refuse, when he knows we are really hungry!" sighed alice. "you wouldn't want him to be a beggar; would you?" flashed ruth. "no. but it's awfully hard; isn't it?" "it is. too bad they don't pay for rehearsals. and there'll be another full week! oh, alice, i wish there was something we could do to earn money!" "so do i! but what is there?" "i don't know. oh, dear!" they sat in the gloaming--silent, waiting for their father to come home. "there's his step!" exclaimed ruth, jumping up. "yes--but," said alice, in puzzled, frightened tones, "it--it doesn't sound like him, somehow. how--how slowly he walks! oh, i hope nothing has happened!" "happened? how could there?" asked ruth, yet with blanched face. the door opened, and mr. devere entered. it needed but a glance at his white face to show that something had happened--something tragic--and not the tragedy of the theater. "oh, father--daddy--what is it!" cried alice, springing to his arms. "i--i--my----" mr. devere could hardly speak, so hoarse was he. only a husky whisper came from his lips. "are you--are you hurt?" cried ruth. "shall i get a doctor?" "it--it's my voice!" gasped the actor. "it has gone back on me--i can't speak a word to be heard over the footlights! it's my old trouble come back!" and he sank weakly into a chair. chapter iv despondency startled and alarmed the two girls hastened to the side of their father. they flitted helplessly about him for a moment, like pretty, distressed birds. as for mr. devere, his hand went to his aching throat as though to clutch the malady that had so suddenly gripped him, and tear it out. for none realized as keenly as he what the attack meant. it was as though some enemy had struck at his very life, for to him his voice was his only means of livelihood. "oh, father!" gasped ruth. "what is it? speak! tell us! what shall we do?" "it--it's--" but his voice trailed off into a hoarse gurgle, and signs of distress and pain appeared on his face. "oh, tell us! tell us!" begged ruth, clasping her hands, her blue eyes filling with tears. "can't you see he can't speak!" exclaimed alice, a bit sharply. she had a better grasp of the situation in this emergency than had her sister. "something has happened to him! was it dust in your throat on the street?" asked alice. "don't answer--wait, dad! i have some lozenges. i'll get them for you!" she was in and out of her room on the instant, with a box of troches, one of which she held out to her father. he had not moved since sinking into the chair, but stared straight ahead--and the future that he saw was not a pleasant one to contemplate. "take this, father," begged alice, slipping her arm about him, as she sank to the floor at his feet. "this will help your throat. don't you remember what a terrible cold i had? these helped me a lot. take one!" mr. devere shook his head slightly, and seemed about to refuse the lozenge. but a glance at his daughters' worried faces evidently made him change his mind. he slipped the tablet into his mouth, and then straightened up in his chair. whatever happened to him he knew he must make a brave fight for the sake of the girls. it would not do to show the white feather before them, even though his heart was quaking with the terrible fear that had come upon him. "what happened, dad?" asked ruth. "can't you tell us? oh, i am so worried!" he tried to smile at her, but it was a pathetic attempt. then, with an effort, he spoke--so hoarsely that they could barely understand him. "it--it's my voice," he whispered, gratingly. "some sort of affection of my vocal chords. you'd better get a doctor. i--i must be better by to-morrow." "poor daddy!" whispered ruth. "i'll go down stairs and telephone for dr. haldon." "no--not him--some--some other physician. we--we haven't paid dr. haldon's bill," said mr. devere quickly, and this time he spoke more distinctly. "oh, you're better!" cried alice in delight, clapping her hands. "i knew my medicine would help you, dad! it's good; isn't it?" he nodded and smiled at her, but there was little of conviction in his manner, had the girls but noticed it. "i know just how it is," went on alice, and her tone did as much as anything to relieve the strain they were all under. "i caught cold once, and i got hoarse so suddenly that i was afraid i was going to be terribly ill. but it passed off in a day or two. yours will, dad!" mr. devere tried to act as though he believed it, but there was a despondent look on his face. "i'll slip over and ask mrs. dalwood the name of a good doctor," offered alice. "it's too bad we can't pay dr. haldon, but we will as soon as we can. mrs. dalwood may know of a good throat specialist nearby." "yes, you had better go," said mr. devere in a low voice. "i must be able to go on with the rehearsals to-morrow." alice fairly flew across the hall, and the tragic little story was soon told. mrs. dalwood, fortunately, did know of a good doctor in the vicinity. he had attended billy several times, and, while not exactly a throat specialist, was to be depended upon. "then i'll go downstairs and telephone for him," said alice. "poor daddy is so worried." "i'll go over and see what i can do," volunteered mrs. dalwood. "i have an old-fashioned cough medicine i used for the children." she took a bottle with her as she slipped across the hall to the flat of her neighbors. russ went with her, anxious to do what he could. but mr. devere shook his head as the bottle of simple home remedy was proffered. "thank you very much, mrs. dalwood," he said hoarsely. "it is very kind of you, but i'm afraid to try it. i have had this trouble before, and----" "you have, father?" cried ruth in surprise. "you never told us about it." "i will--after the doctor comes," he said in a low voice. alice came back from using the telephone of the neighbor on the floor below to say that dr. rathby would soon be over. "and then we'll have you all right again, daddy!" she said, and the merry, laughing light that had disappeared came back into her eyes. it was rather anxious waiting for the physician, but when he came his cheery, breezy presence seemed to fill them all with hope. he took mr. devere into a room by himself, and made a careful examination. the girls could hear the young doctor's sharp, quick questioning, and their father's hoarse, mumbled replies. then followed a period of nervous silence, broken by more talk. presently physician and patient came out dr. rathby looked serious, but he tried to smile. mr. devere looked serious--but he did not smile. that was the difference. "well?" asked ruth, with a sharp intaking of her breath. "nothing serious--at least, so far," was the doctor's verdict. "i think we have taken it in time. there is considerable inflammation of the vocal chords, and they have suffered a partial paralysis." "as bad as that?" gasped alice. "oh, that isn't half as bad as it sounds!" laughed dr. rathby. "i have had cases worse than this. now, i'll leave you some medicine to be used in an atomizer, as a spray, mr. devere, and i want you--in fact as a doctor i order you--to speak as little as possible. don't use your voice at all, if you can help it--at least not for several days." he turned to write a prescription, but was startled at the hoarse cry of expostulation from mr. devere. "but, doctor!" exclaimed the actor, "i--i----" "there, now, i told you not to speak!" chided the physician, with upraised finger. "but i have to! i'm an actor--i'm rehearsing a new part. i must use my voice! it's imperative!" the doctor seemed startled. "an actor," he said in low tones. "you did not tell me that. i did not understand ... hm! yes!" he thought deeply for a moment. "you could not take a rest for a week?" he asked. "a week? no! i have been 'resting' enough weeks as it is. i must go on with this. i've had it before. it has passed away. can't you give me something that will enable me to go on--some medicine that will act quickly? i must be at rehearsal to-morrow." the doctor shrugged his shoulders as though to clear himself from all blame. "well, if you have to--you have to, i suppose," he said. "i understand. i can give you an astringent mixture that will shrink the chords, and may relieve some of the inflammation. it may enable you to go on--but at the risk of permanent injury to your throat." "oh!" exclaimed both girls. "never mind!" responded mr. devere, hoarsely. "i--i must risk the future for the sake of the present. i cannot give up this engagement. i must keep on with the rehearsals. give me something speedy, if you please, doctor. i'll--i'll have to take the chance." "i am sorry," spoke dr. rathby. "but of course i understand. i have a mixture that some singers have used with good effect. i'll try it on you. you can use it several times to-night, and on your way to rehearsal stop in at my office in the morning, and i'll swab out your throat. that may help some." "oh, thank you, doctor. you don't know what this means to me. i--i feel better already." "i'm afraid it's only temporary relief," returned the physician. "but there. don't worry. get that filled and see what effect it has. then come and see me in the morning." he wrote the prescription and hurried away, nodding to the girls. "i'll get it filled," offered ruth, and she could hardly keep back a sigh as she looked at the scanty supply of money in the household purse. as she was going out to the drug store she met russ in the hallway. "is he any better?" the young moving picture operator asked. "i think so," answered ruth. "but isn't it too bad? just when everything looked so bright." "oh, well, it will come out all right, i'm sure," spoke russ. "don't you want to come to see our show to-night? we've got some fine pictures. i'm going down a little early to get the reels in shape." "we very seldom go to the 'movies,'" answered ruth. "though i have seen some i liked." "we have some fine ones," went on russ. "better come on down. i'll get you a pass in!" and he laughed genially. "not this time," answered ruth gently. "i must get back and help alice look after my father. thank you." she left him at the corner, and he passed on whistling softly and thinking of many things. mr. devere seemed better when ruth got back with the medicine. and when his throat was sprayed he could talk with less effort. but his tones were still very husky, and it was evident that unless there was a great improvement in the morning he would hardly be able to go to rehearsal. "i'm glad the show doesn't open until next week," he said with a smile. "i'd never be able to make myself heard beyond the first three rows. but i'll surely be better by the time we open." "what did you mean by saying you had this same trouble before, dad?" asked alice. "well, it did come on me last summer, when i was taking my little vacation," he replied. "it wasn't quite as bad as this, though." "you never told us," accused ruth. "no, i didn't want to worry you. it passed over, and i'm sure this will." mr. devere spoke little the next morning. perhaps he did not want his daughters to know how very hoarse his voice was. he left for the doctor's before going to the theater, and most anxiously did the girls await his return. "there he is!" exclaimed ruth at length, late that afternoon. "but he's earlier than usual!" said alice. "i wonder----" mr. devere fairly staggered into the room. his face was white as he sank into a chair alice pushed forward. "daddy!" exclaimed the girls. he shook his head mournfully. "it--it's no use!" he said, and they could barely make out his words. "my voice failed completely. i--i had to give up the rehearsal," and he covered his face with his hands. chapter v replaced for a few moments the two girls said nothing. they simply stood there, looking at their father, who was bowed with grief. it was something new for him--a strange rôle, for usually he was so jolly and happy--going about reciting odd snatches from the plays in which he had taken part. "does--does it hurt you, daddy?" asked ruth softly, as she stepped closer to him, and put her hand on his shoulder. he raised himself with an effort, and seemed to shake off the gloom that held him prisoner. "no--no," he answered in queer, croaking tones, so different from his usual deep and vibrant ones. "that's the odd part of it. i have no real pain. it isn't sore at all--just a sort of numbness." "did it come on suddenly?" asked alice. "well, it did yesterday--very suddenly. but this time i was hoarse when i started to rehearse and it kept getting worse until i couldn't be heard ten feet away. of course it was no use to go on then, so the stage manager called me off." "then he'll wait until you're better?" asked alice. her father shrugged his shoulders. "he'll wait until to-morrow, at any rate," was the hesitating answer. "didn't going to the doctor's office help any?" asked ruth. "for a few minutes--yes. but as soon as i got to the theater i was as bad as ever. i had some of his spray with me, too, but it did little good. i think i must see him again. i'll go to his office now." "no, he must come here!" insisted ruth. "you shouldn't take any chances going out in the air, father, even though it is a warm spring day. let him come here. i'll go telephone." she was out into the hall before he could remonstrate, had he had the energy to do it. but mr. devere seemed incapable of thinking for himself, now that this trouble had come upon him. dr. rathby came a little later. he had a cheery, confident air that was good for the mind, if not for the body. "well, how goes it?" he asked. "not--very well," was mr. devere's hoarse reply. "i'm afraid you'll have to do as i suggested and take a complete rest," went on the doctor. "that's the only thing for these cases. i'll take another look at you." the examination of the throat was soon over. "hum!" mused the physician. "well, mr. devere, i can tell you one thing. if you keep on talking and rehearsing, you won't have any voice at all by the end of the week." "oh!" cried the girls, together. "now, don't be frightened," went on the doctor quickly, seeing their alarm. "this may not be at all serious. there is a good chance of mr. devere getting his voice back; but i confess i see little hope of it at the present time. at any rate he must give himself absolute rest, and not use his voice--even to talk to you girls," and he smiled at them. "i know that is going to be hard," the doctor went on; "but it must be done sir, it must be done." "impossible!" murmured mr. devere. "it cannot be!" "it must be, my dear sir. your vocal chords are in such shape that the least additional strain may permanently injure them. as it is now--you have a chance." "only a chance did you say?" asked the actor, eagerly. "yes, only a chance. it would be cruel to deceive you, and try to tell you that this is only temporary, and will pass off. it may, but it is sure to come back again, unless you give your throat an absolute rest." "for--for how long?" "i can't say--six months--maybe a year--maybe----" "a year! why, doctor, i never could do that." "you may have to. you can speak now, but if you keep on you will get to the point where you will be next to absolutely dumb!" the girls caught their breaths in sharp gasps. even mr. devere seemed unnerved. "it may seem harsh to say this to you," went on dr. rathby, "but it is the kindest in the end. rest is what you need." "then i can't go to rehearsal in the morning?" "certainly not. i must forbid it as your physician. can't you get a few days off?" mr. devere shook his head. "aren't there such things as understudies? seems to me i have heard of them," persisted the physician. "i--i wouldn't like to have to put one on," said the actor. his daughters knew the reason. times were but little better than they had been in the theatrical business. many good men and women, too, were out of engagements, and every available part was quickly snapped up. mr. devere had waited long enough for this opening, and now to have to put on an understudy when the play was on the eve of opening, might mean the loss of his chances. theatrical managers were uncertain at best, and an actor in an important part, with a voice that would not carry beyond the first few rows, was out of the question. mr. devere knew this as well as did his daughters. "i'll tell you what i'll do," went on dr. rathby. "i'll speak to your manager myself. i'll explain how things are, and say it is imperative that you have one or two days of rest. it may be that your chords will clear up enough in that time so that i can treat them better and you can resume your duties." "will you do that?" cried the actor, eagerly. "it will be awfully good of you. just say to mr. gans cross--he's the manager of the new columbia theater--that i will be back in two days--less, if you will allow me, doctor." the physician shook his head. "it must be at least two days," he said, and he went off to telephone, promising to come back as soon as he could. he did return, later in the evening, with a new remedy of which he said he had heard from a fellow doctor. "what did mr. cross say?" mr. devere asked eagerly. "i have good news for you. he agreed to use an understudy for two days. he said you were letter-perfect in the part, anyway, and it was the others who really needed the rehearsing. so now we have two full days in which to do our best. and in that time i want you to talk the deaf and dumb language," laughed dr. rathby. mr. devere eagerly promised. then began a two-days' warfare against the throat ailment. ruth and alice were untiring in attendance on their father. they saw to it that he used the medicine faithfully, and they even got pads and pencils that he might write messages to them instead of speaking. on his part the actor was faithful. he did not use his voice at all, and on the second day dr. rathby said there was some improvement. he was not very enthusiastic, however, and when mr. devere asked if he could attend rehearsals next day the doctor said: "well, it's a risk, but i know how you feel about it. you may try it; but, frankly, i am fearful of the outcome." "i--i've got to try," whispered mr. devere. he went to the rehearsal, and the worst fears of the physician were realized. after the first act mr. devere was hoarser than ever before. the other players could not hear him to get their "cues," or signals when to reply, and come on the stage. the rehearsal had to be stopped. there was a hasty conference between the manager of the company and the treasurer of the same. "the play will have to open on time," said the manager. "yes, we've had a big advance sale," replied the treasurer. "and devere can't do it." "no. i'll have to put his understudy in until we can cast someone else. i'll tell him." the actor must have guessed what was coming, for he was washing off his make-up in the dressing-room when the manager entered. "i'm awfully sorry about this, devere," began mr. cross. "but i'm afraid you won't be able to go on monday night." "no, mr. cross, i myself am of the same opinion. my voice has failed me utterly." "and yet--and yet--you understand how it is. we must open on time." "yes, i know. the show must go on--the show must go on."' "and the only way----" "is to replace me. i know. you can't help it, mr. cross. i know just how it is. it isn't your fault--it's my misfortune. i thank you for your patience. you'll have to--to replace me. it's the only thing to do. and yet," he added so softly that the manager did not hear "what am i to do? what are my daughters to do?" chapter vi a new proposition there was no need for ruth and alice to ask their father what had happened. one look at his ashen face when he came home from the theater was enough. "oh, daddy!" cried alice. "couldn't you make it go?" he answered with a shake of the head. the strain of the rehearsal had pained him. "did--did they put in someone else?" asked ruth. "yes, i'm out of it for good--at least for this engagement." "the mean things!" burst out alice "i think that mr. cross is rightly named. i wish i could tell him so, too!" "alice!" reproved ruth, gently. "i don't care!" cried the younger girl, her brown eyes sparkling. "the idea of not waiting a few days with their show until papa was better; and he the leading man, too." "they couldn't wait, alice, my dear," explained mr. devere. "cross did all he could for me, and allowed me two days. but it is out of the question. dr. rathby was right. i need a long rest--and i guess i'll have to take it whether i want to or not." then, seeing the anxious looks on the faces of his daughters, he went on, in more cheerful, though in no less husky tones: "now don't worry, girls. there'll be some way out of this. if i can't act i can do something else. i'm well and strong, for which i must be thankful. i'm not ill and, aside from my voice, nothing is the matter. i'll look for a place doing something else beside stage work, until my voice is restored. then i'll take up my profession again. come, there is nothing to worry about." there was--a-plenty; but he chose to ignore it for the time being. he knew, as well as did the girls, that there was little money left, and that pressing bills must soon be met. added to them, now, would be one from the physician and mr. devere would need more medical attention. "i'm going to start out, the first thing in the morning, and look for a place," went on the actor. "oh, but you must be careful of your voice," said alice. "if you don't you may harm it permanently." "oh i'll be careful," her father promised. "i'll take along a pad and pencil, and pretend to be dumb. but i'll speak if it's absolutely necessary. now that there is no particular object in holding myself for the place in 'a matter of friendship,' and with the strain of rehearsal over, i won't be so afraid of talking. yes, in the morning i'll start out." "i wish we could start out," said alice to ruth in the latter's room, later that night. "why can't we do something to earn money?" "we may have to--if it comes to that," agreed ruth. "there are some bills that must be paid or----" "or what, sister?" "never mind, don't you worry. perhaps it will come out all right, after all. father may get a place. he knows many persons in the theatrical business, and if he can't get behind the footlights he may get a place in front--in the box office, or something like that." "fancy poor father, with all his talents as an actor, taking tickets, though!" "well, it will be a humiliation, of course," agreed ruth. "but what can be done? we have to live." "oh, if only i were a boy!" cried alice, with a flash of her brown eyes. "i'd do something then!" "what would you do?" asked ruth. "i--i'd turn the crank of a moving picture machine if i couldn't get anything else to do. look at russ--he earns good money at the business." "yes, i know. but we can't be boys, alice." "no--more's the pity. but i'm going to do something!" "what, alice? nothing rash, i hope," said the older sister, quickly. "you know father--" "oh, don't worry. i won't cause any sensation. but i'm going to do something. there's no use in two strong, healthy girls sitting around, and letting poor old daddy, with a voice like a crow's, doing all the work and worrying." "no, i agree with you, and if there is anything i could do i'd do it." "that's it!" exclaimed alice, petulantly. "girls ought to be brought up able to do something so they could earn their living if they had to, instead of sitting around doing embroidery or tinkling on the piano. i wouldn't know even how to clerk in a store if i had to." "i hope you won't have to, alice." "so do i. i shouldn't like it, but there are worse things than that. i know what i am going to do, though." "what?" "i'm going to look through the advertisements in the paper to-morrow, and start out after the most promising places." "oh, alice!" "well, what else is there to be done?" asked the younger girl, fiercely. "we've got to live. we've got to have a place to stay, and we've got to pay the bills that are piling up. can you think of anything else to do?" "no, but something may--turn up." "i'm not going to wait for it. i'm not like mr. micawber. i'm going out and turn up something for myself. there's one thing i can do, and that's manicure. i could get a place at that, maybe," and alice looked at her pretty and well-kept nails, while ruth glanced at her own hands. "yes, dear, you do that nicely. but isn't it--er--rather common?" "all work is 'common,' i suppose. it's also common to starve--but i'm not going to do it if i can help it. good-night!" and she flounced into her own room. "oh, dear!" sighed ruth. "i wish alice were not so--so lively" and she cried softly before she fell asleep. mr. devere was up early the next morning. he seemed more cheerful, though his voice, if anything, was hoarser and more husky than ever. "here's where i start out to seek my fortune!" he said raspingly, though cheerfully, after a rather scanty breakfast. "i'll come back with good news--never fear!" he kissed the girls good-bye, and went off with a gay wave of his hand. "brave daddy!" murmured ruth. "yes, he is brave," said alice "and we've got to be brave, too." "where are you going?" asked ruth, as she saw her sister dressing for the street. "out." "out where? i must know." "well, if you must, i'm going to make the rounds of the manicuring parlors." "oh, alice, i hate to have you do it. some of those places where men go----" "i'm only going to apply at the ladies' parlors." "oh, well, i--i suppose it's the only thing to do." "and if worse comes to worst!" cried alice, gaily, "i'll get some orange-sticks and we'll stew them for soup. it can't be much worse than boot-leg consomme." "oh, alice!" cried ruth. "you are hopeless." "hopeless--but not--helpless! _auf wiedersehen!_" but in spite of her gay laugh as she closed the hall door after her, alice devere's face wore a look of despondency. she knew how little chance she stood in new york--in big new york. and perhaps it was this despondent look that caused russ dalwood to utter an exclamation as he met her down at the street door of the apartment house. "what's the matter?" alice replied to his startled ejaculation. "is my hat on crooked; or did one of my feathers get into your eye? foolish styles; aren't they?" "no--nothing like that; only you looked--say, alice, has anything happened?" "yes, russ, there is something the matter," replied alice, frankly. "do you know of anybody who wants a young lady to do anything--that a young lady, such as i, could do?" he laughed. "i'm serious," she said, and a glance at her pretty face confirmed this. there was a resolute look in her brown eyes. "are you looking for work?" russ asked. "i am. i was thinking of trying to be a manicurist----" he made a gesture of disapproval. "well, what can i do? i must do something. poor daddy's voice has failed utterly. he can't take his new part in the play unless he does it in pantomime, and i'm afraid that would hardly be the thing. he simply can't speak his lines, though he can act them." "that's too bad," said russ, sympathetically. "so they had to get another actor in his place," went on alice, "and poor father has started out to look for something else to do. that's my errand this morning, also." russ was in deep thought for a moment. then he exclaimed: "i have it!" "what? a place for me?" demanded alice. "tell me at once, and i'll hurry there." "no, alice, not a place for you; but a place for your father. you say he can't speak, but he can act?" "yes." "then the movies is the very place for him! he won't have to say a word--just move his lips. he can act parts in photoplays as well as if he never had a voice. i just thought of it. it will be the very thing he can do. say, i'm glad i met you. we must get busy with this at once. "come on! i'm on my way now to see about my new patent, and i can take you to the manager of the film company. i know him well. i'm sure he'll give your father a place in the company, and it pays well. if mr. devere can't act at the new columbia he can in the movies! come on!" chapter vii alice changes her mind filled with enthusiasm over his new project for aiding mr. devere, russ dalwood caught alice by the hand, and guided her steps with his. she had been about to turn off at a corner, to carry out her intention of seeking employment in one of the many manicure parlors on a certain street. now she hesitated. "well," asked russ, impatiently, "don't you like the idea?" "oh, it's fine--it's splendid of you!" alice replied, with fervor, "but you know----" she hesitated, her cheeks taking on a more ruddy hue. there was an uncertain look in her brown eyes. "well, what?" asked russ, smilingly. "surely you don't mind going with me to the manager's office? it's a public place. lots of girls go there, looking for engagements." "oh, no, it isn't that!" she hastened to assure him. "or, if you don't like going with me, i can give you a note to mr. pertell, the manager. i know him quite well, as i've been negotiating with him about my patent." "oh, russ, you know it isn't that!" she exclaimed. "and, if you like, we'll go back and get ruth. maybe that would be better!" he exclaimed eagerly, and as alice looked into his honest gray eyes she read his little secret, and smiled at him understandingly. "oh, never that!" she cried gaily. "ruth would be the last one in the world to be let into this secret, until it is more assured of success. besides, i guess when you walk with ruth you don't want me," she challenged. "oh, now----" he began. "that's all right. i understand," she laughed at him. "no, we won't tell ruth." "then you'll go and see the manager--i know he'll give your father a trial, and that's all that's needed, for i'm sure he can do the acting. and they're always looking for new characters. come on!" once more, in his enthusiasm, he tried to lead her down the street. but she hung back. "no, really, russ," she said earnestly enough now, and her eyes took on a more grave and serious look. "it isn't that. it's only--well, i might as well tell you, though it may be rather mean after your kindness. but my father thinks the movies are so--so vulgar! there--i've said it." she looked at her companion anxiously. to her surprise russ laughed. "so, you were afraid of hurting my feelings; were you?" he asked. "yes," she answered, in a low voice. "nothing like that!" he assured her. "i've heard worse things than that said about the movies. but i want to tell you that you're wrong, and, with all due respect to him, your father is wrong too. there's nothing vulgar or low about the movies--except the price." he was becoming really enthusiastic now. his voice rang, and his eyes sparkled. "i'm not saying that because i make my living at them, either," russ went on. "it's because it's true. the moving picture shows were once, perhaps, places where nice persons didn't go. but it's different now. all that has been changed. why, look at sarah bernhardt, doing her famous plays before the camera? even andrew carnegie consented to give one of his speeches in front of the camera, with a phonograph attachment, the other day." "did he, really?" cried alice. "he certainly did. and a lot of the best actors and actresses in this and other countries aren't ashamed to be seen in the movies. they're glad to do it, and glad to get the money, too, i guess," he added, with a grin. "i think it would be the very thing for your father. of course, if his voice had held out he might like it better to be an actor on the real stage. but in the movies he won't have to talk. he'll just have to act. then, when his voice gets better, as i hope it will, he can take up the legitimate again." "oh, i know his heart is set on that!" exclaimed alice. "but don't you think he'd consider this?" asked russ. he was very anxious to help--alice could tell that. "i--i'm afraid he wouldn't," confessed the girl. "he thinks the movies too common. i know, for i've heard him say so many times." "they're not common!" defended russ, sturdily. "the moving pictures are getting better and better all the while. of course some poor films are shown, but they're gradually being done away with. the board of censorship is becoming more strict. "common! why do you know that it costs as much as $ , , sometimes, to stage one of the big plays--one with lots of outdoor scenes in it, burning buildings, railroad accidents made to order, and all that." "really?" cried alice, her eyes now shining with excitement. "that's right!" exclaimed russ. "i'm just at the beginning of the business. i've learned the projecting end of it so far. almost anyone can put the film in the machine, switch on the light, get the right focus and turn the handle. but it's harder to film a real drama with lots of excitement in it--outdoor stuff--cattle stampeded--the sports of cowboys--a fake indian fight; it takes lots of grit to stand up in front of an oncoming troop of horsemen, and snap them until they get so close you can see the whites of their eyes. then if they turn at the right time--well and good. but if there's a slip, and they ride into you--good-night! excuse my slang," he added, hastily. "did that ever happen?" she asked, eagerly. "well, if not that, something near enough like it. i've heard the operators--those who take the negatives--tell of 'em many a time. that's what i'm going to be soon--a taker of the moving picture plays instead of just projecting them on the screen. mr. pertell has promised to give me a chance. he's organizing some new companies. "just as soon as i get my patent perfected he's promised to put it on his machines. then i'm going with his company." "did you hear any more about that man you say tried to steal your invention?" asked alice. "who, simp wolley? oh, yes, he's been sneaking around after me, and i told him what i thought of him. he's got another fellow in with him--bud brisket--and he's about the same type. but i'm not going to worry about it." "don't be too confident," warned alice. "i've heard of many inventors whose patents were gotten away from them." "thanks, i'll be careful. but just now i'm interested in getting your father to take up this work. i know he'll like it, once he tries it. won't you come and see the manager? i'm sure he'll give your father a trial." alice stood in deep thought for a moment. then with a little gesture, as though putting the past behind her, she exclaimed: "yes, russ, i will, and i thank you! i told ruth i was going to do something, and i am. if father can get an engagement i won't have to go to work. not that i'm ashamed to work--i love it!" she added hastily. "but i wouldn't like to be a public manicurist, and that's the only situation that seemed open to me. i will go see your manager, russ, and i'll do my best to get father to take up this work. it's quite different from what i thought it was." "i knew you'd say that," chuckled russ. "come on." "what would ruth say if she saw me now?" alice asked, as she and russ walked off together. "she would certainly think i was defying all conventionality." "don't worry." russ advised her. "it's the sensible thing to do. and i'll explain to ruth, too." "oh, i believe you could explain to anyone!" alice declared with enthusiasm. "you've made it so clear and different to me. but how do they make moving pictures?" "you'll soon see," he answered. "we're going to one of the film studios now. this is about the time they begin to make the scenes. it's very interesting." soon they found themselves before a rather bare brick building. it had nothing of the look of a theater about it. there were no gaudy lithographs out in front, no big frames with the pictures of the actors and actresses, or of scenes from the plays. there was no box office--no tiled foyer. it might have been a factory. alice's face must have shown the surprise she felt, for russ said: "this is where the films are made. it's all business here. they make the inside scenes here--anything from the interior of a miner's shack to a ballroom in a king's palace. of course, for outside scenes they go wherever the scenery best suits the story of the play. and here the film negatives are developed, and duplicate positives made for the projecting machines. this is mr. pertell's principal factory." "fancy a play-factory!" exclaimed alice. "that's exactly what it is--a play-factory," agreed russ. "come on in." if alice was surprised at the exterior appearance of the building the interior was more bewildering. they passed rapidly through the departments devoted to the mechanical end of the business--where the films were developed and printed. russ promised to show her more of that later. "we'll go right up to the theatre studio," he said. alice looked about the big room, that seemed filled with all sorts of scenery, parts of buildings, rustic bridges--in short, all sorts of "props." she had been behind the scenes often in some of the plays in which her father took part, so this was not startlingly new to her. yet it was different from the usual theatre. and such strange "business" seemed going on. there were men and women going through plays--alice could tell that, but the odd part of it was that in one section of the room what seemed a tragedy in a mountain log cabin was being enacted; while, not ten feet away, was a parlor scene, showing men in evening dress, and women in ball costumes, gliding through the mazes of a waltz. next to this was a scene representing a counterfeiter's den in some low cellar, with the police breaking through the door with drawn revolvers, to capture the criminals. and in front of these varied scenes stood a battery of queer cameras--moving picture cameras, looking like flat fig boxes with a tube sticking out, and a handle on one side, at which earnest-faced young men were vigorously clicking. and, off to one side, stood several men in their shirt sleeves superintending the performances. they gave many directions. "no, not that way! when you faint, fall good and hard, miss pennington!" "hurry now, mr. switzer; get in some of that funny business! look funny; don't act as though this was your funeral!" "come on there mr. bunn; this isn't 'hamlet.' you needn't stalk about that way. there's no grave in this!" "hold on, there! cut that part out. stop the camera; that will have to be done over. there's no life in it!" and so it went on, in the glaring light that filtered in through the roof, composed wholly of skylights, while a battery of arc lamps, in addition, on some of the scenes, poured out their hissing glare to make the taking of the negatives more certain. alice was enthralled by it all. she stood close to russ's side, clasping his arm. many of the men engaged in taking the pictures knew the young operator, and nodded to him in friendly fashion, as they hurried about. some of the actors and actresses, too, bowed to the young fellow and smiled. he seemed a general favorite. "isn't it wonderful?" whispered alice. "i had no idea the making of a moving picture was anything like this!" "i thought you'd change your mind," replied russ, with a laugh. "but you haven't seen half of it yet. here comes mr. pertell now. i'll speak to him about your father." chapter viii "pay your rent, or----" alice liked the appearance of mr. pertell, manager of the comet film company, from her first glimpse of him. he seemed so sturdy, kind and wholesome. he was in his shirt sleeves, and his clothing was in almost as much disorder as his ruffled hair. but there was a kindly gleam in his snapping eyes, and a firm look about his mouth that showed his character. "oh, mr. pertell, can you spare a moment?" russ called to him. "oh, hello, russ; is that you?" was the cordial greeting. "how is the patent? i could use it if i had it now. spare a minute? yes, several of 'em. they've spoiled that one act and it's got to be done over. i don't see why they can't do as they're told instead of injecting a lot of new business into the thing! i've got to sit still and do nothing now for ten minutes while they fix that scene up over again. go ahead, russ--what can i do for you?" he sat down on an overturned box, and motioned for russ and alice to occupy adjoining ones. clearly there was not much ceremony about this manager. he was like others alice had observed behind the scenes in real theatres, except that he did not appear so irascible. "this is miss alice devere," began russ, "and she has come to you about her father. he has lost his voice, and she and i think he might fit in some of your productions, where you don't need any talking." "yes, sometimes the less talking in the movies the better," agreed mr. pertell. "but you do need acting. can your father act, miss?" "he is hosmer devere," broke in russ. "he was with the new columbia theatre company. they were to open in 'a matter of friendship,' but mr. devere's throat trouble made him give it up." "hosmer devere! yes, i've heard of him, and i've seen him act. so he wants an engagement here; eh?" "oh, it isn't exactly that!" interrupted alice, eagerly. "he--he doesn't know a thing about it yet." "he doesn't know about it?" repeated the manager, wonderingly. "no. he--i--oh, perhaps you'd better tell him, russ," she finished. "i will," russ agreed, with a smile. and, while alice looked at some of the other dramas being enacted before the clicking eyes of the cameras, her companion told how it had been planned to overcome the prejudice of mr. devere and get him to try his art with the "movies." alice was tremendously interested, and looked on with eager eyes as the actors and actresses enacted their rôles. some of them spoke, now and then, as their lines required it, for it has been found that often audiences can read the lips of the players on the screen. but there was no need for any loud talking--in fact, no need of any at all--whispering would have answered. indeed some actors find that they can do better work without saying a word--merely using gestures. others, who have long been identified with the legitimate drama, find it hard to break away from the habit of years and speak their lines aloud. "oh, i'm sure father would like this," thought alice. "and he wouldn't have to use his poor throat at all. i must tell him all about it." she looked at two girls--they did not seem much older than herself and ruth, who were playing a scene in a "society" drama. they were both pretty, but alice thought they were rather too flippant in manner when out of the scene. they laughed and joked with the other actors, and with the machine men. but the latter were too busy focusing their cameras, and getting all that went on in the scenes, to pay much attention to anything else. the least slip meant the spoiling of many feet of film, and while this in itself was not so expensive, it often meant the making of a whole scene over again at a great cost. "well," mr. pertell said at length, "i am greatly interested in mr. devere. i know him to be a good actor, and i greatly regret his affliction. i think i can use him in some of these plays. can he ride a horse--does he know anything about cowboy life, or miners?" he asked alice. "oh, i'm sure daddy wouldn't want to do any outdoor plays," the girl exclaimed. "he is so used to theatrical scenes." "well, i might keep him in "parlor" drama," mr. pertell remarked. "please tell him to come and see me," he went on. "i would like to talk to him." "thank you, so much!" returned alice, gratefully. "i shall tell him, and--well, there's no use saying i'm sure he'll come," she went on with a shrug of her shoulders. "it's going to be rather difficult to break this to him. it--it's so--different from what he has been used to." "i can understand," responded mr. pertell. "but i think if he understood he would like it. tell him to come here and see how we do things." "i will!" alice promised. russ escorted her to the street, and then, as he had to see about some changes in the working of his proposed patent, he bade her good-bye. she said she would find her way home all right. "well?" asked ruth, as alice entered the apartment a little later, "did you do anything rash?" "perhaps!" alice admitted, as she took off her hat, jabbed the pins in it and tossed it to one chair, while she sank into another. "oh, alice! you--aren't going to be one of those--manicures; are you?" "i hope not, though there are lots worse things. a manicure can be just as much a lady as a typist. but, ruth, i have such news for you! i have found an engagement for dad!" "an engagement for daddy?" "yes. in the movies! listen. oh, it was so exciting!" then, with many digressions, and in rather piece-meal manner, interrupting herself often to go back and emphasize some point she had forgotten, alice told of her morning trip with russ. she enlarged on the manner in which the moving pictures were made, until ruth grew quite excited. "oh, i wish i could see how it is done!" she cried. "you may--when dad takes this engagement," said alice. "he never will," declared her sister. "you know what he thinks of the movies." "but he thinks wrong!" exclaimed alice. "it's so different from what i thought." "he'll never consent," repeated ruth. "hark! here he comes now. perhaps he has found something to do." footsteps were heard coming along the hallway. alice glanced at the table before which her sister was sitting. "what are you doing?" she asked. "looking over our bills, and trying to make five dollars do the work of fifteen," answered ruth, with a wry smile. "money doesn't stretch well," she added. mr. devere came in. it needed but a look at his face to show that he had been unsuccessful, but ruth could not forbear asking: "well, daddy?" "no good news," he answered, hoarsely. "i could hardly make myself understood, and there seem few places where one can labor without using one's voice. i never appreciated that before." "but i have found a place!" cried alice, with girlish enthusiasm. "i have a place for you daddy, where you won't have to speak a word." "where--where is it?" he whispered, and they both noted his pitiful eagerness. "in the movies!" alice went on. "oh, it's the nicest place! i've been there, and the manager----" "not another word!" exclaimed mr. devere. "i never would consent to acting in the moving pictures. i would not so debase my profession--a profession honored by shakespeare. i never would consent to it. the movies! never!" there was a knock at the door. "i'll see who it is," offered ruth, with a sympathetic glance at alice, who seemed distressed. then, as ruth saw who it was, she drew back. "oh!" she exclaimed, helplessly. "who is it?" asked mr. devere, rising. "i've come for the rent!" exclaimed a rasping voice. "this is about the tenth time, i guess. have you got it?" and a burly man thrust himself into the room from the hall. "the rent--oh!" murmured mr. devere, helplessly. "let me see; have we the rent ready, ruth?" "no," she answered, with a quick glance at the table where she had been going over the accounts, and where a little pile of bills lay. "no, we haven't the rent--to-day." "and i didn't expect you'd have it," sneered the man. "but i've come to tell you this. it's either pay your rent or----" he paused significantly and nodded in the direction of the street. "three days more--this is the final notice," and thrusting a paper into the nerveless hand of mr. devere, the collector strode out. chapter ix mr. devere decides mr. devere sank into a chair. ruth looked distressed as her father glanced over the dispossess notice, for such it was. but on the face of alice there was a triumphant smile. for she saw that this was the very thing needed to arouse her father to action. despite the distastefulness of the work, she felt sure he would come finally to like acting before the camera. the collector's call had been very opportune, though it was embarrassing. "this--this," said mr. devere, haltingly--"this is very--er--very unfortunate. then we are behind with the rent, ruth?" "yes, dad. you know i told you----" "yes, i suppose so," he added, with a sigh. "i had forgotten. there have been so many things----" he was lost in thought for a moment. "do we owe much more, ruth?" he asked. "quite some, daddy. but don't worry. you are not well, and----" "no, i am not well. i feel very poorly, but it is mainly mental, and not physical--except for my throat. and even that does not really hurt. it is only--only that i cannot speak." his voice trailed off into a hoarse whisper, which the girls could barely distinguish. "i--i must find something to do," went on the stricken actor. "i'll go out again this afternoon. let us have a little lunch and i will try again. i'll do anything----" "then, daddy, why don't you let me tell about the moving pictures?" broke in alice. "i'm sure----" "alice, dear, you know that isn't in my line," replied her father. "it is very good of you to suggest it; but it will not do. i could not bring myself to it----" he paused, and looked dejectedly at the dispossess notice in his hand. "i--i could not do it," he added with a sigh. "i must try to get something in the line of my profession. perhaps i might get a place in some dramatic school. i have trained you girls in the rudiments of acting, and i'm sure i could do it with a larger class. i did not think of it before. get me some lunch, ruth, and i'll go out again." "but what about the rent?" asked alice. "we can't be put out on the street, dad." "no, i suppose not. i'll see mr. cross, and get another loan. i'll pay him back out of my first salary. we must have a roof over us. oh, girls, i am so sorry for you!" "don't worry about us, daddy! you just get better and take care of your throat!" urged alice. "you might try the movies, just for a little while, and then----" "never! never!" he interrupted with vigor. "i could not think of it!" again there came a knock at the door. "i'll go," offered alice. "no, let me," said ruth, quickly. she slipped out into the hall, and closed the door after her. there was a low murmur of voices, gradually growing louder on the part of the unseen caller. ruth seemed pleading. then mr. devere and alice heard: "it's no use. the boss says he won't send around any more meat until the bill is paid. he told me to tell you he couldn't wait any longer--that's all there is to it!" "oh!" 'said alice, in a low voice. "what does that mean?" asked mr. devere, from the reverie into which he had fallen. "i think it means," replied alice, with a laugh in which there was little mirth, "think it means that we won't have any meat for lunch, dad." "bless my soul!" exclaimed the actor. ruth came in with flushed face. "who was it?" asked her father, though there was no need. "only the butcher's boy. he said----" "we heard," interrupted alice, significantly. "have we any eggs?" she asked, grimly. "this--this is positively too much!" said mr. devere. "i shall tell that meat man----" "i'm afraid he wouldn't listen to you, daddy," interposed ruth, gently. "we do owe him quite a bill. i suppose we can't blame him," and she sighed. "i--i'll go at once and see mr. cross, my former manager," exclaimed mr. devere. "he will make me a loan, i'm sure. then i'll pay this butcher bill, and tell the insulting fellow that we shall seek a new tradesman." "then there's the rent, daddy," said ruth, in a low voice. "oh, yes--the rent. i forgot about that." the dispossess notice rustled in his hand. "the rent--oh, yes. that must be paid first. i--i will have to get a larger loan. well, get me what lunch you can, ruth, my dear, and i'll go out at once." alice did not say "movies" again, not even when the very modest and frugal lunch was set. and it was about the "slimmest" meal, from a housekeeper's standpoint, that had ever graced the devere table, used as they had become to scanty rations of late. mr. devere said little, but he appeared to be doing considerable thinking and alice allowed him to do it without interruption. she seemed to know how, and when, to hold her tongue. when he had gone out ruth and alice talked matters over. first they counted up what money they had, and figured how far it would go. if they paid the rent they would not have enough to live on for a week, and food was almost as vital a necessity as was a place to stay. there were other pressing bills, in addition to those of the butcher and the landlord. "don't you see, ruth, that daddy's going into the movies will be our only salvation?" asked alice. "it does seem so. yet could he do it?" "he could--if he would. i saw some very poor actors there to-day." "but is the pay sufficient?" "it is very good, russ says. and it increases with the fame of the actor. i wish i could get into the movies myself." "alice devere!" "i don't care; i do! it's just lovely, i think. you don't have to act before a whole big audience that is staring at you. just some nice men, in their shirt sleeves, turning cranks----" "in their shirt sleeves?" "why, yes. it's quite warm, with all those arc lights glowing, you know. and besides, what are shirt sleeves? didn't dad act in his during the duel scene in "lord graham's secret?" of course he did! shirt sleeves are no disgrace. oh, ruth, what are we to do, anyhow? what is to become of us?" alice put her head down on the table. "there, dear, don't cry," urged her sister. "there must be a way out. father will get a loan--his voice will come back, and----" "it will be too late," replied alice, in a low voice. "we will be put out--disgraced before all the neighbors! i can't stand it. i'm going to do something!" she arose quickly, and there was a look on her face that caused ruth to give start and to cry out: "alice! what do you mean?" "i mean i'm going to see russ dalwood and ask him if i can't get work in the movies. if father won't, i will! and i'll ask russ for the loan of some money. i can pay him back when i get my salary!" "alice, i'll never let you do that!" and ruth planted herself before the door. for a tense moment the sisters confronted each other. "but we--we must do something," faltered alice. "yes, but not that--at least, not yet. we have some pride left. wait--wait until father comes back." with a gesture alice consented. she sank wearily into a chair. it was tedious waiting. the girls talked but little--they had no heart for it. around them hummed the noise of the apartment house. noises came to them through the thin, cheap walls. the crying of babies, the quarrels of a couple in the flat back of them, the wheeze of a rusty phonograph, and the thump-thump of a playerpiano, operated with every violation of the musical code, added to the nerve-racking din. ruth made a gesture of despair. "beautiful!" murmured alice as the paper roll in the mechanical piano got a "kink," and played a crash of discords. ruth covered her ears with her hands. there was a step in the corridor. "there's father!" exclaimed ruth. "i wonder what success he had negotiating a loan?" observed alice. mr. devere entered wearily. the girls waited for him to speak, and it was with an obvious effort that he croaked: "i--i didn't get it. mr. cross wouldn't even see me. he sent out word that he was too busy. he is getting ready for the first performance of 'a matter of friendship,' to-night." "a matter of friendship," repeated alice. "what a play on the words!" "i sent in my card," explained mr. devere, "and told him i must have a little money. he sent back word that he was sorry, but that he had invested so much in the play that he could spare none." there was a period of silence. the girls looked pityingly at their father. "something must be done," he declared, finally. "i can try elsewhere. i will go see----" a knock at the door interrupted him. before alice could speak ruth had gained it. she tried to close it, but was not in time to prevent the caller from being heard. "the boss says there's no use orderin' any more groceries, until youse has paid for what youse has got," said a coarse voice. "take it from me--nothin' doin'!" "oh!" ruth was heard to murmur. mr. devere started from his chair. "the insulting----" he began. alice touched him on the arm. "don't!" she begged, softly. mr. devere turned aside. he slipped his arm around alice, and, as ruth came in, with tears in her eyes, she, too, found a haven in her father's embrace. then the actor spoke. "alice, dear," he faltered, "what is the address of that--that moving picture manager?" chapter x the man in the kitchen let it be said of alice that, even in this moment of triumph, she did not gloat over her victory--for victory it was. had she planned it, events could not have transpired to better purpose. the combination of circumstances had forced her father along the line of least resistance into the very path she would had chosen for him, and she felt in her soul that it was best. but she did not say: "there, i knew you'd come to it, daddy!" many a girl would, and so have spoiled matters. alice merely looked demurely at her father--and gave him the address. the girl was perhaps wiser than her years would indicate, and certainly in this matter she was more resourceful than was ruth. but then chance had played into her hands. that meeting with russ had done much. "yes, i think i must come to it," sighed mr. devere. "it is being forced on me--the movies. i never thought i would descend to them!" "it isn't a fall at all, daddy!" declared alice, stoutly. "i'm glad you are going into them. you'll like them, i'm sure." "the actors--and actresses--if one can call them such--who take parts in moving picture plays must be very--very crude sort of persons," he said. "not at all!" cried alice. "i was there and saw them, and there were some as nice as you'd want to meet. they were real gentlemen and ladies, even if the men were in their shirt sleeves." "but they can't act!" asserted mr. devere. "i have seen bills up advertising the moving pictures--all they seemed to be doing--the so-called actors, i mean--was falling off horses, roping steers--i believe "roping" is the proper term--or else jumping off bridges or standing in the way of railroad trains. and they call that acting!" "oh, you wouldn't have to do that, daddy!" cried alice, with a laugh. "mr pertell is putting on some real dramas--just like society plays, you know. of course all the scenes won't take place in a parlor, i suppose. you won't have to do outdoor work, though, and i'm sure you won't have to catch a wild steer, or stop a runaway locomotive." "i should hope not," he replied, with a tragic gesture. "but that is real acting, all the same," went on alice. in that little while she had come to have a great liking and interest in the moving picture side of acting. "you should see some of the scenes i saw. why, daddy, some of the men and women were just as good as some of the actors with whom you have been on the road." "oh, yes, if you include the road companies of the barn-storming days, perhaps," admitted mr. devere. "but i refer to the real art of the drama, alice. however, let us not discuss it. the subject is too painful. i have decided to take up the work, since i can do nothing else on account of my unfortunate voice--and i will do my best in the movies. it is due to myself that i should, and it is due to you girls that i provide for you in any way that i can." "oh, dad!" exclaimed ruth. "it is too bad if you have to sacrifice your art to mere bread and butter." "tut! tut!" he exclaimed, smiling and holding up a chiding hand. "i don't look at it that way at all. i am not so foolish. art may be a very nice thing, but bread and butter is better. we have to live, my dear. and, after all, my art is not so wonderful. i hope i have not exaggerated my worth to myself. i am very willing to try this new line, and i am very glad that alice suggested it. only it--it was rather a shock--at first. now let us consider." they talked it all over, and alice went more into detail as to what she had seen at the moving picture theatre. mr. devere grew more and more interested. "it is very kind of russ and mr. pertell to think of me," he said. "i will go and see this manager to-morrow." the interview must have been a very satisfactory one, for mr. devere returned from it with a smiling face--something he had not worn often since the failure of his voice. "well, daddy?" queried alice, as she entered the dining room, where she and ruth were trying to make the most of a scanty supply of food. "how was it?" for answer he pulled out a roll of bills--not a large one, but of a size to which the girls had not been accustomed of late. "see, it is real money!" he cried, and he struck an attitude of one of the characters in which he had successfully starred. he was the old hosmer devere once more. "where did you get it?" asked ruth, with a little laugh. she foresaw that some of her housekeeping problems bade fair to be solved. "it is an advance on my salary as a moving picture actor," he replied, hoarsely, but still with that same gay air. "see, i have put my other life behind me. henceforth--or at least until my voice promises to behave," he went on, "i shall live, move and have my being on the screen. i have signed a contract with mr. pertell--a very fair contract, too, much more so than some i have signed with managers of legitimate theaters. this is part of my first week's salary. i have taken his money--there is no going back now. i have burned my bridges." "and--are you sorry?" asked alice, softly. "no, little girl--no! i'm glad!" and truly he seemed so. "tell us about it," suggested ruth, and he did--in detail. "then it wasn't so bad as you expected; was it, daddy?" asked alice. "no, i found many of the company to be very fine characters, and some with exceptional ability. mr. wellington bunn, by the way, is a man after my own heart." "oh, yes. he seemed very anxious to play shakespeare," remarked alice, with a smile. "i heard mr. pertell caution him about not letting hamlet get into the parlor scene they were presenting," and she laughed at the recollection. "of course it was rather new and strange to me," went on mr. devere, "but i dare say i shall get accustomed to it. there were some of the young ladies, though, for whom i felt no liking--miss pearl pennington, who plays light leads, and her friend, miss laura dixon, the ingenue." "they were in vaudeville until recently," remarked alice. "so russ told me. miss pennington seemed very pretty." "passably so," agreed mr. devere. "well, our living problem is solved for us, anyway. now i must study my new part. it is to be a sort of society drama, and will be put on in a few days. mr. pertell gave me some instructions. i shall have to unlearn many things that are traditional with those who have played all their parts in a real theatre. it is like teaching an old dog new tricks, but i dare say i shall master them." "you're not really old, daddy!" said alice, slipping her arms about him, and nestling her cheek against his. "there--there!" he returned, indulgently, "don't try to flatter your old father. you are just like your dear mother. run along now, i must take up this new work. what a relief not to have to declaim my lines! i shall only move my lips, and who knows but, in time, my voice may come back?" "i hope it will," answered ruth, with a sigh. somehow she could not quite bring herself to like her father in moving picture rôles. alice was entirely different. "but, even if it does come back," said the younger girl, "you may like this new work so well, dad, that you'll keep at it." "perhaps," he assented. "here, ruth, take care of this money--my first moving picture salary," and he handed her the bills. as he went to his room with the typewritten sheets of his new part, alice whispered to her sister: "hurray! now we can have a real dinner. i'll go and buy out a delicatessen store." the meal was a great success--not only from a gastronomic standpoint, but because of the jollity--real or assumed--of mr. devere. he went over the lines of his new part, telling the girls how at certain places he was to "register," or denote, different emotions. "register" is the word used in moving picture scenarios to indicate the showing of fear, hate, revenge or other emotion. all this must be done by facial expression or gestures, for of course no talking comes from the moving pictures--except in the latest kind, with a phonographic arrangement, and with that sort we are not dealing. "oh, i'm sure it will be fine!" cried alice. "can we go and see you act for the camera, daddy?" "yes, i guess so," he replied. "would you like it, ruth?" "i believe i should!" she exclaimed, with more interest than she had before shown. "it sounds interesting." "maybe we'll act ourselves, some day," added alice. "oh, no!" protested her sister. "but let's sit down. the meal is spoiling. oh!" she cried, with a hasty glance at the table. "not a bit of salt. i forgot it. alice, dear, just slip across the hall and borrow some from mrs. dalwood." humming, in the lightness of her heart, a little tune, alice crossed to the apartment of their neighbor, not pausing after her first knock at the rear kitchen door. she heard a rattling among the pots and pans, and naturally supposed mrs. dalwood was there. "may we have some salt?" alice called, as she entered the kitchen, but the next moment she drew back in surprise and fear, for a strange man, rising suddenly from under the sink, confronted her. he, too, seemed startled. "oh--oh!" gasped alice. "isn't mrs. dalwood here?" "i--i believe not," stammered the man. "i--i'm the plumber--there's a leak----" "oh, excuse me," murmured alice, but even in her embarrassment she could not help thinking that the man looked like anything but a plumber. she backed out of the kitchen, after picking up a salt cellar, and was more startled as she observed the man following her. chapter xi russ is worried alice was racking her brain to recall where she had seen the man before. if he was a plumber, as he said he was, it might be that he had been in the apartment house on other occasions to repair breaks. but alice was not certain. "and yet i've seen him before, and lately, too," she thought. the girls was in the hall, now. the man, who seemed ill at ease, had followed and stood near. "the leak wasn't a bad one; it is repaired now," he said. "i--i didn't know mrs. dalwood was out," faltered alice. and then, as the man turned to go down the stairs, like a flash it came to her who he was. "the man russ had the trouble with that day--simp wolley--who tried to get his patent!" alice almost spoke the words aloud. "the--the leak is fixed," the man went on. "you--you--" stammered alice. but the man did not stay to hear, but hurried downstairs. alice burst in on her sister and father. "oh!" she exclaimed. "that man--he--he was in the dalwood kitchen!" "what man?" asked mr. devere, starting forward. "the one who was after russ's patent! quick, can't you get him?" mr. devere ran into the hall, but the man had gone. the dalwood kitchen door was still open, and a hasty look through the apartment showed none of the family could be at home. "could he have stolen the patent?" cried alice, when the excitement had quieted down. "we can't tell until russ comes home," replied her father. "i'll leave our door ajar, and we can hear if anyone goes into the dalwood rooms. as soon as some of them return we will tell them what has taken place." alice helped herself to the needed salt, and the meal began, with pauses now and then to learn if there was any movement in the flat across the hallway. presently footsteps were heard, and proved to be those of russ himself. "plumber!" he exclaimed. "so he was masquerading as that; eh?" the moving picture operator exclaimed when alice told him what had occurred. "you're right, he was after my patent," and a worried look came over his face. "did he get it?" asked ruth, anxiously. "no, for it isn't here. the model is at a machine shop on the east side, and several of the attachments are being made from it to be tested." "then it's all right," declared alice, in a tone of relief. "yes--and no," returned russ. "it's all right, for the time being, but i don't like what has happened. simp wolley must be getting desperate to come here in broad daylight and rummage the house under the pretense of being a plumber. it shows, too, that he must be watching this place, or he wouldn't have known when i went out." "hadn't you better notify the police?" suggested mr. devere. "i'll think about it," agreed russ. "of course he hasn't really done anything yet that they could arrest him for, unless coming into our apartment without being invited is illegal, and he could wriggle out of a charge of that sort. no, i'll keep my eyes open. in a little while, after i obtain my patent, and the attachment is on the market, he can't bother me. but i don't mind admitting that i'm worried." "then sit down and have something to eat with us," urged alice, and ruth, with a nod and a blush, seconded the request. "you'll be eating some of your own salt, anyhow," alice suggested, in fun. russ lost a little of his apprehensive air as the meal progressed. perhaps it was because ruth sat opposite. alice said as much to her sister afterward, when they were getting ready for bed. "don't be silly!" was ruth's sole reply. mr. devere attended several rehearsals at the moving picture theater and, one morning, said: "girls, how would you like to come and see me in my new rôle? we have a dress rehearsal to-day, so to speak, and we'll "film" the play, as they call it, to-morrow." "oh, let's go, ruth!" cried alice, clapping her hands. "i know you'll enjoy it!" "i'm sure i will," agreed ruth. her attitude toward the movies was also changing. together father and daughters went. it did alice good to see how mr. devere was welcomed by his fellow actors. he had already made himself friendly with most of them. as alice and ruth came into the big studio, where a battery of cameras were clicking away, the two girls became aware of the looks cast at them by those not actually engaged in some scene. and, while most of the looks were friendly, those from two of the players were not. miss pennington and miss dixon, standing together at one side of a section of a log cabin, whispered to each other. "ah, mr. devere!" called mr. pertell. "glad you're here; we were waiting for you." "i hope i'm not late!" replied the actor, huskily, with a proper regard for not delaying a rehearsal. "oh, no. you're ahead of time if anything, and i'm glad of it. we'll have to set the smuggling play aside for a time. one of my men isn't here, and i can slip in your scenes now, and be that much ahead. so if you'll get ready we'll go on with 'a turn of the card.'" "yes, mr. pertell--certainly. let me present you to my daughters. i believe you have met one." "yes--miss alice. i am glad to know the other one," and he bowed to ruth. then he hurried away. mr. pertell always seemed to be in a hurry. mr. devere went to his dressing room to don the costume of the character he was to represent--a wealthy banker--and ruth and alice gazed with interest at the various scenes going on about them. while there were many persons connected with the comet film company, there were certain principals who did most of the work. among them, excepting mr. devere, was wellington bunn, an old-time actor, who had long aspired to hamlet, but who had given it up for the more certain income of the movies. then there was mrs. margaret maguire (on the bills as cora ashleigh) who did "old women" parts, and did them exceedingly well. she had two grandchildren, tommy and nellie, who were often cast for juvenile rôles. carl switzer was a joy to know. a german, with an accent that was "t'icker dan cheese," to use his own expression, he was a fund of happy philosophy under the most adverse circumstances. and on his round face was always a smile. he did the "comic relief," when it was needed, which was often. exactly opposite him in character was pepper sneed, the "grouch" of the company. nothing ever went the way pepper wanted it to go, from the depiction of a play to the meals he ate. no wonder he had dyspepsia. he was always apprehensive of something going to happen and when it did--well, they used to say that pepper was the original "i told you so!" pearl pennington and laura dixon have already been mentioned. paul ardite, who played opposite to miss dixon, was a good looking chap, with considerable ability. it was rumored that he and the ingenue--but there, i am not supposed to tell secrets. had it not been for "pop" snooks, i am sure the comet film company would never have enjoyed the success it did. for pop was the property man--the one of all work and little play. on him devolved the task of manufacturing at short notice anything from a castle to a police station. and the best part of it was that pop could do it. he was ingenuity itself, and they tell the story yet of how, when on the theatrical circuit, he made a queen's throne out of two cheese boxes and a board, and a little later in the same play, made from the same materials a very serviceable dog-cart. as usual in the studio, several plays were going on at the same time--or, rather, parts of plays. "come on now!" called mr. pertell, sharply. "get ready for that safe robbery scene. pop, where's that safe?" "it's being used as part of the wall in the dungeon in that 'lord scatterwait' scene," answered the property man. "well, hustle it over here, and get something else for the dungeon wall. i need that safe." "that's the way it goes!" grumbled pop as he scurried about. but that was all the fault he found, and presently the hole in the dungeon wall, caused by the removal of the safe with a painted canvas on it to represent stones, was filled by some boards taken from a fence used in a rural love drama. "i say now, dot's not right!" spluttered mr. switzer, who as a country boy was making love to a country lass, (miss dixon). "dot's not right, pop. you dake our fence avay, und vat i goin' t' lean on ven i makes eyes at miss dixon? ve got t' haf dot fence, yet!" "i'll make you another in a minute!" cried pop. "you don't go on for ten minutes." "mine gracious! vot a business!" exclaimed the german, his round face showing as much woe as he ever allowed it to depict. "dot vos a fine fence, mit der evening-glory vines trailing 'round mit it. ach, yah!" "never mind," said miss dixon, "pop will fix us up," and while she was waiting she strolled over to where paul ardite was talking to alice. russ dalwood had come in and had greeted ruth and alice, and then, in response to an unseen gesture from paul, had introduced him. both girls liked the young fellow, who seemed quite interested in alice. "are you going to play parts here?" asked miss dixon, with the freemasonry of the theater, speaking without being introduced. "oh, no!" replied ruth, quickly. "we just came to see my father." "maybe they think they're too good for the movies," sneered pearl pennington, but only russ heard her, and he glanced at her sharply. "all ready for 'a turn of the card' now!" called mr. pertell, as mr. devere came out of his dressing room. "is your camera all ready, russ?" for russ had obtained a place with the film company, and had given up his position in the little moving picture theatre. "all ready," was the answer. "i've got a thousand-foot reel in." "well, i don't want this particular scene to run more than eighty feet. got to save most of the film for the bigger scenes. now, watch yourselves, ladies and gentlemen. this is going to be one of our best yet, or i'm mistaken. pop--where's pop?" "here i am. what is it?" "get me a big armchair. i want mr. devere to be sitting in that when the adventuress comes in. miss pennington, you're the adventuress, and i wish you'd look the part more." "i'm doing the best i can." "well, fix your hair a little differently--a little more fluffy, you know--i don't know what you call it." "oh, that's easily remedied," she laughed. "i'm ready now," and with dexterous use of a side-comb she produced the desired result. "got that chair, pop?" called the manager. "yep. just as soon as i fix that fence for the rural scene." "yah! py gracious, ve got t' haf our fence or dot love scene mit der evening-glory flowers vill be terrible!" insisted mr. switzer. "all ready, now!" mr. pertell said, as the chair was placed in what was to represent a parlor. mr. devere took his seat, and the action of the drama began. ruth and alice looked on with interest. chapter xii the photo drama mr. devere was an excellent actor. in his time he had played many parts, so the necessary action, or "business," as it is called, was not hard for him. he had learned readily what was expected of him, and though it seemed rather odd to make his gestures, his exits and entrances before nothing more than the eye of a camera, he soon had become accustomed to it after the days of rehearsal. and the great point was that he did not have to use his voice. or, at the most, when some vital part of the little play called for speaking, he had only to whisper to give the "cue" to the others. the plot was not a very complicated one, telling the story of a wealthy young fellow (played by paul ardite) the son of a wealthy banker, (mr. devere) getting into bad company, and how he was saved by the influence of a good girl. the "card" in question, was a visiting card, which seemed to compromise the young man, but the "turn" of it cleared him. to save time, different scenes had already been set up in various parts of the big studio, and to these scenes--mere sections of rooms or offices--the actors moved. with them moved russ dalwood, who was "filming" this particular play. he placed his little box-machine, on its tripod, before each scene, and used as many feet of film to get the succeeding pictures as mr. pertell thought was necessary. i presume all my readers have seen moving pictures many times, and perhaps many of you know how they are made. but at the risk of repeating what is already known i will give just a little description of how the work is done. in the first place there has to be a play to be "filmed," or taken. it may be a parlor drama an outdoor scene--anything from a burning building to a flood. with the play decided on, the actors and actresses for the different parts are selected and carefully rehearsed. this is necessary as the camera is instantaneous and one false move or gestures may spoil the film. next comes the selection of the location for the various scenes. indoor ones are comparatively easy, for the scenic artist can build almost anything. but to get the proper outdoor setting is not so easy, and often moving picture companies go many miles to get just the proper scenery for a background. so careful are some managers that they will send to california, or to the holy land, in order that their actors may have the proper historical surroundings. this costs many thousands of dollars, so it can be seen how important it is to get the film right at first. there are two main parts to the moving picture business--the taking of the pictures and later the projection, or showing, of them on a white screen in some theatre. for this two different machines are needed. the first is a camera, similar in the main principle to the same camera with which you may have taken snapshots. but there is a difference. where you take one picture in a second, the moving picture camera takes sixteen. that is the uniform rate maintained, though there may be exceptions. and in your camera you take a picture on a short strip of celluloid film, or on a glass plate, but in the moving picture machine the pictures are taken on a narrow strip of celluloid film perhaps a thousand feet long. the camera consists of a narrow box. on one side is a handle, and there is a lens that can be adjusted or focused. inside is varied machinery, but i will not tire you with a description of it. sufficient to say that there are two wheels, or reels. on one--the upper--is wound the unexposed film. one end of this film is fastened to the empty, or lower, reel. the film is passed back of lens, which is fitted with a shutter that opens and closes at the rate of sixteen times a second. turning a handle on the outside of the camera operates it. so that when the scene is ready to be photographed the actors, whether men or animals, begin to move. the handle turns, and the unexposed film is wound from one reel to the other, inside the camera, passing behind the lens, so that the picture falls on it in a flash, just as you take one snapshot. but, as i have said, the moving picture camera takes snapshot after snapshot--sixteen a second--until many thousands are taken, so that when the pictures are shown afterward they give the effect of continuous motion. the film is moved forward by means of toothed sprocket wheels inside the camera, the shutter opening and closing automatically. when the reel of film has all been exposed, it is taken to the dark room, and there developed, just as a small roll from your camera would be. this film is called the negative. from it any number of positives can be made, all depending on the popularity of the subject. to make positives, the negative film is laid on another strip of sensitive celluloid of the same size. the two films are placed in a suitable machine, and then set in front of a bright light. the two films are then moved along so as to print each of the thousands of pictures previously taken. the positive film is then developed, "fixed" to prevent it from fading, and it is then ready for the projecting machine. this latter is like the old-fashioned stereopticon, and by means of suitable lenses, and a brilliant light, the small pictures, hardly more than an inch square, are so magnified that they appear life-size on the screen. that, in brief, is how moving pictures are made and shown, but it tells nothing of the hard work involved, on the part of operators, and actors and actresses. often the performers risk their lives to make a "snappy" film, and many accidents have occurred where daring men and women took parts with wild beasts in the cast, or dared serious injury by long jumps. ruth and alice watched their father enact his rôle. he did it well, and the girls were gratified to hear mr. pertell say from time to time: "good! that's the way to do it! oh, that's great!" the play was not a long one, but if it had taken three times the half-hour it consumed ruth and alice would not have been weary. the last scene had been "filmed" by russ, who was getting ready to take his camera to the dark room for development, when there came a crash from where mr. switzer was going through a love scene with miss dixon. "look out!" someone called. there was a sound as of rending, splintering wood. "oh!" screamed miss dixon. "py gracious goodness!" ejaculated mr. switzer. "i am caught fast!" "oh, what has happened?" gasped ruth, clinging to alice. "it sounded like an explosion!" the latter answered. "don't be alarmed," russ assured them. "it's nothing. only switzer leaned too hard on that fence and it went down with him." and that was what had happened. amid the wreckage of the property fence, which had collapsed with the weight of the german actor, sat he and miss dixon, while the manager, with a gesture of despair exclaimed: "that's another scene to be done over." "i knew that would happen!" observed pepper sneed, gloomily. chapter xiii mr. devere's success amid laughter, now that it was seen that nothing serious had happened, the wreckage was cleared away, and the german actor, and his partner in the rural love scene, were assisted to their feet. "are you hurt?" asked mr. pertell, anxiously, when quiet had in a measure been restored. "only my feelings iss hurted!" replied mr. switzer, with an odd look on his round, fat face. "it iss not seemly und proper dot ven a feller is telling a nice girl vot he dinks of her, dot he should be upset head ofer heels alretty yet; ain't it?" "it certainly is," agreed miss dixon, a little spasm of pain flitting across her face as she limped to one side. "oh, dear, i hope you're not hurt!" exclaimed miss pennington, hastening to her friend's side, and supporting her with an arm about her waist. "it's only my ankle; it's a bit sprained, i think. a good thing i haven't a dancing part," said miss dixon. "will you be able to go on, when we make the film over again?" asked the manager anxiously. he did not make this inquiry because he was heartless, but the foremost thought with those who provide amusement for the public--whether they be managers or actors--is that "the show must go on." for that reason sickness, and even the death of loved ones, often does not stop the player from appearing on the stage. and, in a measure, this is no less so with those who help to make the moving pictures. "oh, i think i'll be able to go on after a bit," declared miss dixon, sinking into a chair that pepper sneed pushed forward for her. "go on! you'll never be able to go on inside of a week, little girl!" exclaimed the actor with the perpetual "grouch." he looked gloomily at those about him. "this is the worst business in the world," he went on. "something is always happening. i know something will go wrong in that safe-blowing act i'm to do next. i----" "say, you go do that act, and then let us know if anything happens!" interrupted the manager. "they're waiting for you over there," and he motioned to an office setting, in which a safe robbery, one of the scenes of another play, was to take place. "all right!" sighed pepper sneed, as he moved off to take his part. "but, mind what i'm telling you," he said to miss dixon. "you'll be laid up for a week." "an' it all de fault of dot property man!" exclaimed mr. switzer. "he made dot fence like paper yet alretty! it vouldn't holt up a fly!" "that was a good fence!" defended pop snooks. "the trouble was you leaned your ton weight on it." "ton veight! huh! vot you tink i am? a hipperperpotamusses? a ton veight--huh!" spluttered mr. switzer. "never mind now!" called the manager sharply, with a reassuring glance at ruth and alice, who were regarding this little flurry with anxious eyes. they glanced over toward their father. "pop, make a new fence--a strong one--and we'll film that scene over again," went on mr. pertell. "to your places, the rest of you. mr. devere, i think that will be all we will require of you to-day. but come into the office. i have a new play i'm thinking of filming, and i'd like your advice on some of the scenes. miss dixon, shall i send for a doctor?" "oh, no, indeed, i'll be all right!" was her hasty answer. "if you're not, don't be afraid to say so," spoke mr. pertell. "i can understudy you----" "oh, no, indeed!" she exclaimed, energetically. if there is one thing more than another that an actor or actress fears, it is being supplanted in a rôle. of course, all the important parts in a play are "understudied"; that is, some other actor or actress than the principal has learned the lines and "business" so, in case the latter is taken ill, the play can go on, after a fashion. but players are jealous of one another to a marked degree, and rather than permit their understudy to succeed him, many a performer has gone on when physically unfit. perhaps it was this that induced miss dixon to conceal the pain she was really suffering. mr. pertell glanced sharply at her, and then his gaze roved to ruth and alice, who were standing with their father. a musing look was on the face of the manager. miss dixon saw it, and arose. "i am perfectly able to go on, mr. pertell," she said, quickly. "there is no need of getting anyone in my place." she walked across the room, with a slight limp, and the spasm of pain that showed on her face was quickly replaced by a smile. but it was an obvious effort. miss dixon staggered, and would have fallen had not alice stepped forward quickly and caught her. "you really ought to have a doctor," alice said, anxiously. "a sprained ankle is sometimes quite serious." "i don't need a doctor!" exclaimed the ingenue, sharply. "i shall be all right. it will take some little time to repair the fence, and by then----" "you must let me attend to you," broke in a motherly voice, and mrs. maguire, who, as cora ashleigh, had finished her part in a little drama, came bustling over. "i'll put some hot compresses on your ankle, and that will take out the pain," went on the elderly actress. "come along." and miss dixon was glad enough to go. mrs. maguire was really a sort of "mother" to the others of the company, and many a physical ache and pain, as well as some mental ones, yielded to her ministering care. "now, then, pop, how are you coming on with that fence?" asked the manager a little later. "oh, i'll get her done some time to-day if you don't give me too much else to do," was the answer. "but i've had to quit work on that trick auto you wanted--the one that turns into an airship." "pshaw! and i needed that, too. well, go ahead. do the best you can, and when you've finished i want a fake stone tower made for that fairy picture we're going to do next week." "all right," agreed pop. "i'll do it." nothing seemed too hard for him. he responded to the most exacting and diverse commands as easily as to the smallest. he was an invaluable property man. "oh, mr. ardite," continued the manager to the leading juvenile, "i'm going to change your part in that runaway drama. i'll want some exterior scenes. one on the brooklyn bridge and another at the grand central terminal. get ready to go up there. miss fillmore will be here soon. she's in that with you. i'll send charlie blake up to film it. here's the "register" list--look it over," and he tossed a sheaf of typewritten sheets to the young actor. "i wish we could go see that taken," whispered alice. "you can, if you like," responded the manager, overhearing her. "i--i'll be delighted to take you along," said paul, coloring as he glanced at alice. miss dixon, who had come back from her room, after having her ankle bathed, looked up quickly at these words. she glanced from alice to paul, and back again, and then said something in a low voice to miss pennington. "may i go, daddy?" asked alice. "i'm so interested in these moving pictures." "oh, yes, i think so," he assented. "perhaps ruth----" "no, i'll go home with you," ruth answered. "i'm a bit tired to-day." "i'd never tire of this!" exclaimed alice, with enthusiasm. "come along then!" invited paul. "here's miss fillmore now," he added, as another member of the company entered. there was a sudden cry of pain from the other side of the studio, and a moving picture camera ceased clicking. "what's the matter now?" asked the manager, as he looked to where the safe robbery scene was being filmed. "oh, i caught my hand in the safe door!" exclaimed pepper sneed. "nearly took my finger off! i just knew something would happen to me to-day!" "great scott! another scene spoiled!" groaned mr. pertell. "well, do it over. had you run out much film?" he asked the operator. "no, only a few feet." "well, try again. and, pepper, look out for your head this time, that you don't get that caught in the safe. you might lose it." "uh!" grunted the human grouch. russ dalwood came out of the developing room. "that's going to be a great film!" he declared. it's one of the best i've ever seen. the pictures will show up fine." "glad to hear it," remarked the manager. "that's some good news in this day of trouble." "did i do all right?" asked mr. devere, hoarsely. "i would like to see myself--as others see me--and that's possible now, in the movies." "your pictures are fine," answered ross. "and i want to congratulate you," went on mr. pertell. "you are doing splendid work, and we are glad to have you with us. it is not everyone who can come from the legitimate stage and go into the movies with success; but you have." "i am glad to hear it," declared the actor. "there was great necessity, or i should not have done it; but i am not sorry now. it is a great relief not to have to speak my lines." "and you mustn't do much talking now, daddy," cautioned ruth. "you want your throat to get well, you know." "yes, i know, dear," replied her father, patting her on the shoulder. "good-bye!" called alice, who with paul, miss fillmore, and the camera operator, were going out for the exterior scenes. "i'll be home soon." "i'll take care of her," promised paul, and, as he and alice went out, side by side, ruth caught a sharp glance from miss dixon, who was narrowly watching the two. "well, everything seems to be going on all right now," observed mr. pertell. "here's pop with the fence. now, mr. switzer, and miss dixon----well, what is it?" he broke off with, as he saw wellington bunn approaching with an irritated air. "i must refuse, sir, positively refuse, to go on with the part you have assigned to me!" exclaimed the former shakespearean player, striking what he thought was a dignified attitude. "i cannot do it, mr. pertell, and i wonder that you expect it of me." "what part is it you object to?" asked the manager. "let's see, you're in 'a man's home;' aren't you?" "yes, and in one scene i am supposed to come home from the office, and get down on the floor to play with blocks with the children. i do not mind that so much, but i have to play horse, and ride the children around on my back, and then, to cap the climax, i have to turn a somersault." "well?" asked the manager, as the actor paused. "well, i positively refuse to do that somersault! the idea of me--wellington bunn--who has played in shakespearean dramas, groveling on the floor and turning somersaults! the somersaults positively must be cut out." "but they can't very well, mr. pertell!" broke in one of the other actors in the same drama. "because when mr. bunn goes over that way he is supposed accidentally to upset the table, and the supper things fly all over, and the children laugh and think it's a great joke. the whole scene will be spoiled if mr. bunn doesn't turn his somersault." "then he'll turn it!" announced the manager, grimly. "what! but i protest, sir! i protest!" cried the tragedian. "i will not do it! the idea of me--wellington bunn----" "somersault--or look for another engagement," was the terse rejoinder, and with a gesture of despair mr. bunn turned aside murmuring; "oh, that i should come to this! oh, the pity of it! the pity! i'll never do it!" but a little later, for the sake of his salary, he turned the somersault. chapter xiv an emergency "did you enjoy yourself, alice?" asked ruth, a little later that afternoon, when her sister had returned from her trip to the brooklyn bridge, and the grand central terminal, with paul. "indeed i did!" replied the younger girl. "it was really exciting. and paul is so nice!" "do you call him paul?" "certainly--why not." "and does he call you alice?" "yes. he asked me if he couldn't, and i don't see any harm. he's just like a brother would be." "oh," remarked ruth, with a little smile. "tell me about it." "oh, there isn't much to tell. we went up in a car until we got to where the scenes were to be filmed. then paul and miss fillmore did what they had to do, and the pictures were taken. "there was quite a crowd looking, on, too, and some of them got in the pictures," alice went on. "purposely, do you mean--to spoil them?" asked ruth. "oh, no, they belonged in. you see this was supposed to be a natural scene of paul and miss fillmore meeting on the bridge. they walk along a little way, and part of the plot develops there. so there had to be other persons walking along to make it look natural. how odd it must be if those same persons happen to see the film play later, and recognize themselves in the pictures." "rather, i should say," agreed ruth. "what next?" "oh, then we went up to the grand central, and there paul had to pretend to get on a train, and miss fillmore bade him a tearful good-bye. she's quite an emotional actress, too. "it was quite exciting. paul had some work getting the station master to let us out on the train platform without tickets. but when he explained about the moving pictures, it was all right. "it was as real as anything--just as if it wasn't for the films at all. paul got on the platform, and a porter took someone else's grip to make it look as though he were going on a journey. "that porter enjoyed it more than anyone else. he grinned so much that paul had to tell him to stop, or the top of his head might come off. and laugh! i wish you could have heard him laugh at that. it took us a little longer to get those films, for there was such a crowd. but it was all right. i've had a lovely time!" cried alice, her brown eyes brilliant with excitement, and her cheeks flushed. "and what happened next?" asked ruth, after a pause. "oh, miss fillmore had an engagement, so paul and i went and had lunch together. he's an awfully nice boy!" "alice!" "i don't care; he is! and he's in papa's company, so i don't see any harm--especially as it was in daylight, and it was only in one of those dairy lunches, you know. paul wanted to take me to a better place, but i know he doesn't earn much yet, and i wasn't going to have him waste his money." "thoughtful of you," murmured ruth. "wasn't it. where's daddy?" "oh, he went back to the studio. there was some mistake in one of his acts and he wanted to have it corrected so he could study over it to-night." "oh, hasn't it been a day!" exclaimed alice, as she laid aside her hat. "do you know, i think outdoor pictures are better, and more interesting. i'd like to be in some myself." "it is interesting," agreed ruth. "and really it doesn't seem like acting when you don't have any audience except a camera. but i suppose that makes it all the more difficult. russ was in a little while ago." "what did he want?" asked alice with a quick glance at her sister. "oh, he just called to say that all the films in which dad appears came out fine. he mentioned that his patent was coming on all right, and he expects soon to have it out on royalty." "that's nice. i do hope those horrid men won't get it away from him. what have we to eat? i'm nearly starved." "why, i thought you had lunch." "i did, but we--we took a walk afterward, and my appetite came back." ruth looked curiously at alice, sighed and then went out to the kitchen. as the days went on mr. devere grew to like his new occupation more and more. at first he had talked and mused over the coming time when he could go back to the regular theatre. but his voice showed no tendency to lose its whispering hoarseness, and he was, perforce, compelled to do his acting for the camera. then came a gradual change of feeling, and he grew really to like his new occupation. besides, it paid almost as well as a legitimate rôle, and was more certain. the girls and their father enjoyed a private view of the film in which mr. devere was depicted. it was an absorbing play, and while it seemed a bit uncanny, at first, to look at yourself moving about, mr. devere grew accustomed to it. "and it is surprising what faults one can see in onesself," he remarked, after the film had been thrown on the screen for him. "i can pick out a number of places where i can improve in my gestures. and i see places where the action can be more easily and plainly explained to the audience." "i am glad you do," spoke mr. pertell. "it is a good thing to try to improve the movies. they have, in my opinion, a great lesson to teach to the masses, as well as to provide amusement for them. and all we can do, individually, to help, adds to it. "i am thinking of greatly broadening my fields, i am not satisfied to film merely parlor dramas and a few city scenes. i want a larger scenic background, and i'm working to that end." "i hope i shall be able to fit into some of them," observed mr. devere. "i, too, begin to think i would like to get out in the open." "i intend to have you with me," declared the manager. "i am looking around for a locality to serve as a background for certain rural plays. but i have not found it yet." ruth and alice paid many visits to the film studio, and watched the making of many plays. their father had parts in a number of them, and for others new actors were engaged temporarily. russ was becoming an expert operator, and meanwhile was working on his patent. it was nearly perfected. they were exacting days that followed. many dramas had to be filmed, and all the actors and actresses were kept busy. ruth and alice spent many afternoons in the studio, growing more and more interested all the while. there was much fun, as well as much hard work, for mr. switzer, with his odd expressions and mishaps, was a source of considerable amusement. then, too, the "human grouch," pepper sneed, seemed always to find some new objection to raise, or some dire calamity to predict. and as for mr. bunn, he made many protests at rôles he considered incongruous with his dignity. once he wanted the story of a play so changed that he might give an impersonation of hamlet in a setting that included a western mining cabin, and when he was refused by the manager he grew quite indignant. "you might as well try to introduce macbeth in the clown act," declared mr. pertell. several times ruth and alice had expressed a desire to try a little part in one of the dramas, but their father would not listen. at last, however, their chance came. mr. devere had just completed his rôle in a difficult part, and russ, with his camera, had been shifted over to film another play, a few of the scenes of which were laid in the studio, the others being set out of doors. "well, aren't those two young ladies here yet?" asked mr. pertell, coming out of his office, as he noted a delay. "not yet," answered mrs. maguire, who was to have a part in the act. "they said they'd be early, too." "that's always the way when you want someone in a hurry," stormed the manager. "here we are holding things up just because miss parker and miss dengon aren't here. it wouldn't taken them five minutes to do their parts, either." "well, i can't wait much longer," said the principal actor, who was to take a part with the young ladies who were missing. "i've got to get that train, you know, pertell." "yes, i know!" was the answer, as the manager snapped shut his watch. "i can't see what's keeping them. this gets on my nerves!" "what is it?" asked mr. devere, coming from his dressing room. "anything i can do to help you?" "no, but two extra young girls i hired for certain parts are missing, and this thing ought to go on. harrison has an important engagement, and can't wait either. i didn't count on this emergency, though usually i allow for delays. if i only had two girls now--say!" he cried, as he looked over at ruth and alice. "they might do it--they might fill in! how about it, mr. devere; would you let them substitute in this drama? it's a simple thing, and with two minutes' coaching they can do it. that will let harrison get his train, and i can go on with the next scenes. will you girls try?" he asked, appealing to them. chapter xv jealousies alice hesitated, but only a moment, and, while ruth was looking at her father, the younger girl exclaimed: "oh, do let us try! i don't know that we could do it, mr. pertell, but let us try! won't you, daddy?" mr. devere looked troubled. for some time past he had been watching the growing liking of his daughters for the moving pictures, and he was in two minds about the matter. he had seen that this new manner of presenting plays had a great future, not only for the public but for the acting profession. and now, when a chance came for his daughters to get into it, he hardly knew what to say. he had made up his mind that they should never go on the dramatic stage. but this----. "something has to be done," urged the manager. "i can't hold things back much longer." "wouldn't you like to try it, ruth?" asked alice, catching her sister's hands. "i think it will be just fine!" "why, i--i think i would like it--if they think i can do it," agreed ruth. "oh, you can do it all right," mr. pertell assured her. "it is very simple. a little coaching is all you need. what do you say, mr. devere? may the girls go in?" "why, i--er--i hardly know what to say. it is so different from anything they have ever done. and i never expected----" "oh, they can do it!" interrupted the manager. "they've been around here long enough to know how we do things. come, it may be a good opening for them." "all right, i don't mind," said the actor. "i shall be very glad to let them help you out, mr. pertell." "oh, i don't ask it as a favor. i'm willing to pay for their time. i was to give miss parker and miss dengon five dollars each for a few minutes of their time to-day, but they have disappointed me. i now offer it to your daughters." "oh, fine!" cried alice, clapping her hands. "then i can get that new hat i've been wanting so much. come on, ruth. what do we have to do, mr. pertell?" the manager quickly explained what was wanted. the two girls had simple parts, with mr. harrison as the chief character. alice and ruth soon grasped what was required of them, and, after a little coaching and rehearsing, they were ready. "now stand over here," directed mr. pertell, who took personal charge this time, "and don't pay any attention to the camera. don't look at it, in fact. keep your eyes on mr. harrison, or on some part of scenery. just forget everything but what you have to do." "shall we speak the lines aloud?" asked ruth. "if you like. perhaps it will be better, for the first time, to do so," suggested mr. pertell. "it may help you to get the 'business' down better. a little more light here!" he called to the electrician, for in one of the scenes artificial illumination was used. "are you all ready, russ?" he asked the young operator. "all ready; yes, sir!" "then--go!" the little section, from what was to be a two-reel play of the movies, was under way. though a bit nervous ruth and alice did very well, and soon they were in the swing of it. when it came time for alice to act the part of a hoydenish character, she was exceedingly natural in it, and her laugh at the simulated discomfiture of mr. harrison was so spontaneous that even some of the others joined in. ruth, too, who had a more demure part, acquitted herself well. the camera clicked on, russ turning the handle steadily. he nodded reassuringly at ruth when she had a moment's respite. then came a slight change of scene, and a change of costume on the part of the girls, mrs. maguire finding just what was needed in the wardrobe of the studio. then, just as the final strip of film had been exposed, and the emergency work of ruth and alice had ended, in came the two tardy actresses. "you're too late!" exclaimed mr. pertell. "we couldn't wait for you." "what!" exclaimed miss parker. "do you mean to tell us you went and filmed our parts with somebody else in the cast?" "that's what we did," replied the manager, coolly. "maybe you'll learn after this that four o'clock means four o'clock, and not half past." "well, what do you know about that?" gasped miss dengon, sinking into a plush chair, and dabbing at her nose with a chamois skin, which gave off puffs of powder like a miniature gun. "an' us tryin' as hard as ever we could to get here!" went on miss parker, vigorously chewing gum. "the nerve of some people is suttinly amazin'! come on, ruby, i never did care much for movies anyhow, an' how some folks can stay in 'em is suttinly a mystery to me!" then, with heads held high, and with meaning glances at miss pennington and miss dixon, who were busy in another drama, the two young ladies went out, looking superciliously at ruth and alice. "business is business--in the movies the same as anywhere else," chuckled mr. pertell, as he gave ruth and alice each a crisp five-dollar bill. "i am very much obliged to you, in the bargain," he went on. "so am i!" added mr. harrison. "i can get my train now, and it's a satisfaction to know that the scenes are completed." "oh, it was fun!" laughed alice. "i liked it, too," confessed ruth. "and i want to tell you that you both did most excellently," said the manager. "you have a very good grasp of what is wanted, and you put in the 'business' very naturally. i congratulate you and your father," and he nodded to mr. devere. "i have given them a little instruction in the fundamentals," confessed the actor, "and of course they have been about the theatre, more or less, since they were small children." "i suppose that accounts for it," observed mr. pertell. "well, i want to say that i am very much pleased with you, and, if you think you would like to try it again, i can make parts for you in a drama that i am going to film next week." "oh, ruth! let's do it!" begged alice. ruth looked at her father inquiringly. "what sort of parts are they?" he asked. "oh, very much the same as they undertook to-day, only longer and more elaborate. there will be several changes of scene and costume. do you think you'd like it?" "like it? i'd love it!" cried alice, gaily, "do say we may, daddy dear!" and she put her arms around his neck. "i'll see," was all he would promise. "i must look over the parts, and then--well, little coaching wouldn't do you any harm, i guess," he added with a smile. "it would make them all the better," declared the manager. "oh, ruth! i believe he's going to let us go in!" whispered alice in delight. "won't you like it?" "yes, dear! it's more exciting than i imagined. and i think you did splendidly!" "not half as well as you, ruth. you are a born actress!" "and you're a born ingenue!" "oh, aren't we silly to compliment each other this way!" laughed alice. "but, really, ruth, i just love it; don't you?" "yes, dear. oh, i wonder what sort of parts we'll get. i'd like something romantic." "and i want something funny--with laughs in it," declared alice. "oh, say, ruth," and her voice went to a whisper, "do you really think i'm an ingenue--like miss dixon?" "i think you're--better!" responded ruth, kissing her sister, and stroking her soft hair. the work in the film studio was over for the day and the actors and actresses were getting ready to go home. from the time ruth and alice had taken the emergency parts russ had observed miss pennington and miss dixon casting sharp looks at them. "jealous!" mused russ. and his diagnosis was confirmed a little later, when, as the two former vaudeville performers passed ruth and alice, miss pennington, with a sharp glance at the latter, murmured loudly enough to be heard: "humph! it takes more than one performance in a little part to make a movie actress! some folks think they are mighty smart, coming in over the heads of others!" "that's what i say, too!" added miss dixon. "it was a shame the way they took the parts away from ruby and maude!" chapter xvi the moving picture girls for a moment ruth and alice looked at each other with eyes that showed the pain they felt. ruth turned pale at hearing the unkind words, but alice blushed a rosy red, and started to say something. "don't," advised mrs. maguire, coming up beside them, and evidently guessing her intention. "it would only make matters worse to reply to them, my dear." "but--but----" began alice. "hush!" begged ruth. "oh, how could they say it--as if we _wanted_ to displace those girls." "i'm just going to tell them what i think!" exclaimed alice, and there was a hint of real anger in her voice. but she had no chance, for miss pennington and miss dixon, as though satisfied with what they had done, swept out to the elevator. "don't mind them, my dears," said motherly mrs. maguire. "it's only professional jealousy, anyhow; and you'll see plenty of that if you stay in this business long enough." "then i'm not going to stay!" cried alice. "i'm not used to having such things said of me." mrs. maguire laughed genially. she was standing with ruth and alice, who were waiting for their father to join them. most of the other performers had now gone. "oh, you'll get so you won't mind that a bit!" went on mrs. maguire. "sure, i used to eat my heart over it in my younger days, but now i only laugh. it's part of the business. it's a tribute to your acting, my dear, and you ought to take it as such. don't mind it." "oh, but it was so--so uncalled--for!" murmured ruth. "i think i must--" "hush! here comes daddy!" interrupted alice. "don't let him know about it." "that's wise," commented mrs. maguire. "though probably he's seen enough of it in his time. but perhaps he wouldn't like to know that it bothered you. best say nothing to him, my dears. it will wear away soon enough." "no, we won't say anything," agreed alice, slipping her arm through her sister's. "papa has enough trouble as it is." a little later, as the girls were walking along with mr. devere, he asked them: "well, how did you like your parts in the movies?" "fine. it was so interesting, dad!" exclaimed ruth. "i'd like to do some more!" echoed alice, with a meaning look at her sister. "well, i must see what sort of parts mr. pertell will cast you for," said mr. devere. "but i am glad you like the work. it may be a great deal better for all of us to be in this than if i was alone in a regular theater. we can always be together now, and certainly my voice doesn't seem to be improving very fast." this was only too true. several visits to the physician, and a heroic course of treatment, had resulted in only a slight improvement. the pain in the vocal chords had been lessened, but the huskiness remained, so that it would have been practically impossible for mr. devere to speak his lines in a regular theater. so the moving pictures were suited to him. the devere family was now in much better circumstances than when we first made their acquaintance. they had been gradually paying the back bills, the landlord had been appeased, so that there was no danger of dispossession, and there was much happiness in the little flat. "we could even afford a better one, if you girls would like to move," said mr. devere one day. "oh, no, let's stay," suggested ruth. "we can save a little money by remaining here, and paying less rent." "besides, we have such nice neighbors!" observed alice, with a glance at the dalwood apartments across the hall, at the same time giving ruth a sly nudge. "stop it!" commanded ruth. "what do you mean, alice?" "just what i said--we have _such_ nice neighbors across the way," and she gave a little pinch to her sister's blushing cheek. "yes, the dalwoods are very good friends," remarked mr. devere, all unconscious of this little by-play between his daughters. "and russ is certainly a fine young man." "indeed he is; isn't he, ruth?" asked alice tantalizingly. "oh, yes, i suppose so," was the blushing answer. "but how should i know--any more than you do about paul ardite?" and she glanced shrewdly at alice. "a hit, i suppose you would call that. a roland for my oliver, my dear!" laughed alice, frankly. "i don't mind." she looked toward her father, but he was so absorbed in looking over a new part he was to take, that he paid little attention to the chatter of the girls. a few days after the first appearance of ruth and alice before the moving picture camera, in the small rôles they had taken to bridge over an emergency, mr. pertell brought them their parts in a new drama. meanwhile it had been ascertained that the films where the girls filled in had been a success. ruth and alice felt a little diffident about going to the studio again, especially after the scene with the jealous actresses. but miss dixon and miss pennington appeared to have gotten over their pique, and they acted as though they had never said anything to wound or annoy ruth and alice. the latter, however, could not forget it, and were rather cool toward their fellow-players. "here are your new parts," said mr. pertell. "look them over with your father as soon as you can. he is to be in the play with you." "oh, isn't this exciting!" cried alice, as she took the typewritten manuscript. "real parts at last, ruth!" "yes. we will be real actresses if we keep on. i wonder what i am cast for?" "my! we're becoming quite adept in theatrical talk. ahem!" laughed alice with pretended sarcasm. miss pennington and miss dixon, who were already rehearsing for another play, looked over at the two enthusiastic sisters, and shrugged their shoulders. "wait until they have been in it as long as we have, my dear, then they won't be so jolly," remarked miss pennington. "oh, i don't know as you can include me," was miss dixon's rather tart comment. "_i_ haven't been at it so many years." "oh, haven't you?" asked miss pennington, with a raising of her penciled eyebrows. "excuse me, my dear!" "don't mention it!" "get on to that, would you!" exclaimed pop snooks to mr. sneed. "the two old-timers are scrappin'." "i knew they would," was the grouchy rejoinder. "they'll have a real quarrel, and both quit, and that'll mean some new members in the company. and just as we are about through rehearsing that piece, and about to film it, too. that means i'll have to do it all over again. i knew something would happen!" "oh, cheer up! the worst is yet to come!" laughed paul ardite. "here's switzer looking as red as a lobster. what is it now, carl?" he asked. "ach! vot isn't der matter?" cried the moon-faced one. "i haf a part vot incessitates me to be bound und gagged by a band of robbers, und stood in a corner vhile dey loot der blace." "well, that's a nice, romantic part," observed paul. "yah, but how would you like to haf a rag stuffed in your mout so vot you couldn't breath yet for five minutes? how vould you like dot; hey? dell me dot!" "oh, well, tell 'em to leave you a breathing hole," laughed paul. "where is mr. pertell? where is he? i demand to see him at once!" broke in the voice of wellington bunn. "i must see him instantly!" "he was here a moment ago, giving the misses devere their parts," replied paul. "why, is the place on fire?" "no, but i refuse to take the part he has assigned to me. i utterly and positively refuse to so demean myself." "what part have you?" asked the young fellow, looking over at alice and nodding. "why, he has cast me--i, who have played all the principal shakespearean characters--he has cast me--wellington bunn--as a waiter in a hotel scene! where is mr. pertell? i refuse to take that character!" "oh, what's the trouble now?" asked the manager, coming from his office. the shakespearean actor explained. "now see here!" exclaimed mr. pertell, with more anger than he usually displayed. "you'll take that part, mr. bunn, or leave the company! it is an important part, and has to do with the development of the plot. why, as that waiter you intercept the taking of ten thousand dollars, and prevent the heroine from being abducted. afterward you become rich, and blossom out as a theatrical manager." "and do i produce shakespeare?" asked the old actor, eagerly. "there's nothing to stop you--in the play," returned mr. pertell, rather drily. "oh, then it's all right," said mr. bunn, with a sigh of relief. "i'll take the part." rehearsals were going on in various parts of the studio, and some plays were being filmed. russ dalwood was busy at one of the cameras. "have you got a part you like, ruth?" asked alice, when she had finished looking over her lines. "indeed i have, i'm supposed to be lady montgomery, and there are two counts in love with me. at least, one is a count and the other pretends to be one. it's quite romantic. what is yours?" "mine's jolly. i'm a school girl, always up to some trick or other, and--yes, see here--why in one of my tricks i disclose that the pretended count who's in love with you is only an organ grinder! oh, that will be fun," and she laughed gleefully. "do you like your parts?" asked the manager, coming up. "indeed we do!" chorused ruth and alice. "then talk to your father about them," he advised. "see what he says, and if he is willing you may begin rehearsals with him, and the others of the cast." mr. devere was fully satisfied with the parts assigned to his daughters, and agreed to allow them to enter formally into the work of the moving pictures at a very fair salary for beginners. the others of the company were called together, including paul ardite, and the best method of getting the finest results out of the drama was discussed. in the days that followed, ruth and alice, as well as the others, did hard work. it is not as easy to go through a moving picture play as it appears merely from seeing the film on the white curtain. some scenes have to be rehearsed over and over again, and often, after being filmed, some defect results and the work has to be all done once more. mr. devere rehearsed his daughters at home in the intervals of their appearance at the studio, and this redounded to their benefit. they were thus able to do effective work, and mr. pertell complimented them on it. the play was soon ready for filming, and russ was chosen to work the camera. some of the scenes were out of doors, in a big flower garden, and for this the company was taken to brooklyn, where a private owner was induced to allow his place to be used for a few minutes. ruth and alice enjoyed their part in the flower garden very much. finally the last rehearsal was had, and the day was set for making the films of the first real, big play in which the two girls had ever taken part. as they were leaving the studio together, on the afternoon of the day before the first "performance," they saw a group of children standing down near the main entrance. "there go some of the moving picture girls now," one boy exclaimed. "don't i wish i was them!" sighed a tall, lanky girl next him. "ain't they nice, jimmie?" "they sure is!" was the enthusiastic rejoinder. "we're achieving fame, ruth," laughed alice. "such as it is--yes," replied her sister. "'moving picture girls'; eh? well, i suppose we are." chapter xvii a promise "now then, are we all ready?" asked mr. pertell. he looked about the studio, at the groups of actors and actresses, at the camera men--particularly at russ. "everybody here?" he went on. "all here," replied pop snooks, checking off a list he held. "how about your props?" "nothing missing, not even the firecracker miss alice sets off under the chair of the false count," replied the property man. "good! i don't want any failure at the last minute. now, russ, how is the camera working?" "fine, sir." "good fresh film?" "fresh to-day, mr. pertell--just like new-laid eggs." "all right. you may have a chance to snap some newly laid eggs if my future plans work out all right. well, i guess we'll begin. take your places for the first scene." "oh, i'm so nervous!" confided ruth to alice. "silly! you needn't be!" was the response. "you're just perfect in your part. i only wish i was as sure of myself." "why, you're great, alice!" said her sister. "only you do such funny things--it makes me laugh, and i'm afraid i'll smile in the wrong place--when i'm being made love to, for instance." "well, it's a funny part, and i have to act funny," insisted the younger girl. "but i wish it was all over, and on the films. it's been a little harder than i thought it would be." "indeed it has. but papa was so good to rehearse us. now we must be a credit to him." "oh, of course. come on, the others are ready." it was not without a feeling of nervousness that ruth and alice prepared to take their places in the actual depiction of the new play. the rehearsals had not been so trying; but now, when the photographs were to be made, there was a strain on all. for in making moving pictures mistakes are worse than on the real stage. there, when one is speaking, one can correct a false line, or turn it so that the audience does not notice the "break." but in the movies a false move, a wrong gesture, is at once indelibly registered on the film, to reappear greatly magnified. and though sometimes the incorrect part of the film can be cut out, mistakes are generally costly. "are you all ready?" asked mr. pertell again, as he stood with watch in hand beside russ at the camera, while the actors and actresses took their places in the first scene. "all ready," answered mr. harrison, who was one of the principal characters. "then--go!" cried the manager, and russ was about to turn the operating handle. "vait! vait a minute. holt on!" cried the voice of mr. switzer. "don't shoot yet alretty!" and he held up a restraining hand. "oh, what's the matter now?" demanded mr. pertell, with a gesture of annoyance. "vun of mine shoes--he iss unloose, und der lacing is dingle-dangling. it might trip me!" explained the good-natured german actor, in all seriousness. "well, fix it, and hurry up!" cried the manager, unable to repress a smile. "yah! i tie her goot und strong," he said, and soon this was done. "now then--all ready?" asked mr. pertell once more. this time there was no delay, and the clicking of the camera was heard as russ turned the handle. mr. devere and his two daughters were not in this first scene, so it gave the girls a chance to lose some of their nervousness--or "stage fright." as for mr. devere, he was too much of a veteran actor to mind this. besides, he had played many parts before the camera now. mr. pertell stood with watch in hand, timing the performance. for the play must be gotten on a certain length of film, and if one scene ran over its allotted time it might spoil the next one by curtailing the action. "hurry a little with that," ordered the manager sharply, at a certain point. "don't 'screen' the letter too long, and skip part of that leave-taking. that eats up far too much celluloid." accordingly some parts, not essential to the play, were "cut" to shorten the time. russ went on turning the crank, getting hundreds of the tiny pictures that afterward would be magnified, and thrown on the screen in dozens of moving picture playhouses, for the comet company supplied a large "circuit." "now then, mr. devere, it's time for you to come on," the manager said. "and then your daughters." "oh, i know i'm going to be nervous!" murmured ruth. "no you won't," spoke russ, encouragingly. she stood near him, and flashed him a grateful look. "i'll be watching you," he said, "and if i see anything wrong i'll stop in an instant, so we won't spoil any film." "that's good of you," she replied. "come on, alice." "all right! oh, i just know it's going to be splendid!" her sister exclaimed. there was the flush of excitement on her cheeks, and though she would not admit, alice, too, was nervous. so much, she felt, depended on this first real play--so much for herself and her sister. it was thrilling to feel that they might be able to make a comfortable living through the medium of the movies. "all ready now, russ, for this scene," called the manager, indicating the one where ruth and alice were to appear. "watch your register closely." "yes, sir." the play went on. ruth took her part first, and the little drama was enacted. her father, who was in the scene with her, smiled encouragement, and russ nodded gaily as he continued to turn the clicking camera. "now, miss alice!" called the manager. "here's where you come in. come smiling!" it was hardly necessary to tell alice this, for she generally had a smile on her face. nor was it lacking this time. she began her part, but in an instant the manager called: "wait. hold on a minute!" the clicking of the camera ceased instantly. "oh, have i done something wrong?" thought alice, her heart beating violently. "cut out what's been done so far," ordered the manager to russ. "it will have to be done over." "yes, sir," answered the operator, as he noted from the automatic register at the side of the camera how many feet of film had been run on the new scene. then, when it came to be developed, it could be eliminated. the figures also showed how much of the thousand-foot reel was left for succeeding scenes. everyone was a little nervous, fearing he or she had made the trouble, but all were reassured a moment later, when the manager said: "i think it will be a little more effective if miss alice makes her entrance from the other side. it brings her out better. try it that way once, and then, if it goes, film it, russ." the benefit of the change was at once apparent, and after a moment of rehearsal it was decided on. again the camera began its clicking and everyone breathed freely once more, alice most of all, for failure would have meant so much to her. "very good--very good," spoke the manager encouragingly, as the play developed. alice and ruth had rather difficult parts, and in one scene they held the stage alone, "plotting" to disclose the false count. it was in this scene that alice had some effective work along comedy lines. it seemed to go off very well--at least, as far as the girls could tell. alice, as a rather hoydenish school girl, home for the summer, played havoc with the admirers of the romantic ruth, who seemed to fill the rôle to perfection. "you're doing well, little girl," whispered paul to alice, when she stepped out of the scene for a moment, while another part of the play went on. "do you really mean it?" she asked him. "i certainly do. say, you've got the other two guessing, all right." "what other two?" "miss pennington and miss dixon." "oh, i'm so sorry." "sorry for what?" "i mean, i don't want them to dislike me," returned alice. "oh, don't worry about that, little girl. they don't like anyone who can do better than themselves. but they're the only ones. the rest of us like you!" "really?" "well i should say!" and there was more energy in the words than was actually necessary. alice blushed, but looked pleased. "very good!" observed the manager, after an effective scene in which alice and ruth took part. "you are doing excellent work. if this play is a hit i'll star you two in something more elaborate next week." "will you, really?" asked ruth, as she came out of the scene. "i really will," answered mr. pertell. "that's a promise!" chapter xviii a hit "ruth, i do hope it's a success; don't you?" asked alice. "of course i do. it means a whole lot." "you mean to mr. pertell?" "and to us, dear." "what do you mean? tell me." the two girls were resting after the performance of the play "a false count." the last scene had been filmed, and the long strips of celluloid, with the hidden pictures, sent to the dark room for development. not until then could it be told whether the affair had been a success from a mechanical standpoint. and then, later, would come the test before the great public. "did you hear what mr. pertell said to me?" asked ruth. "well, he said so much, directing us, and all that--i'm sure i don't recall anything special. what was it?" "why, he told me that if this play was a success--i mean if we showed up well in it--he'd give us parts in a big drama he's getting ready. won't that be splendid?" "of course it will. but i liked this one very much. i wish i could see the real pictures." "you can!" exclaimed a voice back of the girls, and, turning they saw russ. "i'll take you to see them when the positives are made," he said. "oh, but i mean in a regular moving picture theater," went on alice. "i'd like to see how the public takes us." "i'll do that, too," agreed russ. "as soon as the pictures are released we'll find some place where they are being shown, and you can watch yourself doing your act." "that will be fine!" cried ruth. "what does 'released' mean?" asked alice. "well, you know the moving picture business is something like the associated press," explained russ. "the associated press is an organization for getting news. often news has to be gotten in advance--say a thing like the president's message, or a speech by a big man. "the associated press gets a copy in advance, and sends duplicates of it out to the newspapers that take its service. and on each duplicate copy is stamped a notice that it is to be released for publication on a certain day--or at even a certain hour. that is, it can't be used by the newspapers until that time. "it's somewhat like that with moving pictures. the reels of new plays are sent out to the different theaters, and to fix it so a theater quite a distance from new york won't be at a disadvantage with one right here, which would get the film sooner, there is a certain date set for the release of the film. that means that though one theater gets it first it can't use it until the date set, when all the playhouses are supposed to have it." "oh, that's the way they do it?" observed alice. "yes," went on russ. "of course the best stuff is what is called 'first run,'" he went on to explain. "that is, it is a reel of film of a new play, never before shown in a certain city. the best moving picture theaters take the first run, and pay good prices for it. then, later on, second-rate theaters may get it at a lower price." "and is our play a 'first run'?" asked ruth. "it will be for a time," answered russ. "i think you girls did fine!" he went on. "acting comes natural to you, i guess." "well, we've seen enough of it around the house, with daddy getting ready for some of his plays," admitted alice. "oh, i wish i could do it all over again!" she cried, gliding over to her sister and whirling her off in a little waltz to the tune of a piano that was playing so that the performers in another play, representing a ball room scene, might keep proper time. "did you like your part, ruth?" asked russ, after alice had allowed her sister to quiet down. "yes. i always like a romantic character." "i like fun!" confessed alice. "the more the better!" "oh, will you ever grow up?" asked ruth. "i hope not--ever!" laughed alice, gaily. off in another part of the studio miss pennington and her chum, miss dixon, were going through their parts. they looked over at ruth, alice and russ, and their glances were far from friendly. "i don't see what mr. pertell can see in those girls," remarked miss pennington, during a lull, when they did not have to be before the camera. "neither do i," agreed her friend. "they can't act, and the airs they put on!" "shocking!" commented miss pennington. "come, young ladies!" broke in the voice of the manager. "it is time for you to go on again. and please put a little more vim into your work. i want that play to be a snappy one." "humph!" sneered miss dixon. "if he wants more snap he ought to pay more money," whispered her friend. "all he cares about now are those devere girls." "attention!" called the manager. "get some good business into this, now. mr. switzer, when you come in, after that scene where you apply for work, and can't get it, you must throw yourself into your chair despondently. do it as though you had lost all hope. you know what i mean." "vot you mean? dot i should sit in it so?" and the german actor plumped himself into the chair in question by approaching it so that he could sit on it in astride, in reverse position, folding his arms over the rounded back. "no--no, not that way--not as if you were riding a horse!" cried the manager. "throw yourself into it with abandon, as the stage directions call for." "let me show him," broke in the melancholy voice of wellington bunn. striding into the scene, which had been interrupted to enable this bit of rehearsal to be gone through with, the old shakespearean actor approached the chair and cast himself into it as though he had lost his last friend, and had no hope left on earth. "that's the way--that's the idea--copy that!" cried mr. pertell, enthusiastically. but he spoke too soon. mr. bunn had cast himself into the chair with such "abandon" that the chair abandoned him. it fell apart, it disintegrated, it parted company with its legs--all at once--so that chair and actor came to the ground in a heap. "oh, my! i am injured! a physician, i beseech you!" moaned mr. bunn, while others of the cast rushed to help him to his feet. he was soon pulled from the ruins of the chair. "ach! so. i unterstandt now!" exclaimed mr. switzer. "i haf your meaning now, of vat 'abandon' is, mr. pertell. i am to break der chair ven i sits on it, yes? dot is 'abandon' a chair. vot a queer lanquitch der english is, alretty. vell, brings me annuder chair und i vill abandon it!" mr. pertell threw his hands upwards in a despairing gesture. "no--no!" he cried. "i didn't mean that way." "than vot you means?" asked the german, puzzled. meanwhile wellington bunn was painfully walking over to a more substantial chair. "that was all a trick!" he cried. "you did that on purpose, mr. snooks. you provided a broken chair!" "i did not!" protested the property man. "it was the way you threw yourself into it. what did you think it was made of--iron?" "i knew something would happen!" observed mr. sneed, gloomily. "i felt it in my bones." "und i guess me dot he veels it in his bones, now," chuckled mr. switzer. "i am glat dot i, myself, did not abandon dot chair alretty yet." the play went on after a little delay, and for some time after that the shakespearean actor was very chary of offering to show other actors how to put "abandon" into their parts. so far as could be told by an inspection of the negatives of the first important play in which ruth and alice had appeared, it was a success. of course how it would "take" with the public was yet to be learned. meanwhile other plays were being considered, and mr. pertell repeated his promise, that if "a false count" was successful he would give ruth and alice real "star" parts. they were eager for this, and, now that their father had seen how well they did, he was enthusiastic over them, and very glad to let them go on in the moving picture business. "who knows," he said, "but what it may mend the broken fortunes of the devere family?" one evening russ came over to the apartment of the girls. "come on out!" he called, gaily. "where?" asked ruth. "to the moving pictures. i've got a surprise for you. they are going to try my new invention for the first time." "may we go, daddy?" asked alice, anxiously. "yes, i guess so," he answered, absentmindedly, hardly looking up from the manuscript of a new play he was studying. so russ took the girls. "oh, let's see what is going on!" begged ruth, as they came to a halt outside a nearby moving picture theater. "no, don't bother now!" urged russ, gently urging them away from the lithographs and pictures in front of the place. "we're a bit late, and we want to get good seats." he got them inside before they had more than a fleeting glimpse of the advertisements of the films that were to be shown, and soon they were comfortably settled. "i wonder what we'll see?" mused ruth, looking about the darkened theater. the performance was just about to start. "i wish we could see our play," spoke alice. "when do you think we can, russ?" "oh, soon now," he answered, and the girls thought they heard him laugh. they wondered why. the first film was shown--a western scene, and the girls were not much interested in it, except that ruth remarked: "the pictures seem much clearer than usual." "that's on account of my invention," said russ, proudly. "i'm glad you noticed it." then the girls were more interested. a little later, when the title of the next play was shown, ruth and alice could not repress exclamations of pleased surprise. for it was "a false count!" "why, russ dalwood!" whispered alice. "did you know this was here?" "sure!" he chuckled. "oh, that's why you hurried us in without giving us a chance to see what the bill was," reproached ruth. "yes, i wanted to surprise you." "well, you did it all right," remarked alice. and then the girls gave themselves up to watching the moving pictures of themselves on the screen. it was rather an uncanny experience at first, but they soon became used to it, and gave themselves up to the enjoyment of the little play, made doubly delightful from the fact that they had helped to make it. "i'd hardly know myself," whispered alice. "nor i," added her sister. from the darkness behind them came a voice saying: "i saw this play this afternoon, mollie. it's fine. i like the tall actress best," and she referred to ruth, whose presentment was then on the screen. "she's so romantic, i think." "listen to that!" alice said to her sister. "don't your ears burn?" "indeed they do. oh! isn't it queer to see yourself, and hear yourself criticised?" "wasn't that fine?" demanded the unseen critic behind the sisters, as ruth did an effective bit of acting. "oh, i know i'm just going to love her. i hope she is in lots of films." "so do i," added her companion. "but i like the small one best--the one that was in the scene before this." "oh, you mean the jolly one?" "yes." "that's you, alice," whispered ruth. "now it's your turn for your ears to burn." "i thought you'd like this," commented russ. "this film is a hit, all right." and so it seemed, for the audience applauded when the little photo play was over, and that is a pretty good test. "i think they were perfectly splendid," said another voice off to the left. "who, those two girls in that play?" some one asked. "yes. they're new ones, too. i haven't seen them in any of the comet's other plays." "yes, i guess they must be new," and this was a girl's voice back in the darkness of the theater. "oh, i'd like to meet them! i wish i could act for the movies!" "she doesn't know how near she is to meeting us!" whispered alice to her sister, as the next film was flashed on the white screen. "did you ever have an experience like this before?" "i never did!" chapter xix a bit of outdoors "wasn't it fine!" "splendid! i never expected to see myself like that." "neither did i. russ, how did you come to think of it?" "oh, it just came to me," he answered, chuckling. the two "moving picture girls," as they laughingly called themselves, with russ, were on their way home from the little theater where they had just witnessed the depiction of themselves on the screen. they had listened with amusement, not unmixed with pride, at the whispered comments on the play in which they had taken part. "do you think--i mean--would you call that a successful film, russ?" asked alice. "i certainly would," he replied. "didn't i take it myself?" "that's so!" exclaimed ruth. "but i wish mr. pertell could know how well it went. not on our account," she added quickly, "but on account of his own business, and because dear daddy is in it. and the others, too--they'd be glad to know the audience liked it, i think." "don't worry," returned russ. "mr. pertell will know it soon enough. he keeps track of all his films, and he knows which are successful or not. he'll hear of this one the first thing in the morning. the owners of the theaters where our films are used report as to which go the best. and their own re-orders also show that. so you'll be discovered, all right." "oh, it wasn't so much that!" declared alice, quickly. "but it is new and strange to us, and i suppose we're too enthusiastic about it." "not a bit too enthusiastic!" russ assured her. "that's what i like to see, and i guess the manager does, too. it would be a good thing if some of the others were a little more enthusiastic. they'd do better acting. say!" he broke in, "what do you say to an ice cream soda? it's warm this evening," and he paused before a brilliantly lighted drug store. "shall we, ruth?" asked alice, with a queer little look at her sister. "oh, i don't know," began ruth, hesitatingly. "which means--yes!" alice cried, gaily. "come on!" mr. devere looked up inquiringly from his bundle of manuscript as the girls and russ entered the little apartment later. "oh, daddy! it was just fine!" cried alice, going over to him, and covering his eyes with her hands. "we saw ourselves--and you, too, as others see us!" added ruth. "i--er--i don't understand," their father whispered. "the moving pictures," explained alice. "it was that play, 'a false count,' you know. oh, it made a great hit, i can tell you!" "ah, i'm glad to hear it," he said. "sit down, russ." "no, i can't stay," answered the visitor from across the hall. "i've brought your daughters safely home, and now i have to get back. i've got a little work to do yet." "not at the studio; have you--so late?" asked ruth. "oh, it isn't late," he laughed. "but i want to do a little work on my invention. i've sort of struck a snag, and it's bothering me. i want it as nearly perfect as i can get it, and i've thought of an improvement i can put on it. so i'll say good-night." "thank you, ever so much, for taking us!" said alice, warmly. "yes, indeed, it was fine!" added ruth, her eyes sparkling. "to think of seeing ourselves! it was a great surprise." "oh, you'll get used to it after a while," returned russ. and then he went to his own room to labor ambitiously over his patent. "no more work to-night, dad!" announced ruth, firmly, as she saw her father preparing to resume the study of the manuscript containing his part in a new moving picture drama. "your eyes must be tired, and you must save them. it won't do to have them spoiled, as well as your voice." "no, i suppose not," he answered, somewhat wearily. "this work is rather trying. i believe i would like to get out in the open for a change. though i always said i never would do open-air parts in the movies." "i'd like to get out, too," said alice. "i enjoyed what little we did in the brooklyn garden very much." "i heard something at the studio about a prospect of the whole company being given a chance to do some outdoor dramas," observed ruth, musingly. "i wonder what was meant?" "mr. pertell will probably tell us when he has his plans perfected," alice returned. "you know, though, that he promised if this 'a false count' play should be a success he'd give us a chance in a more pretentious drama. i'm counting on that." "and so am i," said ruth. "come, now, daddy. no more work to-night." as russ had predicted, mr. pertell was not long in learning of the success of the play in which ruth and alice had main parts. in a day or so there came an increased demand for the films of the drama, and the manager was well pleased. "and now i'm going to keep the promise i made you," he said to ruth and alice. "i've been holding back on a big drama, waiting until i saw how that one turned out. i didn't have any doubts, though, after i saw you two act. now i'm going to star you in that. and afterward, well, we'll see what will happen. i've got a lot of ideas i want to try," he added. "mr. devere," the manager went on, "i believe you told me at one time that you did not care to do any acting that took you out in the open; am i right?" "i did say that," admitted the actor, in his husky voice; "but i think i have changed my mind since then. i believe i would like to get out of doors more." "then i have the very thing for you and your daughters, too," the manager said. "that is, if they have no objection to going out of doors?" and he looked questioningly at them. "we'd love it!" cried alice. "then i'll make my plans," went on mr. pertell, after a confirmatory nod from mr. devere. "i think you'll like your parts. one of the acts takes place on a yacht. i've hired one for a little trip down the bay, and you can play at being millionaires for a day." "how lovely!" cried ruth, and clapped her hands gleefully. "it is fine on the water these days!" exclaimed alice. "i'll have your parts ready soon," went on the manager. "i must start some of the other dramas going now," and he glanced about the studio. off in one corner, talking together, were miss pennington and miss dixon, and, as the two actresses conversed they cast envious glances, from time to time, at alice and ruth. they were plainly jealous of the rapid rise of our two friends, but the moving picture girls bore in mind what motherly mrs. maguire had told them, and did not worry. mr. pertell and his assistants gave out the parts in another play, and the rehearsals began. almost at the start there was trouble. "i'm not going to play that part!" objected wellington bunn, stalking with a tragic air toward the manager. "why, what's the matter with your part?" "why, you have been promising that you would put on one of shakespeare's plays, and give me a chance in hamlet, and here you go and cast me for one of a gang of counterfeiters. i have to wear a black mask. the public will not know that it is wellington bunn playing." "well, maybe it's a good thing they won't," murmured the manager, but what he said, aloud, was: "you will have to take that part, mr. bunn, or look for another engagement." "then i'll leave!" the old actor declared gloomily. but a little later he was observed to be putting on his mask, and taking his place in the "den of the counterfeiters," as the screen announced the place to be. it was one of the masterpieces of scenery evolved by pop snooks. and a little later he transformed the same scene, with a little manipulation, into the cave of a thirteenth century monk. such was pop snooks. "ha! ha! i haf a funny part!" laughed carl switzer, a little later. "what is it?" asked russ, who was getting a camera in readiness for action. "ha! it iss dot i go in a restaurant, und order a meal. der vaiter he brings me some cheese und i am so thoughtfulness dot i put red pepper and horse radish on it. den, ven i eat it i jumps ofer der table alretty yet. dot is a fine part!" and he laughed gleefully, for mr. switzer was a simple soul. a little later alice and ruth were given their new parts to study. it was announced that rehearsals would take place in a day or two, and many of the scenes were to be out of doors, some of them taking place on a yacht. meanwhile mr. devere went through with his rôle in a film drama, ruth and alice not being called on. finally announcement was made that the work of preparation for filming the big drama would be undertaken. this was the most ambitious play yet planned by mr. pertell, and he was anxious to make it a success. that the price of success is high was amply proven in the next week. everyone worked hard at the rehearsals, and none harder than ruth and alice. they were determined that their parts should be a credit to the performance. later they learned that miss pennington and miss dixon had pleaded for the rôles assigned to them. but mr. pertell was true to his promise, and kept alice and ruth in their assigned places. the drama was an elaborate one, involving the making of special scenery, and pop snooks had to call in several assistants. but he liked that. then, too, the location of the outdoor scenes had to be chosen with care, to fit properly into the story. but at last the rehearsals were complete, including those for the outdoor scenes. of course the latter were rehearsed in the studio first, so that when the time came to film such as the scenes on the yacht, the pictures could be made without any preliminary trial on the vessel itself. to this end pop had set up in the studio enough of the deck and fittings of a yacht to enable the performers to familiarize themselves with them. "and now for the real thing!" exclaimed russ, as a goodly part of the company, including mr. devere and his daughters, started for the battery one morning. they were to board the yacht there, and one of the scenes would show the girls going up the gang-plank. it was a beautiful day in early summer, when even new york, with its rattle of elevated trains, rumble of the surface cars and hurry and scurry of automobiles, was attractive. quite a throng of curious people gathered when the film theatrical company prepared to board the vessel which had been chartered for the occasion. the embarking place was near the round building, now used as an aquarium, but which, in former years, was castle garden, the immigrant landing station. "all ready now--start aboard," ordered mr. pertell. "and, russ, get your camera a little more this way. i want to show off the yacht as well as possible." the moving picture operator shifted his three-legged machine to one side, and was about to start moving the film, as ruth, alice and the others, presumably of a gay yachting party, started up the gang-plank. several feet of film had been exposed, when there was a series of shouts and cries back of the crowd that had gathered to see the pictures made in the open air. then came a warning: "a runaway! a runaway horse! look out!" the crowd parted, and ruth, looking up, saw a big horse, attached to a dray, dashing along one of the walks of battery park, having evidently come from one of the steamship piers nearby. "grab him, somebody!" yelled mr. pertell. "he'll spoil the picture!" that seemed to be his main thought. on came the maddened animal, while the crowd scattered still more. russ continued to make pictures, for the beast was not yet in focus. "go on! keep moving!" directed mr. pertell to ruth, alice and the others. "maybe you can get aboard before he gets here. watch yourself, russ!" but the horse was charging directly for the gang-plank, and with frightened eyes ruth, alice and some of the others prepared to rush back to the pier. "go on! i'll get that horse!" cried a voice back of mr. pertell, and a man, apparently a farmer, sprang at the head of the plunging steed. chapter xx farmer sandy apgar for a moment there was considerable confusion and excitement. men in pursuit of the frantic animal had rushed after him, calling warnings to those in the zone of danger. two policemen ran up to intercept the steed. as for the moving picture actresses they hardly knew what to do. if the plunging animal crashed into the gang-plank he might injure a number of the performers, and break the rather frail structure, letting them slip into the water. "that picture will be spoiled!" groaned mr. pertell. "no, it won't!" cried russ. "go on! i'm getting you all right. the horse isn't in range yet and that young fellow has him now. go on!" ruth and alice gathered courage and the others followed, going through with the little gang-plank "business" called for in the play. and indeed the quick-witted, rustic youth had the frantic horse in a firm grip. he seemed to know just how to handle frightened animals, and by the time the two policemen had reached him, the beast, though still restive, had quieted down. "good work, young fellow!" called one of the officers. "whose horse is it?" "i don't know, constable," was the answer, given with a country twang that caused several spectators to smile. "i jest seen him comin' and i see he was headed for them people what's goin' to europe, i expect. i didn't want their voyage spoiled, so i jest jumped at his head." "well, you know how to do it, all right," said the second "constable," as the young farmer had called the policemen. "i ought to know how to handle horses," was the answer, as the youth relinquished the reins to the officer. "i've been among 'em all my life. i was brought up on a farm." he looked it, but there was something in his simple, manly face, and in the look of his honest blue eyes, that made one like him. "good work, all right!" repeated the first officer. "i'll take your name, young fellow, for my report," and he drew out a notebook. "i'll also want to find out to whom the horse belongs, but i s'pose the truckman's license number will be a clue." "he's mine," broke in a voice, as a drayman pushed his way through the crowd. "some boys got to fooling around him, and he started off. no damage done, i hope." "no," replied the policeman, "but you want to tie your animal after this. he might have hurt someone--probably would have if it hadn't been for this chap. what's your name?" he asked the young farmer. "sandy apgar." "and where do you live?" "on oak farm." "never heard of the place," went on the officer, with a smile. "oh, that's the name of our farm. it's jest outside the town of beatonville, about forty miles back in jersey." "oh, jersey!" laughed the officer. "no wonder! well, there's your horse, truckman. and now i want your name." "can i go, or do i have to appear in court?" asked sandy apgar. "i hope i don't, 'caused i'm in a hurry to git back to the farm. i've got a passel of work to do there, with the weather coming on the way it is. "no, i guess you won't have to go to court," laughed the policeman. "we're much obliged to you." "and so am i," added the truckman. "i haven't got any money to give you, because business is poor----" "oh, that's all right," said sandy with a generous wave of his hand. "i don't stop runaway horses for a livin'. i farm it." "if you ever want any carting done," went on the drayman, "you send for me, young feller, and it won't cost you a cent." "guess you wouldn't want to do any cartin' as far as beatonville," laughed sandy. "folks out there don't ever move--they jest die and are buried in the same place. and i guess this is my last trip to new york in a long while. i'm jest as much obliged though," and patting the nose of the now quieted horse, he moved off through the thinning crowd. but he was not to escape unnoticed. mr. pertell had learned, by a hasty talk with russ, that the horse had been stopped just in time to avoid spoiling any of the film. russ had continued to make the pictures and the first act of the new drama was a success. the other scenes would take place on board the chartered yacht. so when the manager saw sandy apgar, who by his quick work had saved a film from being spoiled, making his way out of the throng, the theatrical man called to him: "one moment, please. i want to thank you." "gosh! i'm getting thanked all around to-day!" laughed the young fellow. "well, i want to make it a little more substantial, then," went on the manager. "you saved me a few dollars." "oh, pshaw, that's nothing!" returned sandy. "i guess your trip to europe could have gone on." "europe?" questioned mr. pertell. "yes; ain't you folks going to europe?" "no, this is only a make-believe trip," laughed the manager. "it's for moving pictures. see, there's the chap who was taking the films, and they'd been spoiled if that horse got on the gang-plank. so you see what you did for us." "moving pictures; eh?" mused sandy. "i thought they had to be took in the dark. leastways, all i ever saw was in the dark." "oh, that's just to show them," the manager explained. "but we ought to be under way now. can you come aboard for a little trip? we'll soon be back, and i want to thank you properly. i haven't time now. come, take a little trip with us." "well, i s'pose i can," responded sandy, slowly. "but i ought to be gettin' back to oak farm." however, he went aboard the yacht, looking curiously about him, and more curiously at russ, who began making more pictures as the yacht steamed off down the bay. there were to be a number of scenes on board, but they would not be filmed until the yacht was farther out. meanwhile, however, the progress of the ship down the bay was to be depicted on the screen, so russ took pictures from either rail, no members of the company being required in these. mr. pertell thus had a chance to talk to sandy. the young fellow was very willing to tell about himself. "yes, i live on a farm," he said. "it's a right nice place, too, in summer, though lonesome in winter. i've lived there all my twenty-two years--never knew any other place." "do you live there all alone?" asked ruth, for the young farmer had been introduced to the members of the company. "no, my father and mother are there with me. father is mr. felix apgar--maybe you've heard of him?" the young man asked the manager, innocently. "no, i don't think so," and mr. pertell had hard work to repress a smile. "well, he used to ship a lot of asparagus to new york, but maybe that was before your day," went on sandy. "pop is too feeble to work now, so i'm running the farm for him. and it--it's sorter hard," he added, rather pathetically. "especially when you ain't got any too much money. i come to new york to raise some," he went on, "but folks don't seem to want to part with any--especially on a second mortgage." "is that what you came for?" asked mr. pertell. "yep. i come to raise some money--we need it bad, out our way, but i couldn't do it." "suppose you tell me," suggested mr. pertell. "i may be able to help you." "say, mister, i reckon you've got enough troubles of your own, without bothering with mine," said sandy. "besides, maybe pop wouldn't like me to tell. no, i'll jest make another try somewhere else. but we sure do need cash!" "what for?" asked the manager, impulsively. "oh, maybe pop wouldn't like me to say. never mind. it was sure good of you to ask me for this ride. the folks at beatonville won't believe me when i tell 'em. but say, if ever you folks come out there, we'll give you a right good time--at oak farm!" he added, generously. "is your farm a large one?" asked the manager. "hundred and sixty acres. some woodland, some flat, a lot of it hilly and stony, and part with a big creek on it." "hum," mused mr. pertell. "that sounds interesting. i've been looking for a good farm to stage several rural dramas on, and your place may be just what i need." "to buy?" asked sandy, eagerly. "oh, no. but i might rent part of it for a time. i'll talk to you about it later. i've got to get some of these scenes going now," and the manager went to confer with russ. chapter xxi overheard the trip down the bay on the yacht was enjoyed by all, even though much of the time was taken up in depicting scenes from the drama. sandy apgar looked on curiously while the drama was being filmed, and when ruth and alice were not acting they talked to the young farmer. they found him good-natured and rather simple, yet with a fund of homely wit and philosophy that stood him in good stead. he described beatonville to them, and the farm where he and his aged parents tried to wrest a living from nature--that was none too kind. "i've had quite a little vacation since i come to new york," sandy said, "though it did take quite a bit of money. i reckon pop, though, will be disappointed that i can't bring back with me the promise of some cash." "then you need money very badly?" asked alice. "yes, miss. and i guess there ain't many farmers but what do. leastways, i never met any that was millionaires. though if the folks back home could see me now they'd think i was one, sittin' here doin' nothin'. it sure is great!" the girls were called away to enact some of the scenes requiring their presence, and when they came back they found sandy in conversation with the manager. the girls saw mr. pertell give sandy some bills, and when the young farmer protested, the manager said: "now never mind that!! you saved me more than that in stopping that runaway horse from spoiling my film and scene. you just take it, and when i get a chance i'll run up to your farm and look it over. "i haven't got all my plans made yet, but i'm thinking of making a series of plays with an old-fashioned farm as a background. is your place old-fashioned?" he asked. "that's what some city folks said once, when they stopped in their automobile to get a glass of milk," replied sandy. "we haven't any electric lights, nor even a telephone. so i guess we're old-fashioned, all right." "i should say so," laughed mr. pertell. "well, it may be the very thing i need when i go out on the rural circuit with my company. if it is, i could pay for the use of your farm, and it wouldn't interfere with your getting in the crops. in fact, i would probably want some scenes of harvesting, and the like." "well, come and we'll make you welcome," responded sandy, warmly. "only i never expected to get paid for stopping a runaway horse," he added as he looked at the roll of bills. "well, take it and have a good time during the rest of your stay in new york," advised the manager. "money's too scarce to waste on a good time," replied the young farmer, cautiously. "i'll use this to make up what i spent on railroad fare. my trip was a failure, but pop and mom will be glad it didn't cost me as much as i calculated, thanks to you. i hope you will get out to oak farm." "oh, you'll probably see me," mr. pertell assured him. "give me your address." the making of the films went on, and the water scenes of this latest and most elaborate drama were nearly all taken. "now we will have the scene in the small boat, where the party puts off to visit friends on the other vessel," announced mr. pertell. "they don't actually get there, as the alarm on board this vessel brings them back. but we'll have to show the start. now, mr. sneed, you are to go in the small boat first." some of the sailors on board the yacht prepared to lower a boat from the davits, but pepper sneed held back. "do i have to get into that small boat?" he asked, dubiously. "certainly!" replied mr. pertell. "there is no danger." "no danger!" cried pepper sneed. "what! in that small boat? look at the waves!" and he pointed over the side. there was only a gentle swell on. "it's as calm as a mill pond," spoke one of the sailors. "mill pond! don't say mill pond to me!" cried the grouchy actor. "i fell in one once." "well, you won't fall now," declared the manager. "get in the boat. i want to show it being lowered over the side with you in it." "well, if i have to--i'll have to, i suppose," groaned mr. sneed. "but i know something will happen." but matters seemed going smoothly enough. the sailors were carefully lowering the small craft, and it was nearly at the surface of the water. russ, up in the bow of the yacht, where he could get a good view, was making the pictures. suddenly, when the boat was a few feet from the ripples on the bay, one of the ropes slipped quickly through the davit block. one end of the boat went down quite fast and pepper sneed was heard to yell: "here i go! i knew something would happen! help! i'm going to sink! help! oh, why did i ever get into this business!" but with great presence of mind the other sailors lowered away on their rope, so that the other end of the boat went down also, and in another instant it was riding on an even keel. nothing had happened except that pepper sneed had been badly scared. "did you get that, russ?" asked the manager, anxiously. "oh, yes." "how was it?" "fine! it will be all the better with that little mistake in--look more natural." "good! then we'll leave it in. now the rest of you get down the accommodation ladder. stay there, mr. sneed!" he called to the grouchy actor, who seemed to want to leave the boat. "what! are more of them coming in this little cockleshell?" "certainly. that boat will hold twenty. keep your place." "well, we'll all be drowned, you mark my words!" predicted mr. sneed. but nothing else happened and that part of the film was successfully made. then came more scenes aboard the yacht, until the water parts of the drama were completed. late that afternoon the party of moving picture players returned to new york. sandy apgar bade his new friends good-bye, expressing the hope that he would soon see them at oak farm. "excuse me, mr. pertell," said alice, when they got back to the studio, and instructions had been given out for the indoor rehearsals next day, "excuse me, but i could not help overhearing what you said about the possibility of some farm dramas. do you intend to film some of those?" "indeed i do," he answered, with a smile. "why, would you and your sister like to be in them?" "very much!" "well, then, if this big play proves a success--and i see no reason why it should not--i shall take you and the rest of the company out to the country for the summer. we may go to oak farm, or to some other place; but we'll try a circuit of rural dramas, and see how they go." alice went to tell ruth the good news. she found her sister in the dressing room, getting ready for the street. "i think that will be fine!" exclaimed ruth. "listen, dear, daddy told me he had some business to attend to downtown, so he won't be home to supper. he suggested that we two go to a restaurant, and i think i'd like it--don't you? it will round out the day!" "of course. let's go. i'm _so_ hungry from that little water trip!" a short time afterward the girls sat in a quiet restaurant, not far from the moving picture studio. there were not many persons there yet, for it was rather early. ruth and alice had taken a cosy little corner, of which there were a number in the place. "we are coming on!" remarked alice, as she gave her order. "we certainly are!" agreed ruth. "who would ever have thought that we would get to be moving picture girls? i think----" "hush!" cautioned alice, raising her hand for silence. then the two girls heard some men in the next screened-off place talking, and one of them spoke loudly enough to be overheard. "i'm sure we can get it," he was saying. "it's a nice little patent, and all the movies in the country will want it. it makes the pictures clearer and steadier. i tried to make a deal with him for it, but he turned me down. now i'm going to get it anyhow, if you'll help." "but how can you get it if it's patented?" another voice asked. "that's the joke of it. it isn't patented yet. and all we need is the working model, and we can make one like it and patent it ourselves. are you with me?" "i guess so--yes!" was the answer. "good, then we'll get the model to-night and start a patent of our own. i know where he's taken it." there was a scraping of chairs, indicating that the men were leaving. ruth and alice gazed at each other with startled eyes. chapter xxii the warning "did you hear that?" asked ruth of alice, in a whisper. "yes! hush! don't let them hear you!" ruth looked apprehensively over the back of her chair, but beheld no one. the noise made by the men as they were going out grew fainter. alice rose from her chair. "what are you going to do?" asked ruth, laying a detaining hand on her sister's arm. "i'm going to see who those men are." "don't. they may----" alice made a gesture of silence. "i'm pretty sure who one of them is," she whispered, as she bent down close to ruth. "but i want to make certain." "but alice----" "now, ruth, be sensible," went on alice, as she passed around back of her sister's chair. "you heard what was said. i'm sure those men have some designs on that patent russ has worked so hard over. we must tell him about them, and put him on his guard." "you may get into danger." it was curious how, in this emergency--as she had often done of late--alice took the lead over her older sister. and ruth did not object to it, but seemed to follow naturally after alice led the way. "danger!" laughed alice softly, as she came to a position behind the screen, whence she could note who the men going out were. "there's no danger in a public restaurant like this. and i'm only going to make sure who that man is. then we'll go tell russ." ruth made no further objection, and turned to watch her sister. the men had come to a halt at the desk of the cashier, to pay their checks, and their backs were toward alice. an instant later, however, one of them had turned around and faced toward the rear of the restaurant. alice darted behind the screen with a quick intaking of her breath. she had recognized the man, and was fearful lest he know her. for he was the fellow with whom russ had been in dispute in the hallway that day, when the deveres' door had flown open. "simp wolley!" whispered alice, in tense tones to ruth. "it's that man who was after russ's patent." "then don't let him see you." "i won't--no danger. they're going out now. come on!" "where?" asked ruth, as alice reached for her gloves. "we must go to warn russ." "but we haven't eaten what we ordered," objected ruth, pointing to the food, hardly touched, on the table. "no matter, we can pay for it." "but the cashier will think it so odd." "what do we care. it's our food--we'll pay for it, and we can do what we like with it then. we can eat it or not." "but they'll think it so queer. they may think we have some prejudice against it, and----" ruth was a stickler for the established order of things. alice was more in the habit of taking "cross-cuts." "don't be silly!" exclaimed the younger girl. "we've just got to get out of here and warn russ before those men have a chance to take his patent. you heard what they said about doing it to-night!" "well, i suppose we must," assented ruth, with a sigh. "but it seems a shame to waste all that good food." "it won't be wasted. we can tell them to give it to some poor person." "oh, alice! you are so--so queer." "i'd be worse than queer if i sat here and ate while russ was being robbed of his patent. i should think you'd want to help him. i thought you and he----" "alice!" warned ruth, with a sudden assumption of dignity. but she blushed prettily. "oh, you know what i mean. come on. don't sit there talking any longer, and raising objections. we've got to hurry." "yes, i suppose so. oh, alice, i hope nothing happens!" "so do i." "i mean to us." "and i mean to russ. a distinction without a difference." the two girls drew on their gloves and left the restaurant. as ruth had expected, the cashier at the desk looked at them curiously as they paid for the meal they had not eaten. but alice forestalled any open criticism by saying: "we find we have to leave sooner than we expected. if you like, give our meal to some poor person. we haven't had time to touch it." "oh, all right," answered the young girl at the desk. "we often give what is left over to charity, and i'm sure the food on your table won't come amiss. if you like i'll speak to the manager, and see if he'll give you a rebate----" "no, we haven't time for that--too much of a hurry," answered alice. "come along, ruth." they hurried outside, and alice glanced quickly up and down the street for a glimpse of the two men. they were not in sight. "i wish we were rich!" suddenly exclaimed alice, as she took her sister's arm, and hurried in the direction of the elevated that would take them home. "why?" asked ruth. "because then we could afford to take a taxicab. we ought to warn russ as soon as possible. how much money have you, ruth?" "not enough for a taxicab, i'm afraid." she hastily counted it over. alice did the same. "no," decided the younger girl, with a sigh. "i guess we'd better not. at least--not yet. we may have to--later." "what do you mean?" asked ruth. "i mean we can't tell what will happen before we are able to tell russ. he's hardly likely to be at home now, and we may have to search for him." "but we can go home and tell his mother and billy. one of them could find him, and warn him. billy knows new york even better than we do." "yes, i suppose so. well, we'll go to the apartment and see what happens there." but at the fenmore the girls had their first disappointment, for none of the dalwoods was at home. nor did any of the neighbors know where they had gone. for persons in new york, even in the same apartment house, are not very likely to become acquainted with one another, and often families may live in adjoining flats for a long time, without passing beyond the bowing stage. as for keeping track of the comings and goings of their neighbors, it is never thought of, unless something out of the ordinary occurs. echoes only answered the knocking of ruth and alice, and the two girls faced each other in the hallway with anxious looks on their faces. "what shall we do?" asked ruth. "none of them is home. how can we warn russ?" "i don't know. i've got to think!" exclaimed alice. "come in our place and let's sit down a minute. we can make a cup of tea. i was so hungry, and to leave that nice little meal--well, we just had to do it, that's all." tea was soon in process of making, and while the girls set out some cakes and a jar of jam for a hasty meal they did some rapid thinking. "did you ever hear russ say where it was he was having his patent attachment made?" asked alice. "i never did," confessed ruth. "he said it was somewhere on the east side, but that's very indefinite." "then the only thing to do is to find russ and tell him," decided alice, as she removed, with the tip of her tongue, a spot of jam from a forefinger. "we've just got to find him. "now i'll tell you what we'll do, ruth. you stay here and as soon as mrs. dalwood, or billy, or perhaps even russ comes home, you tell them all about this plot." "but what will you do?" "i'll go find russ." "what! alone?" "why not? we can't both go. oh, i see!" and a light broke over the face of alice. "you mean you think it's _your_ place to warn him. well, maybe it is. i'm sure he would like----" "now, alice, i didn't mean that at all, and you know it. i meant you oughtn't to be going about new york alone, and it's getting late. it will soon be dark." "nonsense! it isn't six o'clock yet." "i know. but i can't allow you. we'll both go." "but someone ought to be here to tell them as soon as one comes home." "we can write a note and leave it under the door. then we can leave a note for daddy. he'll be worried when he comes back and finds us gone. that's the best plan, alice. leave a note for russ, and then you and i will try to find him. they may know at the studio where he has gone. or he may be there yet." "all right!" agreed alice, after a moment's thought. chapter xxiii the missing model two notes were quickly written. one was left on the table in the girls' apartment, telling their father that they were going out for a little while, to try to locate russ on a matter of some importance connected with the moving pictures. "there's no use telling daddy what has happened," said alice. "he would only worry, and really there's no danger. we are merely going to warn russ. he'll have to look after the men himself. but daddy would be sure to think we would get into some trouble. so we may as well not bother him." "all right!" agreed ruth. she was entering into the spirit of the affair now. her eyes were shining and her cheeks vied in hue with those of alice. the other note, marked "urgent!" was thrust under the kitchen door of the dalwood flat. "they'll be sure to see that," remarked alice. "and, no matter if only billy comes home first, he'll know what to do," for the story of the men's talk in the restaurant had been briefly set down on the paper. then, but not without many misgivings, the girls set out to try to find russ. "we can call up the studio on the telephone," suggested alice, as she and her sister reached the street. "that will be the quickest way. if russ isn't there they may be able to tell us where he is, or mr. pertell may know where the model is--i mean the machine shop where the apparatus is being turned out." "that's so," agreed ruth. "why, we could have used one of the telephones in the apartment!" "no, some of the neighbors would overhear us, and we don't want that." "why not?" ruth wanted to know. "because you can't tell but one of those men may be watching this place, and some of the neighbors may be in league with them. besides, all the telephones here are on party wires, and when you talk over one, some of the other subscribers on the same circuit may listen, for all we can tell. it isn't safe." "my! you think of everything!" exclaimed ruth, admiringly. "how do you manage it?" "oh, it just seems to come to me," replied alice, with a laugh. "come on," she added, after they had walked a little way. "there's a drug store and there's a telephone booth in it. do you want to talk to russ, in case he's there?" "oh, no, you'd better," responded ruth, blushing. "i will not. i'll call up the studio, but if he's there i want you to be the one to tell him. he'll appreciate it." "all right," agreed ruth, and the blush grew deeper. alice quickly got the number of the moving picture studio. there was a private branch exchange there, and alice knew the girl operator. "i want to get russ dalwood in a hurry," alice explained to miss miller, who ran the switchboard. "you try the different departments until you find him. i'll be here, holding the wire." "all right!" returned miss miller, in crisp, business-like tones. perhaps she suspected that something was wrong. then ensued a nervous waiting. alice opened the door of the booth and told ruth what she had done. "i'll let you talk to russ as soon as he answers," she said. ruth nodded understandingly. but it seemed that russ was not to be so easily found. through her receiver alice could hear miss miller ringing the telephones in the different departments of the big studio building. one after the other was tried, from the office to the dark developing rooms, and then the printing rooms. most of the employees had gone for the day, but such as were present evidently made answer that the young moving picture operator was not there. "i can't locate him," said miss miller to alice, finally. "they say he was here about a half-hour ago, but has gone out." "don't they know where he went?" asked alice. "it's very important that we find him." "i'll see if anyone knows," came back the answer. then ensued more waiting, but at the end came a gleam of hope. "mr. blackson, in the camera room, says he heard russ say he was going to the odeon theater," miss miller stated. "he is trying to get one of his attachments tried there." "where is the odeon?" asked alice, nervously drumming with her fingers on the telephone shelf. "it's on eightieth street somewhere. wait, i'll look up the telephone number for you. they take our service, you know." in a few seconds miss miller had given the desired information, and then alice said "good-bye" to her, frantically working the receiver hook of her instrument up and down to call the attention of the main central operator. "and give them a good, long ring!" alice added, as she gave the number. "it's very important." "very well," answered central. there came more waiting. it was a bad time to get anyone, for it was now shortly after six o'clock, just when most persons were leaving for home or supper. "can't you get them?" asked ruth, as alice opened the 'phone booth door for a breath of air. "i'm trying, dear. he'd left the studio, but may be at a moving picture theater. there, they've answered at last!" alice pulled the door shut with her disengaged hand, and spoke eagerly into the transmitter. "is mr. russ dalwood there? it's very important!" ruth saw the look of dismay that came over her sister's face. then through the double glass door she heard alice say: "he's gone! and you don't know where? left ten minutes ago? oh dear!" slowly she hung up the receiver. there seemed nothing else to do. she came out of the booth, her face showing her disappointment. "he's gone, ruth," she said. "what had we better do?" "i think the only thing to do is to go back home and wait for him. he may be there now. or his mother or billy may. come on home." it was ruth who was directing now, and alice, after a moment of thought, saw that this was the only thing to do. quickly they retraced their steps to the apartment house. without stopping to enter their own flat they knocked on the dalwood door. a few seconds of anxious waiting brought no answer. "not home yet!" exclaimed alice. "oh, what a shame." ruth turned to their own flat. entering with a pass-key she saw at a glance that their father had not come home. the note for him was still on the table. then, as puzzled and disappointed, the two girls stood in the center of the room, they heard someone coming up the stairs that led to their flat. a second later and a merry whistle broke out. "there he is--that's russ!" cried alice, joyfully. "i'll tell him; no--you go!" she added hastily, thrusting her sister before her into the hallway. the whistle broke off into a discord as russ saw ruth standing waiting for him. something in her face must have told him something was the matter, for he came up the remaining steps three at a time. "what is it? what has happened?" he asked. "is someone hurt?" "no, it's your patent--the model. some men--alice and i overheard them in the restaurant--we've been trying to get you on the 'phone--i--we----" then alice broke in. "they're after your moving picture machine patent, russ! they're going to get it to-night--simp wolley! you've got to hurry!" between them the girls quickly told what they had overheard. russ's eyes snapped. "so that's the game; is it?" he cried. "well, i'll stop them! i'm mighty glad you told me. my patent model, the drawings and everything are at burton's machine shop. it isn't far from here. i'll go right away--in a taxicab. do you----" he hesitated a moment. "do you want to come?" "we might be able to help," suggested alice to ruth. "at any rate, we'll have to give evidence against those men if they get them. shall we go, ruth?" "i--i think so--yes." "bravo!" whispered alice in her ear. "that note to daddy will answer. you'd better leave another in place of the one we wrote to you, russ." "i will," he exclaimed as he entered his own flat. "but mother and billy won't be home until late, anyhow. they're going to stay to supper with relatives. still, i'll explain in case i should be delayed." quickly he dashed off another note for his mother, and then, with the two girls, he hurried down to the street. there was a taxicab stand just around the corner, and the three were quickly on their way to the machine shop, while ruth and alice took turns giving more details of the scene in the restaurant. "here we are!" announced russ, a little later, as the cab drew up, with a screeching of brakes, in front of a rather dingy building. "i only hope we're in time, and that burton hasn't gone yet." he jumped out of the cab, leaving ruth and alice sitting there. frantically he threw open the door and rushed up the shop stairs. "oh, i do hope he is in time," breathed ruth, softly. "so do i," spoke alice. "i wonder how men can be so mean as to want to take what isn't theirs?" "i don't know, dear. oh, hasn't this been an exciting day?" "i should say it had. if ever--there's russ now!" she interrupted herself to exclaim. "oh, ruth. it looks as though we were too late!" for russ, with a dejected look on his face, was crossing the pavement toward the cab. "it--it's gone," he said brokenly. "simp wolley was here a half-hour ago and got it!" "but how could he?" asked alice in surprise. "who gave it to him?" "mr. burton. there was a forged order, supposed to be from me, and the machinist handed over the model," and russ extended a crumpled and grimy bit of paper. chapter xxiv the pursuit "how did it happen, russ?" "where have the men gone with the model?" "can't you get some trace of them?" thus ruth and alice questioned their friend, as he stood at the open window of the taxicab, looking at the crumpled paper. "i--i don't understand it all," he confessed. "after i knew those fellows were after my patent i cautioned mr. burton about letting any strangers see it." a figure came into the doorway of the machine shop. it was that of an elderly man, with steel-rimmed spectacles. his face was grimy with the dirt of metal. "i'm awfully sorry, russ," he said, contritely. "but of course i thought the note was from you, and gave up the model." "did simp wolley get it?" asked alice, eagerly. "no, a uniformed messenger boy came for it," explained russ. "that was it; wasn't it, mr. burton?" "yes. and i had no suspicions. you know you had said you might want the model some time in a hurry, to demonstrate to possible buyers, and of course when the boy came with the note i supposed you had sent him. i'm not familiar enough with your handwriting to know it," he added. "no, i suppose not," admitted russ. "and yet if you had been this might have deceived you. it is very like my writing. i guess wolley must have had a sample to practice on." "it all seemed regular," went on mr. burton. "i was working away, making some of the finished appliances from your model and drawings, when the boy brought the note. he was a regular messenger boy, i could tell that. and the note only asked for the model--not for any of the finished machines, of which i had two. he didn't even want the drawings, or i might have been suspicious." "they won't need the drawings as long as they have the model. they can make drawings themselves," spoke russ. "but if they only have the model, and you still have some of the finished appliances," asked alice, "can't you get ahead of them yet?" "i'm afraid not," russ replied. "you see, the patent office doesn't require models to be filed in all cases now. you can get a patent merely on drawings. they can still get ahead of me." "not if you file your drawings now!" exclaimed ruth. "yes, but i'm not ready. you see the machine isn't perfected yet. i am still working on it. but they can file a prior claim, and get a patent on something so near like mine that i would be refused a patent when i applied. "you see i haven't made any formal application yet. of course, if it came to a question of a lawsuit, i might beat them out. but i have no money to hire lawyers, and they have. the only thing for me to do is to get that model back before they have a chance to use it to make drawings from. and how to do it i don't know." "do you know who that messenger boy was?" asked alice suddenly of the machinist. "i never saw him before, miss--no. he came in a taxicab." "a taxicab!" cried russ, excitedly. "you didn't say that before. did you happen to notice the number?" if ever russ dalwood was thankful it was then, and the cause of it was that mr. burton had a mathematical mind in which figures seemed to sprout by second nature. "i did notice the number," he said. "it isn't often that taxicabs stop out in front here, and i looked from my window as one drew up at the curb. i was working on your patent at the time. i saw the number of the cab, later, as the messenger boy rode off in it with the model." "what was it?" asked russ, preparing to make a note. the machinist gave it to him. "now if we can only trace it!" exclaimed the young inventor. "i guess i can help you out, friend," broke in their own taxicab chauffeur. "i've got a list of all the cabs in new york, and the companies that run them." rapidly he consulted a notebook, and soon had the desired information. the office of the company was not far away, and russ and the girls were soon speeding toward it. what the next move was to be no one could say. the manager remembered the call that had come in. two men had come with a messenger boy to engage a cab to go to the address of the machine shop. "and who were the two men?" asked russ. the manager described one whom ruth and alice had no difficulty in recognizing as simp wolley. "the other man was shorter and not so well dressed," the cab manager went on. "bud brisket!" exclaimed russ. "i know him. now the question is: where did they take my model?" "there i'm afraid i can't help you," said the manager. "wait!" exclaimed alice. "did you happen to notice the number on the messenger boy's cap?" "no, i did not, i'm sorry to say," the man answered. "then that clue is no good," spoke russ, with a sigh. "it might be," put in ruth. "the messenger was probably engaged from the office nearest here. we could find that and make some inquiries." "so we could!" cried alice. "oh, ruth, you're a dear!" russ looked as though he would have said the same thing had he dared. an inquiry over the telephone to the main office of the messenger service, brought the desired information. and soon, in their taxicab russ, ruth and alice were at the sub-station. there the identity of the messenger was soon learned, and he was sent for. "sure, i went to de machine shop," admitted the snub-nosed, freckled-faced lad. "i got some sort of a thing. i didn't know what it was." "and where did you take it?" asked russ eagerly. "right where dem men told me to. dey met me around de corner, got in de cab and rode off wid it." "and what did you do?" asked the manager of the messenger. "oh, dey gave me carfare, an' a tip, and i come back here." "but where did they go?" asked russ. "off in de taxi. i didn't notice." russ looked hopeless, but ruth exclaimed: "we've got to go back to the taxi office and see the chauffeur of that car. he's the only one who can tell us where the men are." "good!" cried russ. "we'll do it." back again they went, to find that the car had just come in, after a long trip. the chauffeur readily gave the address to which he had driven the two men, after the messenger boy had gotten out. it was in an obscure section of jersey city. "and there's where i'm going!" cried russ. "wolley and brisket are probably going to try to work their scheme from there. but maybe i can stop them." "i--i think we had better go home, alice dear," said ruth gently, at this point. "yes," sighed the other, "though i'd love to be there at the finish!" "alice!" gasped her sister. "well, i would," she said, defiantly. "maybe it wouldn't be best," suggested russ. "i'll get a friend of mine, though. now shall i take you home?" "no, indeed!" cried ruth. "that will delay you. you go right on after them. alice and i can get home all right. it isn't late." "it will give me pleasure if the young ladies will allow me to send them home in one of our cabs," put in the manager. "i am sorry that any of our men was used in a criminal manner." "it wasn't your fault," spoke russ. "but i guess the girls will be glad to be sent home. i'll keep on. i haven't any time to lose." and while he sped off in his taxi, in pursuit of the men who were trying to cheat him out of his patent, ruth and alice took their places in another cab, and were driven back to the fenmore apartment. chapter xxv the capture mr. devere was rather worried when he reached home, and found his daughters' note. he puzzled over what could have taken them out with russ, and went across the hall to inquire. by this time mrs. dalwood had returned, and found the note her son had left. there was not much information in it--russ had not had time for that--and the mystery seemed all the deeper. "i wonder what i had better do?" asked mr. devere of mrs. dalwood. "just don't do anything--and don't worry," she advised. "i know your daughters are able to take care of themselves--especially miss alice." "yes, she seems very capable--of late," he agreed, remembering how she had worked to get him into the moving picture business. "and with russ no harm will come to them," went on mrs. dalwood. "he's a good boy." "indeed he is! but i wish i knew what it was all about." there was the honk of an auto horn in the street below, and as they looked out, they saw, in the gleam of a street lamp, ruth and alice alighting. "there they are now!" exclaimed mr. devere, with a note of relief in his voice. "but russ isn't with them!" said mrs. dalwood, in surprise. "i wonder what can have happened to him?" anxiously the two parents waited until the girls came up. "oh, such a time!" cried alice, breathlessly. "where's russ?" demanded his mother. "after the men--simp wolley and bud brisket!" "oh, those horrid men!" "he's all right," said ruth, gently. "he is going to get mr. pertell and an officer to go with him." "but what is it all about?" asked mr. devere. then, rather disjointedly, and with many interruptions, the girls told the story of the afternoon and evening, for it was now nearly nine o'clock. of course mr. devere and mrs. dalwood were much worried when they learned what had happened, and the widow was not at her ease when she thought of her son still not out of danger. "but i'm sure he will soon be back," declared alice, confidently. she was a great comfort in trouble--a real optimist. then followed a period of anxious waiting. it was broken by the return of russ, rather disheveled, tired and excited, but with his precious model safe in the taxicab with him and mr. pertell. "why, russ, where have you been?" cried mrs. dalwood. "i just wish i'd been there!" exclaimed billy. "was there a fight, russ?" "a--little one," he admitted, with a glance at the girls. "but it was soon over." "and where are the men now?" asked alice. "safe in jail." then he told what had happened. after alice and ruth had gone home in the taxicab he had called for mr. pertell, explaining what had occurred. a special officer was engaged, and the three went to the address in jersey city, where wolley and brisket had gone with the model. the place was in a rather disreputable neighborhood. in a back room, which was approached with caution, the two plotters were found with a draughtsman whom they had hired to make drawings of the model. the two scoundrels were taken by surprise and easily overpowered, after a short resistance. the draughtsman was an innocent party, and was allowed to go, after promising to give evidence against wolley and brisket. the latter were put under arrest, and with his precious model safe in his possession russ started for home. "they didn't have time to do a thing!" exclaimed the young inventor, enthusiastically. "thanks to you girls." "oh, we didn't do anything," said ruth, modestly. "i think you did!" cried russ, looking at her admiringly. "it was all alice!" she said. "'twas you who thought of the most practical plans!" insisted the younger girl. "oh, russ! i'm so glad!" "and so am i," said ruth, softly. "well, i must say, for two girls who haven't been much in public life, you two are coming on," said mr. devere, in his hoarse tones. "but i am glad of it!" the prompt action of alice and ruth, enabling russ to recover his invention, worked against the plans of the plotters. they were easily convicted of fraud, and sent to prison. as for the invention of russ, he soon perfected it, and put it out on royalty. many moving picture machine men agreed to use it on their projectors, and to pay him a sum each year for the privilege. so russ was assured of a goodly income for some time. * * * * * "well," said ruth the next morning, as she and alice arose late after their evening of excitement, "now that is over, the next matter to be considered is: what are we going to do from now on?" "act in moving pictures, i should say," replied alice. "we seem to be committed to it now. i wonder how that big drama came out? i hope it's a success. for i do so want to go on the rural circuit; don't you?" "i think i do," answered ruth. "russ is going along to make the pictures, i believe," added alice, softly. "is he?" asked ruth, with an air of indifference. "and i suppose paul ardite will be one of the company," she added. "how'd you guess?" laughed alice. "a little bird told me." two days later the entire company who had taken part in the making of the big film, scenes of which were laid on the yacht, were invited to see the pictures projected. from the very first it was seen that the play was going to be a success--at least from a mechanical standpoint and some time later it was demonstrated to be a success from a popular one also. the girls looked on while the pictures of themselves, their father and others of the company were thrown on the white screen. they saw the scene at the gang-plank, where the runaway had almost spoiled it, but there was no sign of the horse in the pictures. sandy apgar had taken care of that. "i really must go out to see his farm," said mr. pertell. "i believe it may be just the place for us. but i wonder what made sandy so sad, and so much in need of money? perhaps i can help him." there came the incident of pepper sneed falling down with the lifeboat. "look! look!" cried the grouchy actor. "i don't like that! it makes me ridiculous. i demand that it be taken out, mr. pertell!" "can't do it! that's the best part of the play!" laughed the manager. "and as for me--i positively refuse to act again, if i am to be shown as a sailor, in those ridiculous white trousers!" cried wellington bunn. "very well, then, i suppose you don't care to go on the rural circuit with us," said mr. pertell. "oh--er--ah! um! well, you may with-hold my resignation for a time," said the shakespearean actor, stiffly. "but it is against my principles." "then we are going on the rural circuit?" asked alice, eagerly. "yes," the manager assured her. "this play is going to be a big success, i'm sure. i want to try a new kind now--outdoor scenes." and that the play was a success was soon evidenced by the receipts which poured into the treasury of the comet film company. "oh, what do you imagine it will be like--in the country?" asked ruth of alice, a little later, when it was definitely decided that they were to go. "i don't know," answered alice. "it depends on what happens." and what did happen may be learned by reading the next volume of this series, to be called: "the moving picture girls at oak farm; or, queer happenings while taking rural plays." "well, i'll be glad of a little rest," said alice, one day, when they were coming from the studio, after having posed in some scenes for a little parlor drama. "so will i," agreed ruth. "we have been very busy these last two weeks." "especially since we helped russ to get back his patent," added her sister. "and now for oak farm!" "oh, then it's been definitely decided that we are to go there?" "yes, mr. pertell said he went out there, met sandy apgar and arranged to use the place. we're to board there, too. i guess it will be a help to the apgars. mr. pertell said they needed money. and, ruth, he said there was some sort of a mystery out there, too." "a mystery? what sort?" "i don't know. we'll have to wait until we get there. come on, let's hurry home and tell daddy." and now, for a time, we will take leave of the moving picture girls. the end =the janice day series= =by helen beecher long= _ mo, cloth, illustrated, and colored jacket_ a series of books for girls which have been uniformly successful. janice day is a character that will live long in juvenile fiction. every volume is full of inspiration. there is an abundance of humor, quaint situations, and worth-while effort, and likewise plenty of plot and mystery. an ideal series for girls from nine to sixteen. janice day, the young homemaker janice day at poketown the testing of janice day how janice day won the mission of janice day =the nan sherwood series= by annie roe carr _ mo, cloth, illustrated, and colored jacket_ in annie roe carr we have found a young woman of wide experience among girls--in schoolroom, in camp and while traveling. she knows girls of to-day thoroughly--their likes and dislikes--and knows that they demand almost as much action as do the boys. and she knows humor--good, clean fun and plenty of it. nan sherwood at pine camp or the old lumberman's secret nan sherwood at lakeview hall or the mystery of the haunted boathouse nan sherwood's winter holidays or rescuing the runaways nan sherwood at rose ranch or the old mexican's treasure nan sherwood at palm beach or strange adventures among the orange groves note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustration. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h.zip) the moving picture girls in war plays or the sham battles at oak farm by laura lee hope author of "the moving picture girls," "the moving picture girls at sea," "the outdoor girls series," "the bobbsey twins series," "the bunny brown series," etc. illustrated the saalfield publishing co. akron, ohio new york made in u.s.a. copyright, , by grosset & dunlap [illustration: "here they come!" yelled paul, as the first of the soldiers came into view--_page ._ _the moving picture girls in war plays._] contents chapter page i the old newspaper ii off for oak farm iii hard at work iv a rehearsal v a daring rider vi a needed lesson vii estelle's leap viii a massed attack ix miss dixon's loss x lieutenant varley xi wonderings xii an interruption xiii forgetfulness xiv in the smoke xv the hospital tent xvi a retake xvii estelle's story xviii "what can we do?" xix a big gun xx a wrong shot xxi the big scene xxii alice does well xxiii a bad fall xxiv a denial of identity xxv reunion the moving picture girls in war plays chapter i the old newspaper "there, i think i have everything in that i'll need at oak farm." "everything! good gracious, ruth, how quickly you pack! why, i've oceans and oceans of things yet to go into my trunk! oh, there are my scout shoes. i've been looking everywhere for them. i'll need them if i do any hiking in those war scenes," and alice devere dived under a pile of clothing, bringing to light a muddy, but comfortable, pair of walking shoes. "i don't know what i'd do without them," she murmured. "alice!" cried ruth, her sister, and the shocked tone of her voice made the younger girl look up quickly from the contemplation of the shoes. "why, what have i done now?" came in rather injured accents. "i'm sure i didn't use any slang; and as for not having all my things packed as quickly as you, why, ruth, my dear, you must remember that you are an exception--the one that proves the rule." "i didn't say you used any slang, alice dear. nor did i intimate that you were behind in your packing. i'll gladly help you. but it---- those shoes!" and she pointed a finger dramatically at the "brogans," as alice sometimes called them. "those shoes? what's the matter with them? they're a perfectly good pair, as far as i can see; and they're mighty comfortable." "oh, alice--mighty?" "well, i can't get over using such words, especially since we heard so many strong expressions from the sailors when we were in those sea films. mine sound weak now. but what's the matter with the shoes, ruth?" "they're so muddy, dear. they will soil all your pretty things if you put them in your trunk in that condition. you don't want that, do you?" "i should say not--most decidedly! especially since pretty things with me last about one day. i don't see how it is you keep yours so nice and fresh, ruth." "it's because i'm careful, dear." "careful! bosh! care killed a cat, they say. i'm sure i'm careful, too---- oh, here's that lace collar i've been looking everywhere for!" she made a sudden reach for it, there was a ripping, tearing sound, and alice was gazing ruefully at a rent in the sleeve of her dress. "oh, for the love of trading stamps!" she ejaculated. "alice!" gasped ruth. "well, i don't care! i had to say something. look at that rip! and i wanted to wear this dress to-day. oh----" "that's just it, alice," interrupted ruth, in a gentle, chiding voice. "you are too impulsive. if you had reached for that lace less hurriedly you wouldn't have torn your dress. and if you took care of your things and didn't let your laces and ribbons get strewn about so, they would last longer and look fresher. i don't want to lecture----" "i know you don't, you old dear!" and alice leaned over--they were both sitting on the floor in front of trunks--and made a motion as though to embrace her sister. but a warning rip caused her to desist, and, looking over her shoulder, she found her skirt caught on a corner of the trunk. "there! did you ever?" she cried. "i can't even give you a sisterly hug without pulling myself to pieces. i'm all upset--excited--unstrung--wellington bunn doing hamlet isn't to be compared to me. i must get straightened out." "i guess that's it--you're all tangled up in your packing," said ruth, with a laugh. "truly, i don't mean to lecture, alice, but you must go a bit slower." "not with this packing--i can't, and be ready in time. why! you are all prepared to go. i'll just throw the things into my trunk and----" "now, don't do that. don't throw things in. you can put in twice as much if you lay the things in neatly. i'll help you. but--oh, dear----!" ruth made a gesture of despair. "what's the matter now? what are you registering?" and alice used the moving picture term for depicting one of the standard emotions. the girls were both moving picture actresses. "i'm trying to register dismay at the muddy state of those scout shoes, as you call them, alice. they may be nice and comfortable, as you say, and really they do look so. and i have no doubt you will find them useful if we have to do much tramping over the hills of oak farm. but----" "oh, we'll have to do plenty of hiking, as russ dalwood warned us," alice put in. "you know, there are to be several civil war plays filmed, and they didn't have automobiles or motor cycles to get about on in those days. so we'll have to walk. and it will be over rough ground, so i thought these shoes would be just the thing." "they will, alice. i must get a pair myself, i think. but i was just wondering how you got them so terribly muddy. how did you?" "oh, paul ardite and i were in that central park scene the other day. you know, 'a daughter of the woods,' and some of the scenes were filmed in the park. it was muddy, and i didn't get a chance to have the brogans cleaned, for i had to jump from the park into the ballroom scene of 'his own enemy,' and there was no time. we had to retake in that scene because one of the extras was wearing white canvas shoes instead of ballroom slippers, and the director didn't notice it until the film was run out in the projection room. "so that accounts for the mud on the shoes, ruth. but i suppose i can 'phone down to the janitor and have him send them out to the italian at the corner. he'll take the mud off." "no, i don't know that you can do that, alice. we haven't any too much time. if i had an old newspaper, i could wrap the shoes up in that for you, and pack them in the bottom of your trunk. then the mud wouldn't soil your clothes." "an old newspaper? here's a stack of them. daddy just brought them from his room. guess he's going to throw them away." alice reached up to a table and lifted the top paper from a pile near the edge. she opened it with a flirt of her hand and was about to wrap the muddy shoes in it when some headlines on one page caught her attention. she leaned eagerly forward to read them, and spent more than a minute going over the article beneath. "well," remarked ruth finally, with a smile, "if you're going to do that, alice, you'll never get packed. what is it that interests you?" "this, about a missing girl. why, look here, ruth, there's a reward of ten thousand dollars offered for news of her! why, i don't remember seeing this before. look, it's quite startling. a san francisco girl--mildred passamore--mysteriously disappears while on a train bound for seattle--can't find any trace of her--parents distracted--they've got detectives on the trail--going to flood the country with photographs of her--all sorts of things feared--but think of it!--ten thousand dollars reward!" "let me see," and in spite of the necessity for haste in the packing, ruth devere forgot it for the moment and came to look over her sister's shoulder to read the account of the missing california girl. "it is strange," murmured ruth. "i don't remember about that. i wonder if she could be around here? the new york police are wonderful in working on mystery cases." "but the funny part of it is," said alice, "that i haven't noticed anything about it in the new york papers. have you? this is a san francisco paper. naturally they'd have more about it than would the journals here. but even the new york papers would have big accounts of such a case, especially where such a large reward is offered." "that's so," agreed ruth. "i wonder why we haven't seen an account of it in our papers. i read them every day." "what's that? an account of what? have the papers been missing anything?" asked a deep, vibrating voice, and an elderly man came into the girls' room and regarded them smilingly. "oh, hello, daddy!" cried alice, blowing him a kiss. "i'm almost ready." "hum, yes! you look it!" and he laughed. "it's this, daddy," went on ruth, holding out the paper. "we were going to wrap alice's muddy shoes in this sheet, when we happened to notice an account of the mysterious disappearance of a mildred passamore, of san francisco, for whom ten thousand dollars reward is offered. there has been nothing in the new york papers about it." mr. devere, an old-time actor, and now employed, with his daughters, by a large motion picture concern, reached forth his hand for the paper. he gave one look at the article, and then his eyes went up to the date-line. he laughed. "no wonder there hasn't been anything in the new york papers of to-day about this case," he said. "this paper is four years old! but i remember the passamore case very well. it created quite a sensation at the time." "poor girl! was she ever found?" asked ruth. "why, yes; i believe she was," said mr. devere, in rather dreamy tones. he was looking over other articles in the paper. "who got the reward?" asked alice. "eh? what's that?" her father seemed to come back from a mental journey to the past. "i say, who got the reward?" "what reward?" "why, daddy! the one offered for the finding of miss passamore. the girl we just told you about--in the paper--ten thousand dollars. don't you remember?" "oh, yes. i was thinking of something else i just read here. oh, the reward! well, i suppose the police got it. i don't remember, to tell you the truth. i know that her disappearance at the time created quite a sensation." "and are you sure she was found?" "oh, yes, quite sure. look here!" and with a smile on his face he leaned forward, one rather fat finger pointing to the article he had just been reading. "i was wondering how you girls got hold of this old back-number paper, but i see it's one of several i saved because they had printed notices of my acting. this is a very good and fair criticism of my work when i was appearing in shakespearian drama--a very fair notice, ahem!" and mr. devere leaned back in his chair, a gratified smile on his face. "a fair notice! i should say it was!" laughed alice. "it does nothing but praise you, and says the others offered you miserable support." "well, it was fair to _me_," said mr. devere. "yes, i remember that tour very well. we were in california at the time of this miss passamore's disappearance. helen gordon was my leading lady then. ah, yes, that was four years ago." "no wonder there wasn't anything in to-day's new york papers," said alice. "well, let me wrap up my shoes, and i'll try to have this packing done in time to get out to oak farm." "yes, i just stopped in to see how you were coming on," put in her father. "mr. pertell wants to get started, and it won't do to disappoint him. there are to be several thousand men and horses in the production, and the bill for extras will be heavy." "i'll hustle along, daddy!" cried alice. "do you want that paper?" "no, you may take it. i'll just tear out this page with the theatrical notice of myself." he handed the remainder of the paper to his daughter, who, with the help of her sister, wrapped up the muddy shoes. then the girls proceeded with the putting in of other articles and garments that would be needed during their stay at oak farm. "i wonder----" began alice, when there came a knock on their door, and a voice demanded: "i say, girls!--are you there?" "yes, russ. come on in!" answered alice. "oh, and with the room looking the way it is!" remonstrated ruth. "can't be helped. russ knows what packing is," alice declared, as a tall, good-looking young man entered. "come on!" he cried. "no time to lose." "what's the matter? is the place on fire?" asked ruth. "no. but there's got to be a retake in that last scene of 'only a flivver,' and mr. pertell sent me to get you. it won't take long, but they're in a hurry for it. come on! paul is waiting outside in the machine and i've got the camera. hustle!" chapter ii off for oak farm "what's that, russ? a retake?" asked alice. "yes, of that auto scene in the park." "is that the one i'm in?" ruth inquired. "yes. you're both in it, and so is paul. it's the scene where mr. bunn is struck by the auto mud-guard--not hurt, you know, and you, ruth, jump out to give first aid." "what's the matter with the scene?" asked alice. "i certainly struck him all right with the mud-guard." "yes, that part was all right," russ admitted. alice had been running the automobile in the scene. "and didn't i do my first aid business well?" ruth demanded. "yes," russ acknowledged. "your part came out perfect. but just at the critical moment--you know, where mr. bunn was supposed to think he was dying and wanted to right the wrong he had done in cutting his daughter off in his will with only a dollar--some boys got in the way of the camera. they were outsiders, butting in, the way they always do when we film stuff in the park. it wouldn't have been so bad, only one of the youngsters began to pull off some funny stuff right in range of mr. bunn's agonized face. i didn't see him at the time, or i'd have stopped the running of the film. it was only when we got it in the projection room that we discovered it. "so mr. pertell ordered a retake of that one scene, and it's got to be done in a hurry. it won't take long. mr. bunn will meet us in the park. be sure and wear the same things you had on that day. it won't do to have you get out of the auto in one dress, ruth, and, a second later, kneel down beside mr. bunn in a gown entirely different." "all right, russ, i'll be careful." "oh, dear! but my packing!" sighed alice. "i'll never get it done, and we must start for oak farm----" "mr. pertell will have to make allowances," said russ, quickly. "come on--move the boat! you won't be needed in the real war scenes for a couple of days, anyhow, though i suppose there'll be rehearsals. but it can't be helped. this retake is holding up the whole film, and it's to be released next week." delaying only long enough to put on the proper dresses and to tell their father where they were going, ruth and alice devere were soon on their way to central park, where the scene was to be filmed, or photographed over again--a "retake," as it is called, the bane alike of camera men and directors. and while the girls--the moving picture girls--are on their way to do over a bit of work, i shall take the opportunity of telling my new readers something about ruth and alice devere. i have called them just what they are: "the moving picture girls," and that is the title of the first volume of this series, which depicts them and their adventures. their mother had died some years previously, leaving them to the care of their father, hosmer devere, at one time a talented actor in the legitimate drama. but a throat affection forced him to give up his acting and, at the opening scene in the first volume, we find him and his daughters in rather straitened circumstances, living in a second-rate apartment house in new york. across the hall dwelt russ dalwood, with his mother. russ was a "camera man." that is, he took moving pictures in the big studios and out of doors for the comet film company, of which mr. frank pertell was manager and director. it was russ who suggested to mr. devere a way out of his troubles. he could not act in the "legitimate," as his voice was gone; but no voice is needed to appear on the films for the movies, since a mere motion of the lips suffices, when any speaking is to be done. the "silent drama" has been the salvation of many an actor who, if he had to declaim his lines, would be a failure. at first mr. devere would not hear of acting before the camera, but he soon came to know that greater actors than he had fallen in line with the work, especially since the pay was so large, and finally he consented. an account of his success and of the entrance of his daughters into the field is given in the initial book. ruth, the elder girl, was, like her father, of a romantic turn. also she was rather tall and willowy, as mr. devere had been before he had taken on flesh with the passing of the years; and she was cast for parts that suited her type. she was deliberate in her actions, and in "registry." alice, like her late mother, was warm-hearted and impulsive, plump, vivacious and full of fun. both girls were excellent movie actresses. in the company they had joined was mr. wellington bunn, an old actor, who hoped, some day, to appear in hamlet--hamlet in the legitimate. paul ardite, who played light parts, had become very fond of alice. russ dalwood had a liking for ruth, and the four had many pleasant hours in each other's company. pearl pennington was the leading lady at times, and was rather disposed to domineer over our girls, as was her chum, laura dixon. mrs. maguire was the "mother" of the film company. she portrayed old lady parts, and her two grandchildren, tommie and nellie, the orphans, were cast for characters suitable to them. carl switzer, a german-american, did comedy parts and was a good fellow, though occasionally he would unconsciously say some very funny things. his opposite in character was pepper sneed, the grouch of the company. but pepper could do valuable work, especially as a villain, and so he was kept on. as for pop snooks, the company could not have got along without him. it was pop, the property man of the company, who made many of the devices used when the company went to "oak farm," as told in the second volume, where scenes for farm dramas were filmed. pop could use a drawbridge in one scene, and, in the next, convert it into a perfectly good cow-barn. pop was a valuable man. there were other members of the company, of more or less importance, whom you will meet as this story progresses. it was in the third volume of the series, "the moving picture girls snowbound," that ruth and alice succeeded in getting "the proof on the film" that saved mr. devere from an unjust charge. from the cold and frostiness of deerfield the girls went to florida, where "under the palms," many stirring acts were filmed. it was here that alice and ruth helped find two girls who were lost in the wilds of the everglades. "the moving picture girls at rocky ranch" gave ruth and alice a taste of cowboy life, and though rivals tried to spoil some of the valuable films, they were not altogether successful, even though a prairie fire figured in their schemes. the girls, with their father, had recently returned from a perilous trip. this is told about in the volume immediately preceding the one you are reading--"the moving picture girls at sea." in that alice and ruth proved, not only their versatility as actresses, but also that they could be brave and resourceful in the face of danger. and they more than repaid the old sailor, jack jepson, who saved their lives, by doing him a good turn. "well, life at oak farm will be vastly different from that on the _mary ellen_," remarked alice, as she looked from the automobile as it swung along through the new york streets on the way to the park. "yes," agreed her sister. "but i like it up there." "there are going to be some strenuous times," said paul. "we've got to do some hustling work." "all the better," declared russ. "i like to keep the film running. this sitting about all day and reeling off only ten feet makes me tired." "you like action!" laughed ruth. "yes; and plenty of it." oak farm was the property of the apgars. there was mr. belix apgar, the father, nance, his wife, and sandy, an energetic son. the farm was located in new jersey, about forty miles from new york, and it provided a picturesque background for the scenes evolved by mr. pertell and his company. it was during a scene on the farm, some time before, that a valuable discovery had been made, which endeared the moving picture girls and their chums to the apgars. "how did mr. pertell come to pick out oak farm for the war plays?" asked ruth, as the automobile bounced along. "well, i suggested it to him," answered russ. "i remembered the background, and i felt sure we could get all sorts of settings there to make the proper scenes. there are hills, mountains, valleys, streams, bridges, waterfalls, cliffs and caves. everything needed for perfectly good war dramas." "how did they come to want that sort of stuff?" asked paul. "oh, war stuff is going big now," russ answered. "all this talk of preparedness, you know, the war in europe, and all that. the public is fairly 'eating up' war pictures." "i hope we don't have to fire any guns!" exclaimed ruth, with a shudder. "you'll see and hear plenty of 'em fired," russ told her. "there are to be some big battle scenes and cavalry charges. but one of you will be back of the firing line, i believe." "how is that?" asked alice. "well, one of you girls is to be cast for an army nurse, and the other will be a spy. the spy has to carry a revolver." "i'm going to be the spy!" cried alice, impetuously. "i know how to shoot a gun." "i'd rather be the nurse," murmured ruth, and truly she was better fitted for that part. "'a girl in blue and a girl in gray' is to be the title of the war play--or at least one of them," went on russ. "there will be some lively scenes, and i'll be on the jump most of the time." "are you going to film them all?" asked paul. "oh, no. i'm to have several assistants, but i'll be in general charge of the camera squad. so, girls, look your prettiest." "they always do that," said paul. "thank you!" came in a feminine duet. a little later the place where the retake was to be made was reached. mr. bunn was on hand, wearing his air of "hamletian gloom," as alice whispered, and the work of retaking the scenes was soon under way. this time all went well. alice drove her "flivver" at mr. bunn, who was properly knocked down and looked after by ruth. no small boys, with an exaggerated sense of humor, got in the way, and the girls were shortly back in their apartment. they had moved to a more pretentious home since their success in moving pictures, and the dalwoods had taken an apartment in the same building. "and now to get on with my packing!" sighed alice. "all i am sure of is that i have my 'brogans' in." "i'll help you," offered ruth. two days later the comet film company, augmented for the occasion, was at the depot in hoboken, ready to take the lackawanna train out to oak farm, new jersey, where it nestled in the hills of sussex county. "i don't see how they are going to take battle scenes with just this company," observed alice, as she surveyed her fellow workers. "and where are the guns and horses?" "they'll come up later," russ informed her. "there are to be two big companies and a couple of batteries, but they won't be on hand until they are really needed. it costs too much to keep them when they are not working." "are you all here?" asked mr. pertell hurrying along the seats with a handful of tickets--"counting noses," so to speak. "all here, i think," answered russ. "where is carl switzer?" asked the manager. "he was here a minute ago," alice said. "well, he isn't here now," remarked mr. bunn. "and almost time for the train to start!" exploded the director. "we need him in some of the first scenes to-morrow. get him, somebody!" "hey, mister! does yer mean dat funny, moon-faced man what talks like a pretzel?" asked a newsboy in the station. "yes, that's mr. switzer," was the answer. "where is he?" "i jest seen him go out dat way," and the boy pointed toward the doors leading to the street in front of the ferry. this street led over to the interned german steamships at the hoboken piers. chapter iii hard at work "great scott!" ejaculated mr. pertell. "i might have known that if switzer came anywhere near his german friends he'd be off having a confab with them. go after him, somebody! it's only five minutes to train time, and it will take those germans that long to say how-de-do to one another, without getting down to business." "i'll get him," offered paul, hurrying off toward the swinging doors. "i'll go wit' youse," said the newsboy. "i likes t' listen t' him talk. does he do a dutch act?" "sometimes," laughed paul. "youse is actors, ain't youse?" the boy asked. "movies," answered paul, hurrying along toward the entrance to the shipyards. "i wuz in 'em onct," went on the lad. "dey wuz a scene where us guys wuz sellin' papes, an' anudder guy comes along, and t'rows a handful of money in de street--he had so much he didn't know what t' do wit' it--dat wuz in de picture," he explained. "i wuz in de scene." "was it real money?" asked paul. "naw--nottin' but tin," and the tone expressed the disappointment that had been experienced. "but we each got a quarter out of it fer bein' in de picture, so we didn't make out so worse. dere's your friend now," and the newsboy pointed to the comedian standing at the entrance to one of the piers, talking to the watchman. both had raised their voices high, and were using their hands freely. "hey, mr. switzer, come along!" cried paul. "it's time for the train." "ach! der train! i t'ought der vos plenty of time. i vant to see a friend of mine who is living on vun of dese wessels. haven't i got der time?" "no, not a minute to spare. you can see him when you come back." "ach! maybe i neffer comes back. if i get in der war plays i may be shotted." "oh, come on!" laughed paul, while the newsboy went into amused contortions at the exaggerated language and gestures of mr. switzer. "see you later, hans!" called the comedian to the watchman at the pier. "ach, himmel! vot i care!" the latter cried. "i don't care even if you comes back neffer! you can't get on dose ship!" and he waved his hand at the big vessels, interned to prevent their capture by the british warships. "i was having quite an argument with him," said mr. switzer, speaking "united states," as he walked back to the station with paul. "wouldn't he let you go on board?" "no. took me for an english spy, i guess. but i know one of der officers, and i thought i'd have time for a chat with him." "mr. pertell is in a hurry," said the young actor. "well, if we miss this train there's another." "not until to-morrow, and he wants to start the rehearsals the first thing in the morning." "ach! den dat's differunt alretty yet again, wasn't it so?" and mr. switzer winked at the admiring newsboy, and tossed him a quarter, with the advice to get a pretzel and use it for a watch charm. whereat the boy went into convulsive laughter again. "what do you mean, switzer, by going off just at train time?" demanded the indignant director and manager. "train time is der time to go off--so long as you don't go off der track!" declared the german. "but i vanted to go on--not go off--i vanted to go on der ships only dey vouldn't let me. however, better late than be a miss vot's like a bird in der hand," and with a shrug of his shoulders and a last wink at the newsboy, mr. switzer went out to the waiting train with the others. it was a long and rather tedious ride to oak farm, which lay some miles back in the hills from the railroad station, and it was late afternoon when the company of moving picture actors and actresses arrived, to be greeted by sandy apgar and his father and his mother. "well, i _am_ glad to see you all again!" cried sandy, shaking hands with mr. devere, the girls and the others. "it seems like old times!" "we're glad dot you are glad!" declaimed mr. switzer. "haf you any more barns vot need burning down?" "not this time," laughed sandy. "one barn-burning is enough for me." a barn, an old one, had been destroyed on the occasion of the previous visit of the moving picture company--a burning barn being called for in one of the scenes. oak farm was a big place, and, in anticipation of the war plays to be enacted there, several buildings had been built to accommodate the extra actors and actresses, where they could sleep and eat. the devere girls and the other members of the regular company would board at the farmhouse as they had done before. hard work began early the next day. there was much to do in the way of preliminary preparation, and pop snooks, the property man, with a corps of assistants, was in his element. while ruth, alice and the others were going through a rehearsal of their parts without, of course, the proper scenic background, the property man was setting up the different "sets" needed in the various scenes. while they were working on one piece, sandy apgar came along on his way to look after some of the farming operations. "hello!" he cried. "say! you fellows did that mighty quick." "did what?" asked alice, who stood near, not being engaged for the time being. "why, dug that well. i didn't know you could strike water so soon," and he pointed to an old-fashioned well with a sweep, which stood not far from the house. "what'd you use--a post-hole digger?" he asked. "what sort of water did you strike?" before any one could answer him he strode over to the well, and, as he looked down into it, a puzzled look came over his face. "well, i'll be jiggered!" he cried. "'tain't a well at all! only an imitation!" and that was what it was. some canvas had been stretched in a circle about a framework, and painted to represent stones. the well itself stood on top of the ground, not being dug out at all. it made a perfectly good water-scene, with a sweep, a chain, a bucket and all. "i'm supposed to stand there and draw water for the thirsty soldiers," explained ruth, coming up at this point. "huh! how are you goin' to git water out of there?" demanded sandy. "it's as dry as a bone. why, i've got a good well over there," and he pointed to a real one, under an apple tree. "that's in the shade--couldn't get any pictures there," explained russ. "the well has to be out in the open." "but what about water?" asked sandy. "hang me if i ever heard of a well without water!" "we'll run a hose up to this one," explained pop snooks. "a man will lie down behind the well-curb, where he won't show in the camera. as fast as ruth lowers her bucket into the well the man'll fill the pail with water for the soldiers to drink. it'll be quicker than a real well, and if we find we don't like it in one place we can move it to another. this is a movable well." "well, i'll be----" began sandy, but words failed him. "this is sure a queer business," he murmured as he strode off. the hard work of preparation continued. all about the farm queer parts of buildings were being erected, extra barns, out-houses, bits of fence, and the like. in what are called close-up scenes only a small part of an object shows in the camera, and often when a magnificent entrance to a marble house is shown, it is only a plaster-of-paris imitation of a door with a little frame around it. what is outside of that would not photograph; so what is the use of building it? of course in many scenes real buildings figure, but they are not built for the purpose. in one of the war plays a small barn was to be shown, and a soldier was supposed to jump through the window of this to escape pursuit. as none of the regular buildings at oak farm was in the proper location, pop snooks had been ordered to build a barn. he did. that is, he built one side of it, propping it up with braces from behind, where they would not show. the window was there, and some boards; so that, seen through the camera, it looked like a small part of a big out-building. some hay was piled on the ground to one side, away from the camera, and it was on this hay that the escaping soldier would land. then ruth was to come to him, and go through some scenes. but these would be interior views, which would be taken in the improvised studio erected on the farm for this purpose. mr. switzer was to be the soldier, and would plunge through the barn window head first. he was called on to rehearse the scenes a few days after the semblance of a barn had been put in position and the hay laid out to make his landing safe. "are you ready?" asked mr. pertell, who was directing the scene. "all ready, there, switzer?" "sure, as ready as i ever shall be." "all right, then. now, you understand, you come running out of those bushes over there, and when you get out you stop for a minute and register caution. look on all sides of you. then you see the barn and the open window. register surprise and hope. you say, 'ah, i shall be safe in there!' "then you run, look back once or twice to see if you are pursued, and make a dive, head first, through the open window on to the hay. all ready now?" "sure, i'm ready!" "how about you, russ?" "let her go." "all ready, then! camera!" russ began to grind away at the film. mr. switzer had taken his place in the clump of bushes, his ragged union garments flapping in the wind. he came out, looked furtively around, and then, giving the proper "registration," he advanced cautiously toward the barn. "go on now--run!" cried mr. pertell through his megaphone. the german actor ran. he made a beautiful leap through the window, and the next moment there came from him howls of dismay. "donner vetter! ach himmel! ach! my face! my hands! hey, somebody! bring a pail of water! quick!" chapter iv a rehearsal mingled in german and english came the shouts of dismay from herr switzer inside the dummy shed, through the window of which he had leaped on to the hay. "oh, what is it?" cried ruth, clasping her hands and registering "dismay" unconsciously. "he must have fallen and hurt himself," ejaculated alice. "do, paul, go and see what it is." "stop the camera!" yelled mr. pertell through his megaphone. "don't spoil the film, russ. you got a good scene there. he went through the window all right, and his yells won't register. stop the camera!" "stopped she is," reported russ. then those of the players who had been looking on and wondering at mr. switzer's cries could hurry to his rescue. for it is a crime out of the ordinary in the annals of moving pictures for any one not in the scene to get within range of the camera when an act is being filmed. it means not only the spoiling of the reel, perhaps, but a retaking of that particular action. when russ ceased to grind at the camera crank, however, it was the same as when the shutter of an ordinary camera is closed. no more views can be taken. it was safe for others to cross the field of vision. "what's the matter?" cried paul, who, with ruth and alice and some of the others trailing after him, was hurrying toward the false front of boards that represented a shed. "did a cow critter or a sheep step on you?" russ questioned. "ach! my face! my clothes! ruined!" came in accents of deep disgust from the actor. "never again will i leap through a window without knowing into what i am going to land. ach!" "what happened?" asked paul, trying to keep from laughing, for the player's voice was so funnily tragic. "what happened? come and see!" cried mr. switzer. "i have into a chicken's home invaded myself already!" "invaded himself into a chicken's home!" exclaimed mr. pertell. "what in the world does he mean?" "i guess he means he sat down in a hen's nest!" chuckled paul, and this proved to be the case. going around to the other side of the erected boards, the players and others saw a curious sight. seated on the hay, his face, his hair, his hands, and his clothing a mass of the whites and yellows of eggs, was carl switzer. he held up his fingers, dripping with the ingredients of half a dozen omelets. "the chicken's home was right here, in the hay--where i jumped. i landed right in among the eggs--head first. get me some water--quick!" implored the player. "didn't you see the eggs before you jumped among 'em?" asked mr. pertell. "see them? i should say not! think you i would have precipitated myself into their midst had i done so?" indignantly demanded mr. switzer, relapsing into his formally-learned english. "i have no desire to be a part of a scrambled egg," he went on. "some water--quick!" while one of the extra players was bringing the water, sandy apgar strolled past. he was told what had happened. "plumped himself down in a hen's nest, did he?" exclaimed the young proprietor of oak farm. "wa'al, now, if you folks go to upsettin' the domestic arrangements of my fowls that way i'll have t' be charging you higher prices," and he laughed good-naturedly. "ach! dat is better," said mr. switzer, when he had cleansed himself. "how came it, do you think, mr. apgar, that the hen laid her eggs right where i was to make my landing when escaping from the confederates?" "huh! more than one hen laid her eggs there, i reckon," the farmer said. "there must have been half a dozen of 'em who had rooms in that apartment. you see, it's this way. hens love to steal away and lay their eggs in secret places. after you folks built this make-believe shed and put the hay in, i s'pose some of my hens seen it and thought it would be a good place. so they made a nest there, and they've been layin' in it for the last few days." "more as a week, i should say!" declared mr. switzer in his best german comedian manner. "there were many eggs!" "yes, you did bust quite a few!" said sandy, critically looking at the disrupted nest. "but it can't be helped." "well, the film wasn't spoiled, anyhow," observed mr. pertell. to him that was all that counted. "you got him all right as he went through the window, didn't you, russ?" "oh, yes. it wasn't until he was inside, down behind the boards and out of sight, that the eggs happened." "no more eggs for me!" declared the comedian. "i shall never look a chicken in the face again." "go on with the scene," ordered the director. "you are supposed to steal out to the barn to give the hidden soldier food," he said to ruth. "you come out from the house, and are astonished to see a man's head sticking out of the shed window. you register surprise, and start to run back to the house, but the soldier implores you to stay, and you reluctantly listen to him. then he begs for food----" "but don't bring me a hard-boiled egg, whatever you do!" called mr. switzer. "no funny business now," warned the director, with a laugh. "go on now, and we'll see how you do it." after one or two trials mr. pertell announced himself as satisfied and the filming of that part of the war drama went on. so many details in regard to the taking of moving pictures have been given in the previous books of this series that they need not be repeated here. suffice it to say that the pictures of the players in motion are taken on a long celluloid strip of film, just as one picture is taken on a square of celluloid in a snap-shot camera. this long reel of film, when developed, is a "negative." from it a "positive" strip of film is made, and this is the one that is run through the projection machine throwing the pictures on the white screen in the darkened theatre. the pictures taken are very small, and are greatly magnified on the screen. so much for the mechanical end of the business. it may interest some to learn that the photo-play, as seen in the theatre, is not taken all at once, nor in the order in which the scenes are seen as they are reeled off. when a play is decided on, the director or one of his helpers goes over the manuscript and picks out all the scenes that take place in one location. it may be in a parlor, in a hut, on the side of a mountain, in a lonely wilderness, on a battlefield, on a bridge--anywhere, in fact. and several scenes, involving several different persons, may take place at any one of these places. it can be understood that it would involve a great deal of work to follow the logical sequence of the scenes. that is to say, if the first scene was in an office showing a girl taking dictation from her employer, and the next showed the same girl and her employer on a ferryboat, and the third scene went back to the office, where some papers were being examined, it would mean a loss of time to photograph, or film, the first office scene, then take every one involved in the act to the ferryboat, and then back to the office again. instead, the two office scenes, and possibly more, are taken at one time, on the same film, one after the other, without regard to whether they follow logically or not. afterward the film is cut apart, and the scenes fitted in where they belong. so, too, all the scenes pertaining to a hut in the wilderness, on a bridge, in the woods, in a parlor--it makes no difference where--are taken at the same time. in this way much labor and expense are saved. but it makes a queer sort of story to an uninitiated person looking on; and sometimes the players themselves do not know what it is all about. so mr. pertell wanted to get all the scenes centering around the shed at the same time, though they were not in sequence. and ruth and mr. switzer and the others in the east went through their parts with the shed as a background. in one scene ruth had to discover the hidden soldier. then she had to steal out to him with food. later, at night, she was to help him to escape. then, a week later, she was to go out to the same shed and discover a letter he had hidden in the hay. that ended the scenes at the shed, and it could be taken away to make room for something else. "oh, ruth, you did that splendidly!" exclaimed alice, as her sister finished her work and went up on the shady porch to rest. "did you like it? i'm glad." "like it? it was great! where you discovered that letter in the hay, your face showed such natural surprise." "i'm glad it didn't register merriment." "why?" "because, as i picked up the letter, i found a big blot of the yellow from the hens' eggs on it. i hope it doesn't show in the picture. i had all i could do to keep from laughing when i thought of mr. switzer in the omelet scene." "oh, well, you know they want all white stuff yellow when they make pictures." "in the studio, but not outdoors." this is a fact. as the scenes in the studio are taken in the glare of a special kind of electric light, all white objects, even the collars and cuffs of the men, are yellow in tone, though in the picture they show perfectly white. this is due to the chemical rays of the lights used. out of doors, under sunlight, colors are seen in their own hues. "you did very well in that funny little scene with paul," said ruth to her sister. "you mean in the swing under the apple tree?" "yes." "i was so afraid he would swing me too high," alice went on. "he was cutting up so. i told him to stop, but he wouldn't." "it was very natural. i think it will show well. hark! what's that?" cried ruth, leaping to her feet. "thunder," suggested alice, as a distant, rumbling noise came to their ears. "sounds more like big guns." "oh, that's what it is!" agreed alice. "they are going to rehearse one of the battle scenes this afternoon, i heard mr. pertell say. the soldiers must have come, and they're practising over in the glen. come on over and watch. we're in on the scenes later, but we can watch now." "all right," agreed ruth. "wait until i get my broad-brimmed hat, the sun is hot up here." presently the two sisters, with paul ardite and some other members of the company, were strolling over the fields toward the scene of the distant firing. as they came in sight of several hundred men and horses, they saw the smoke of cannon and heard the shouting of the director and his assistants who were using big megaphones. it was the rehearsal of one of the many battle scenes that were to take place about oak farm. "oh, look at that girl ride!" suddenly exclaimed alice, pointing to a young woman who dashed past on a spirited horse. "isn't she a wonder?" "she is indeed," agreed ruth. "i wonder who she is?" "one of the extras," said paul. "a number of them have just arrived. we'll begin active work soon, and film some big scenes with you girls in them." alice gazed across the fields toward the figure of the girl on horseback. there was something spirited in her riding, and, though she had never seen her before, alice felt strangely drawn toward the new player. chapter v a daring rider "come on now, confederates!" "no, you union chaps hold back there in ambush. you're not to dash out until you get the signal. wait!" "keep that horse out of the way. he isn't supposed to dash across, riderless, until after the first volley." "put in a little more action! fall off as though you were shot, not as though you were bending over to see if your horse had a stone under his shoe! fall off hard!" "and you fellows that do fall off--lie still after you fall! don't twitch as though you wanted to scratch your noses!" "if some of 'em don't stay quiet after they fall off they'll get stepped on!" "all ready now! come with a rush when the signal's given!" mr. pertell and his men were stationed near a "battery" of camera men, who were ready to grind away; and the director and his assistants were calling their instructions through big megaphones. to reach the soldiers in the more distant parts of the field recourse was had to telephones, the wires of which were laid along the ground in shallow trenches, covered with earth so that the trampling of the horses would not sever them. "get that battery farther back among the trees!" cried mr. pertell to one of his helpers. "it's supposed to be a masked one, but it's in plain sight now. even the audience would see it, let alone the men it's supposed to fire on. get it back!" "yes, sir," answered the man, and he telephoned the instructions to the assistant director in charge of a battery of field guns that had been thundering away--the sound which had brought ruth and alice to the scene. "do we have any part in the battle scenes?" asked ruth. "yes, quite big parts," paul informed her. "but you don't go on to-day. this is only a rehearsal." "but they've been firing real powder," remarked alice, "and it looks as though they were going to fire more," and she pointed to where men of the masked battery were ramming charges down the iron throats of their guns. "yes, they're firing, and charging, and doing all manner of stunts, and the camera men are grinding away, but they aren't using any film," went on paul. "it's just to get every one used to working under the excitement. they have to fire the guns so the horses will get so they don't mind them when the real time comes." hundreds of extra players had been engaged to come to oak farm for these battle scenes in the drama, "a girl in blue and a girl in gray," and some of them were already on hand with their mounts. as has been said, special accommodations had been erected where they were to stay during the weeks they would be needed. there were more men than women among the extra people, though a number of women and girls were needed in the "town" scenes. most of the men were former members of the militia, cowboys and adventurers, all of whom were used to hard, rough riding. this was necessary, for when battle scenes are shown there must be some "killed," and when a man has a horse shot from under him, or is shot himself, riding at full speed, even though the cartridges are blank, the action calls for a heavy fall, sudden and abrupt, to make it look real. and this is not easy to do, nor is it altogether safe with a mob of riders thundering along behind one. yet the men who take part in these battle scenes do it with scarcely a thought of danger, though often many of them are hurt, as are the horses. in brief the story of the play in which ruth was to take the part of a girl in blue, and alice of a girl in gray, was this. they were cousins, and ruth was visiting alice's home in the south when the war broke out. alice, of course, sided with her people, and loved the gray uniforms, while ruth's sympathies were with the north. ruth determined to go back north and become a nurse, while alice, longing for more active work, offered her services as a spy to help the confederacy. though on opposite sides, the girls' love for one another did not wane. then came the scenes of the war. battles were to be shown, and there were plots and counter-plots, in some of which ruth and alice had no part. mr. devere was cast for a northern general, and the character became him well. later on alice and ruth were to meet in a hospital among the wounded. alice was supposed to get certain papers of value to her side from a wounded union officer. as she was escaping with them ruth was to intercept her, and the two were to have a "strong" scene together. alice, ignoring the pleadings of her cousin and about to depart with the papers, learns that the officer from whom she took them was the same one that had saved her father's life on the battlefield. she decides to forego her mission as a spy, even though it may mean the betrayal of her own cause, when the news comes in of lee's surrender, and her sacrifice is not demanded. then "all live happily for ever after." that is but a mere outline of the play, which was to be an elaborate production. and it was the rehearsal for the preliminary battles and skirmishes that the girls were now witnessing. "tell that battery to get ready to fire!" cried mr. pertell, and this word went over the telephone. "come on now with that union charge!" was the next command. then hundreds of horses thundered down the slopes of oak farm, while the hidden guns thundered. down went horses and men while the girls screamed involuntarily, it all seemed so real. "it's a good thing we didn't plant no corn in that there field this season," observed belix apgar, sandy's father, as he saw the charge. "that's right," agreed his wife. "there wouldn't have been 'nuff left to make a hominy cake." "do it over again!" ordered the manager. "some of you fellows ride your horses as if you were going to a croquet game. get some action into it!" once more the battery thundered its harmless shots and the men charged. this time the scene was satisfactory, and preparations were made to film it. again the men thundered down the slope, and when they were almost at the battery a single rider--a girl--dashed out toward the approaching union soldiers. "oh, she'll be killed!" cried ruth. "they'll ride right over her!" it did seem so, for she was headed straight toward the approaching horsemen. "she's all right," said paul. "she's quite a rider, i believe. her part, as a union sympathizer, is to rush out and warn them of the hidden battery, but she is delayed by a southerner until it is too late, and she takes a desperate chance. there go the guns!" horses and riders were lost in a cloud of smoke. this time the film was being taken. when that charge was over, and men and horses, some limping, had gone back to their quarters, mr. pertell signaled to the daring woman rider to come to him. "that was very well done, miss brown," he said. "you certainly showed nerve." "i am glad you liked it," was the answer in a quiet, well-bred voice. "shall you want me again to-day?" "not until later, and it will be an interior. is your horse all right?" "oh, yes. i am in love with him!" and she patted the arching neck of the handsome creature. "he is so speedy." "he sure is speedy, all right," agreed paul, and the girl--she was scarcely more than that--who had been addressed as miss brown by the director smiled at the young actor. then she let her friendly gaze rest on ruth and alice. "isn't she fine!" murmured alice. "like to meet her?" whispered paul. "yes!" exclaimed alice eagerly, paying no attention to ruth's plucking of her sleeve. "miss brown, allow me to present----" and paul introduced the two devere girls. "that was a daring ride of yours!" remarked alice, with enthusiasm. "indeed it was," agreed ruth, more quietly. "do you think so? i'm glad you like it. i have been riding ever since i was a little girl." "did you learn in the west?" asked alice. "why, yes--that is i--i really--oh, there goes that wild black horse again!" and miss brown turned to point to an animal ridden by one of the confederate soldiers. the horse seemed unmanageable, and dashed some distance across the field before it was brought under control. then the talk turned to moving picture work, though ruth could not help wondering, even in the midst of it, why miss brown had not been more certain of where she had learned to ride. "it isn't something one would forget," mused ruth. chapter vi a needed lesson rehearsals, the filming of scenes, retakes and the studying of their parts kept busy not only the moving picture girls, but all the members of mr. pertell's company. there was work for all, and from the smallest girls and boys, including tommie and nellie maguire, to mr. devere himself, little spare time was to be had. ruth and alice had important parts, and they were given a general outline of what was expected of them. they would be in many scenes, and a variety of action would be required. in order that they do themselves and the film justice, since they were to be "featured," the girls spent much time studying in their rooms and practising to get the best results from the various registerings. "that is going to be a very strong scene for you and alice," said mr. devere to ruth one day. "i refer to that scene where alice takes the paper and afterwards discovers the identity of the man to whom she owes so much--the life of her father. now let me see how you would play it, alice." alice did so, and she did well, but her father was not satisfied. the stage traditions meant much to him, and though he had been forced to give up many of them when he went into the motion pictures, still he knew what good dramatic action was, and he knew that it would "get over" just as certainly in the silent drama as it did in the legitimate. so he made alice go over the scene again, and ruth also, until he was satisfied. "now, when the time comes, you'll know how to do it," he said. "don't be satisfied with anything but the best you can do, even if it is only a moving picture show. i am convinced, more and more, that the silent drama is going to take a larger place than ever before the public." it was on one afternoon following a rather hard day's work before the cameras, that ruth and alice, with miss pennington and miss dixon, sat on the porch of the farmhouse, waiting for the supper bell. russ and paul were off to one side, talking, and mr. devere and mr. bunn were discussing their early days in the legitimate. mr. pertell came up the walk, a worried look on his face, seeing which mr. switzer called out: "did a cow step on some of the actors, herr director, or did one of our worthy farmer's rams knock over a camera after it had filmed one of the battle scenes?" "neither one, mr. switzer," was the answer. "this is merely a domestic trouble i have on my mind." "domestic!" exclaimed alice. "you don't mean that some of your pretty extra girls have eloped with some of your dashing cowboy soldiers, do you? i wouldn't blame them if they----" "alice!" chided her sister. "oh, well, you know what i mean!" "no, it isn't quite that," laughed the director, "though you have very nearly hit it," and he took a chair near alice and her sister, and near where pearl pennington and laura dixon were rocking and chewing gum. "tell us, and perhaps we can help you," alice suggested. "well, maybe you can. it's about miss estelle brown, the young lady who made that daring ride in front of the masked battery the other day." "what! has she left?" asked ruth. "she was such a wonderful rider!" "no, she hasn't left, but she threatens to; and i can't let her go, as she's in some of the films and i'd have to switch the whole plot around to explain why she didn't come in on the later scenes." "why is she going to leave?" alice queried. "because she has been subjected to some annoyance on the part of a young man who is one of the extras. you know the extras all live down in the big bungalow i had built for them. i have a man and his wife to look after them, and i try to make it as nearly like a happy family as i can. but miss brown says she can't stay there any longer. this young man--a decent enough chap he had seemed to me--is pestering her with his attentions. he is quite in love with her, it seems." "oh, how romantic!" gurgled miss dixon. "miss brown doesn't think so," said the manager dryly. "i don't know what to do about it, for i have no place where i can put her up alone." "bring her here!" exclaimed alice, impulsively. "indeed, no!" cried miss pennington. "we actresses were told that none of the extra people would be quartered with us! if that had not been agreed to i would not have come to this place." "nor i!" chimed in miss dixon. "we professionals are not to be classed with these extras--and amateurs at that!" "i know i did promise you regulars that you would be boarded by yourselves," said mr. pertell, scratching his head in perplexity, "and i don't blame you for not wanting, as a general run, to mix with the others. for some of them, while they are decent enough, have a big idea of their own importance. i wouldn't think of asking you to let one of the extra men come here, but this young lady----" "she is perfectly charming!" broke in alice. "and she certainly can ride!" "she did seem very nice," murmured ruth. "pooh! a vulgar cowgirl!" sneered miss dixon. "there is a nice room near mine," went on alice. "she could have that, i should think. the apgars don't use it, and it is certainly annoying to be pestered by a young man!" and she looked with uptilted nose at paul, who said emphatically: "well, i like that!" "if i could bring her here----" began mr. pertell. "by all means!" exclaimed ruth. "we will try to make her happy and comfortable--if she is an amateur." "she has no right to come here!" burst out miss dixon. "no, indeed!" added miss pennington. "if she comes, i shall go! i will not board in the same place with an amateur cowgirl doing an extra turn in the pictures." "nor i!" snapped miss dixon. "all right--all right!" said mr. pertell quickly. "i know it's contrary to my promise, and i won't insist on it. only it would have made it easier----" "let miss brown come," quickly whispered alice in the director's ear. "they won't leave. they're too comfortable here, and they get too good salaries. let miss brown come!" "will you stand by me if i do?" "yes," said alice. "so will i," added ruth. then the supper bell rang and the discussion ended for the time being. later mr. pertell explained privately to ruth and her sister that miss brown was a quiet and refined young lady about whom he knew little save that she had answered his advertisement for an amateur who could ride. she had made good and he had engaged her for the war scenes. "but she tells me that among the young men in the same boarding bungalow is one who seems quite smitten with her. he is impudent and exceedingly persistent, and she does not desire his attentions. she said she thought she would have to leave unless she could get a quiet place where he could not follow. it is all right during the day, as he can not come near her, but after hours----" "do bring her!" urged alice. "we'll try to make her comfortable. and don't fear what they will do," and she nodded toward the two other actresses, who had been in vaudeville before going into motion pictures. so it was that, later in the evening, miss brown brought her trunk to the apgar farmhouse and was installed in a room near alice and ruth. "oh, it is _so_ much nicer here!" sighed estelle brown, as she admitted ruth and alice, who knocked on her door. "i could not have stood the other place much longer. though every one--except that one man--was very nice to me." "let us be your friends!" urged alice. "you are very kind," murmured estelle, and the more the two girls looked at her, the prettier they thought her. she had wonderful hair, a marvelous complexion, and white, even teeth that made her smile a delight. "have you been in this business long?" asked ruth. "no, not very--in fact, this is my first big play. i have done little ones, but i did not get on very well. i love the work, though." "were your people in the profession?" asked alice. "i don't know--that is, i'm not sure. i believe some of them were, generations back. oh, did you hear that?" and she interrupted her reply with the question. "that" was the voice of some one in the lower hall inquiring if miss brown was in. "it's that--that impertinent maurice whitlow!" whispered estelle to ruth and alice. "i thought i could escape him here. oh, what shall i do?" "i'll say you are not at home," returned ruth, in her best "stage society" manner, and, sweeping down the hall, she met the maid who was coming up to tell miss brown there was a caller for her below. "tell him miss brown is not at home," said ruth. "very well," and the maid smiled understandingly. "ah! not at home? tell her i shall call again," came in drawling tones up the stairway, for it was warm, and doors and windows were open. "little--snip!" murmured estelle. "i'm so glad i didn't have to see him. he's a pest--all the while wanting to take me out and buy ice-cream sodas. he's just starting in at the movies, and he thinks he's a star already. oh! but don't you just love the guns and horses?" she asked impulsively. "well, i can't say that i do," answered ruth. "i like quieter plays." "i don't!" cried alice. "the more excitement the better i like it. i can do my best then." "so can i," said estelle. then they fell to talking of the work, and of many other topics. "did estelle brown strike you as being peculiar?" asked ruth of her sister when they were back in their rooms, getting ready for bed. "peculiar? what do you mean?" "i mean she didn't seem to know whether or not her people were in the profession." "yes, she did side-step that a bit." "side-step, alice?" "well, avoid answering, if you like that better. but my way is shorter. say, maybe she has gone into this without her people knowing it, and she wants to keep them from bringing her back." "maybe, though it didn't strike me as being that way. it was as though she wasn't quite sure of herself." "sure of herself--what do you mean?" "well, i can't explain it any better." "i'll think it over," said alice, sleepily. "we've got lots to do to-morrow," and she tumbled into bed with a drowsy "good-night." miss laura dixon and miss pearl pennington most decidedly turned up their noses at the breakfast table when they saw estelle sitting between ruth and alice. and their murmurs of disdain could be plainly heard. "she here? then i'm going to leave!" "the idea of amateurs butting in like this! it's a shame!" fortunately estelle was exchanging some gay banter with paul and did not hear. but ruth and alice did, and the latter could not avoid a thrust at the scornful ones. to ruth, in an unnecessarily loud voice, alice remarked: "do you remember that funny vaudeville stunt we used to laugh over when we were children--'the lady bookseller?'" "yes, i remember it very well," answered ruth. "what about it, alice?" for she did not catch her sister's drift. "why, i was just wondering how many years ago it was--ten, at least, since it was popular, isn't it?" "i believe so!" "it's no such a thing!" came the indignant remonstrance from miss pennington. it was in this sketch that she had made her "hit," and as she now claimed several years less than the number to which she was entitled, this sly reference to her age was not relished. "it was only _six_ years ago that i starred in that," she went on. "it seems much longer," said alice, calmly. "we were quite little when we saw you in that. you were so funny with your big feet----" "big feet! i had to wear shoes several sizes too large for me! it was in the act. i--i----" "they're stringing you--keep still!" whispered her chum, and with red cheeks miss pennington subsided. but alice's remarks had the desired effect, and there were no more references, for the present, directed at pretty estelle. miss dixon and miss pennington had a scene with mr. pertell, though, in which they threatened to leave unless estelle were sent back to the bungalow where the other extra players boarded. but the manager remained firm, and the two vaudeville actresses did not quit the company. hard work followed, and estelle made some daring rides, once narrowly escaping injury from the burning wad of a cannon, which went off prematurely as she dashed past the very muzzle. but she put spurs to her horse, who leaped over the spurt of fire and smoke. a few feet of film were spoiled; but this was better than having an actor hurt. alice was sitting on the farmhouse porch one afternoon, waiting for estelle and ruth to come down, for they were going for a walk together, not being needed in the films. estelle had been taken into companionship by the two girls, who found her a very charming companion, though little disposed to talk about herself. alice, who was reading a motion picture magazine, was startled by hearing a voice saying, almost in her ear: "is miss brown in?" "oh!" and alice looked up to see maurice whitlow smirking at her. he had tiptoed up on the porch and was standing very close to her. she had never been introduced to him, but that is not absolutely insisted on in moving picture circles, particularly when a company is on "location." "is miss brown in?" repeated whitlow. "i don't know, i'm sure," replied alice. "ah, well, i'll wait and find out. i'll sit down here by you and wait," went on the young man, drawing a chair so close to that of alice that it touched. "fine day, isn't it? i say! you did that bit of acting very cleverly to-day." "did i?" and alice went on reading. "yes. i had a little bit myself. i carried a message from the field headquarters to the rear--after more ammunition, you know. did you notice me riding?" "i did not." "well, i saw you, all right. if miss brown isn't home, do you want to go over to the village with me?" "i do not!" and alice was very emphatic. "then for a row on the lake?" "no!" "you look as though you would enjoy canoeing," went on the persistent whitlow. "you have a very strong little hand--very pretty!" and he boldly reached up and removed alice's fingers from the edge of the magazine. "a very pretty little hand--yes!" and he sighed foolishly. "how dare you!" cried alice, indignantly. "if you don't----" "see how you like that pretty bit of grass down there!" exclaimed a sharp voice behind alice, and the next moment mr. maurice whitlow, eye-glasses, lavender tie, socks and all, went sailing over the porch railing, to land in a sprawling heap on the sod below. chapter vii estelle's leap "oh!" murmured alice, shrinking down in her chair. "oh--my!" she gave a hasty glance over her shoulder, to behold paul ardite standing back of her chair, an angry look on his face. then alice looked at the sprawling form of the extra player. he was getting up with a dazed expression on his countenance. "what--what does this mean?" he gasped, striving to make his tones indignant. but it is hard for dignity to assert itself when one is on one's hands and knees in the grass, conscious that there is a big grass stain on one's white cuff, and with one's clothing generally disarranged. "what does this mean? i demand an explanation," came from mr. maurice whitlow. "you know well enough what it means!" snapped paul. "if you don't, why, come back here and try it over again and i'll give you another demonstration!" "oh, don't, paul--please!" pleaded alice in a low voice. "there's no danger. he won't come," was the confident reply. by this time whitlow had picked himself up and was brushing his garments. he settled his collar, straightened his lavender tie and wet his lips as though about to speak. "you--you--i----" he began. "i don't see what right you had to----" "that'll do now!" interrupted paul, sternly. "it's of no use to go into explanations. you know as well as i do what you were doing and why i pitched you over the railing. i'll do it again if you want me to, but twice as hard. and if i catch you here again, annoying any of the ladies of this company, i'll report you to the director. now skip--and stay skipped!" concluded paul significantly. "perhaps you can't read that notice?" and he pointed to one recently posted on the main gateway leading to the big farmhouse. it was to the effect that none of the extra players were allowed admission to the grounds without a permit from the director. "huh! i'm as good an actor as you, any day!" sneered whitlow, as he limped down the walk. "maybe. but you can't get over with it--here!" said paul significantly. the notice had been posted because so many of the cowboys and girls had fairly overrun the precincts of mr. apgar's home. he and his family had no privacy at all, and while they did not mind the regular members of mr. pertell's company, with whom they were acquainted, they did not want the hundreds of extra men, soldiers, cowboys and horsewomen running all over the place. so the rule had been adopted, and it was observed good-naturedly by those to whom it applied. whitlow must have considered himself above it. "did he annoy you much, alice?" asked paul. "not so very. he was just what you might call--fresh. he asked for miss brown, and when she wasn't here to snub him he turned the task over to me. ugh!" and alice began to scrub vigorously with her handkerchief the fingers which whitlow had grasped. "i'm sorry you had that trouble with him, paul," she went on. "but really----" "it was no trouble--it was a pleasure!" laughed paul. "i'd like to do it over again if it were not for annoying you. i happened to come up behind and heard what he was saying. so i just pitched into him. i don't believe he'll come back. he'll be too much afraid of losing the work. mr. pertell has had a great many applications from players out of work who want to be taken on as extras, and he can have his pick. so those that don't obey the regulations will get short notice. you won't be troubled with him again." and alice was not, nor was miss brown. that is, as regards the extra player's trespassing on the grounds about the farmhouse. but he was of the kind that is persistent, and on several occasions, when the duties of the girls brought them near to where whitlow was acting, he smiled and smirked at them. alice wished to tell paul about it and have him administer another and more severe chastisement to whitlow, but ruth and estelle persuaded the impulsive one to forego doing so. "i can look after myself, thank you, alice dear," estelle said. "now that i don't have to board in the bungalow with him it is easier." "don't make a scene," advised ruth. "oh, but i just can't bear to have him look at me," alice said. several of the scenes in the principal drama had been made, but most of the largest ones, those of the battles, of alice's spy work, and of ruth's nursing, were yet to come. the making of a big moving picture is the work not of days, but of weeks, and often of months. if every scene took place in a studio, where artificial lights could be used, the filming could go on every day the actors were on hand, or whenever the director felt like working them and the camera men. often in a studio, even, the director will be notional--"temperamental," he might call it--and let a day go by, and again the glare of the powerful lights may so affect the eyes of the players that they have to rest, and so time is lost in that way. but the time lost in a studio is as nothing compared to the time lost in filming the big outdoor scenes. there the sun is a big factor, for a brilliant light is needed to take pictures of galloping horses, swiftly moving automobiles and locomotives, and every cloudy day means a loss of time. for this reason many of the big film companies maintain studios in california, where there are many days of sunshine. they can take "outdoor stuff" almost any time after the sun is up. but at oak farm there were times when everything would be in readiness for a big scene, the camera men waiting, the players ready to dash into their parts, and then clouds would form, or it would rain, and there would be a postponement. but it was part of the game, and as the salaries of the players went on whether they worked or not, they did not complain. one morning alice, on going into estelle's room, found her busy "padding" herself before she put on her outer garments. "what in the world are you doing?" alice asked. "getting ready for my big jump," was the answer. "your big jump?" "yes, you know there is a scene where i carry a message from headquarters to one of the union generals at the front. your father plays the latter part." "oh, yes, now i remember. and daddy is sure no one can do quite as well as he can in the tent scene, where he salutes you and takes the message you have brought through with such peril." "yes, that's nice. well, i'm to ride along and be pursued by some confederate guerrillas. it's a race, and i decide to take a short cut, not knowing the confederates have burned the bridge. i have to leap my horse down an embankment and ford the stream. i'm getting ready for the jump now--that's why i'm padding myself. for petro--that's my horse--might slip or stumble in jumping down that embankment, and i want to be ready to roll out of the way. it's much more comfortable to roll in a padded suit--like a football player's--than in your ordinary clothes. your friend, russ dalwood, told me to do this, and i think it is a good idea." "it's sure to be if russ told you, isn't it, ruth?" asked alice, with a mischievous look at her sister, who had just come in. "how should i know?" was the cool response. "i suppose mr. dalwood knows what he is doing, though." "oh, how very formal we are all of a sudden," mocked alice. "you two haven't quarreled, have you?" "silly," returned ruth, blushing. "are you really going to jump your horse down a cliff?" asked alice. "i really am," was the smiling answer. "there is to be no fake about this. but really there is little danger. i am so used to horses." "yes, and i marvel at you," put in ruth. "where did you learn it all?" "i don't know. it seems to come natural to me." "you must have lived on a ranch a long time," ventured ruth. "did i? well, perhaps i did. say, lace this up the back for me, that's a dear," and she turned around so that alice or ruth could fasten a corset-like pad that covered a large part of her body. it would not show under her dress, but would be a protection in case of a fall. alice and ruth were so greatly interested in the coming perilous leap of estelle's that they did not pursue their inquiries about her life on a ranch, though alice casually remarked that it was strange she did not speak more about it. the two devere girls had no part in this one scene, and they went to watch it, safely out of range of the cameras. for there were to be two snapping this jump, to avoid the necessity of a retake in case one film failed. "all ready now!" called mr. pertell, when there had been several rehearsals up to the actual point of making the jump. estelle had raced out of the woods bearing the message. the confederate guerrillas had pursued her, and she had found the bridge burned--one built for the purpose and set fire to. "all ready for the jump?" asked the director. "all ready," estelle answered, looking to saddle girths and stirrups. "then come on!" yelled the director through his megaphone. estelle urged her horse forward. with shouts and yells, which, of course, had no part in the picture, yet which served to aid them in their acting, the players who were portraying the confederates came after her, spurring their horses and firing wildly. on and on rushed the steed bearing the daring girl rider. she reached the place of the burned bridge, halted a moment, made a gesture of despair, and then raced for the bank, down which she would leap her horse to the ford. "come on! come on!" yelled mr. pertell. "that's fine! come on! you men there put a little more pep in your riding. turn and fire at them, miss brown! fire one shot, and one of you men reel in his saddle. that's the idea!" estelle had quickly turned and fired, and one man had most realistically showed that he was hit, afterward slumping from his seat. now the girl was at the edge of the bank. she was to make a flying jump over its edge and come down in the soft sand, sliding to the bottom--in the saddle if she could keep her seat, rolling over and over if, perchance, she left it. "that's the idea! get every bit of that, russ! that's fine!" yelled mr. pertell. "there she goes!" cried alice, grasping her sister's arm, and as she spoke estelle spurred her horse and it leaped full and fair over the edge of the embankment. estelle had made her big jump. would she come safely out of it? chapter viii a massed attack while russ dalwood and his helper were grinding their cameras, reeling away at the film on which was being impressed the shifting vision of estelle brown taking her hazardous leap, alice, ruth, and the others were watching to see how the daring young horsewoman would come out of it. "she's going to land in a minute!" exclaimed miss dixon. "in a minute? in a half second!" cried alice. "but don't talk!" "there--she's fallen!" gasped miss pennington. with his feet gathered under him, petro had come down straight on the sliding, shifting sand of the embankment. for a moment it looked as though he had stumbled and that estelle would be thrown. but she held a firm rein, and leaned far back in the saddle. the horse stiffened and then, keeping upright with his forelegs straight out in front of him and his hind ones bunched under him, he began to slide. down the embankment he slid, as the italian cavalrymen sometimes ride their horses, with estelle firm in the saddle. and, as a matter of fact, the girl said afterward it was from having seen some moving pictures of these italian army riders that she got the idea of doing as she did. "she won't fall!" murmured paul. "oh, i'm so glad! the picture will be a success, won't it?" "i should think so," paul said. "it certainly was a daring ride." "i wouldn't mind doing it if i had her horse," put in maurice whitlow, smirking at the girls. "i think you could do that, miss devere," and he looked at alice. she turned away with only a murmured reply, but, nothing daunted, the "pest" went on: "estelle is certainly a fine rider. i think she must have been a cowgirl on a ranch at one time, though she won't admit it." "she wouldn't to you, at any rate," said paul, significantly. "why not?" "oh, if you don't know it's of no use to tell you. look! now she goes into the water!" the action called for the halting at the top of the embankment of the confederate riders, who dared not make the jump. they fired some futile shots at estelle, then rode around to a less dangerous descent to try to catch her. but estelle was to ford the stream and continue on to the union lines with her message. reaching the bottom of the slope, her horse gathered himself together for another bit of moving picture work. at the edge of the stream another camera man was stationed, for estelle and her horse were by this time too far away from russ and his helper to make good views possible. into the water splashed the girl, urging on her spirited horse, that was none the worse for his jump and his long slide. "good work! good work!" cried an assistant director, who was stationed near the stream to see that all went according to the scenario. "keep on, miss brown!" estelle bent low over her horse's neck, to escape possible bullets from the confederate guns, and on and on she raced until she pulled up at the tent of "general" devere. here her mission ended, after the father of alice and ruth, in a dusty uniform of a union officer, had come out in response to the summons from his orderly. estelle slipped from her saddle, registered exhaustion, saluted and held out the paper she had brought through the confederate lines at such risk. nor was the risk wholly one of the play, for she might have been seriously hurt in her perilous leap. but, fortunately, everything came out properly and a fine series of pictures resulted. "i'm so glad!" estelle exclaimed, when it was all over, and, divested of her padding, she sat in her room with ruth and alice. "i want to 'make good' in this business, and riding seems to be my forte." "do you like it better than anything else?" asked alice. "yes, i do. and i just love moving pictures, don't you?" "indeed we do," put in ruth. "but we were never cut out for riders." "i'd like it!" exclaimed alice. "i'd like to know how to ride a horse as well as you do." "i'll show you," offered estelle. "i'll be very glad to, and it's easy. it's like swimming--all you need is confidence, and to learn not to be afraid of your horse but to trust him. let me show you some day." "i believe i will!" decided alice, with flashing eyes. "it will be great." "better ask father," suggested ruth. "oh, he'll let me, i know. we've ridden some, you know; but i would like to ride as well as estelle," and alice and estelle began to talk over their plans for taking and giving riding lessons. in the midst of the talk the return of the boy who went daily to the village for mail was announced. "oh, i hope my new waist has come!" alice exclaimed, for she had written to her dressmaker to send one by parcel post. there was a package for her--the one she expected--and also some letters, as well as one for ruth. estelle showed no interest when the distribution of the mail was going on. "don't you expect anything?" asked alice. "any what?" "letters." "why, no, i don't believe i do," was the slowly given answer. "i don't write any, so i don't get any, i suppose," and both girls noticed that there was a far-away look in estelle's eyes. perhaps it was a wistful look, for surely all girls like to get letters from some one. "i believe she is estranged from her family," decided alice to her sister afterward. "did you see how pathetic she looked when we got letters and she didn't?" "well, i didn't notice anything special," ruth replied. "but there is something queer about her, i must admit. she is so absent-minded at times. this morning i asked her if she wanted to go for a walk, and she said she had no ticket." "no ticket?" "yes, that's what she said. and when i laughed and told her one didn't need a ticket to walk around oak farm, she sort of 'came to' and said she was thinking about a boat." "a boat--what boat?" "that was all she said. then she began to talk about something else." "do you know what i think?" asked alice, suddenly. "no. but then you think so many things it isn't any wonder i can't keep track of them." "i think, as i believe i've said before, that she has run away from some ranch to be in moving pictures. that's why she doesn't write or receive letters. she doesn't want her folks to know where she is." "i can hardly believe that," declared ruth. "she is too nice and refined a girl to have done anything like that. no, i just think she is a bit queer, that is all. but certainly she doesn't tell much about herself." however, further speculation regarding estelle brown was cut short, as orders came for the appearance of nearly the entire company in one of the plays. the first scene was to take place in a southern town, and for the purpose a street had been constructed by pop snooks and his helpers. there was a stately mansion, smaller houses, a store or two and some other buildings. true, the buildings were but shells, and, in some cases, only fronts, but they showed well in the picture. ruth, alice, and a number of the girls and women and men were to be the inhabitants of this village, and were to take part in an alarm and flee the place when it was known that the confederate forces were being driven back and through the place by the unionists. "come on--get dressed!" cried alice, and soon she, her sister, estelle and the other women were donning their southern costumes, wide skirts, with hoops to puff them out, and broad-brimmed hats, under which curls showed. there was to be a massed attack by the unionists on the town, through which the confederates were to flee, and it was the part of ruth and alice to rush from their father's "mansion" bearing a few of their choice possessions. all was in readiness. the southern defenders were on the outskirts of the town, drawn up to receive the unionists. toward these confederates, their enemies came riding. this was filmed separately, while other camera men, in the made street, took pictures of the activities there. men, women and children went in and out of the houses. though, as mr. belix apgar said, "if you call them houses you might as well call the smell of an onion a dinner. there ain't nothin' to 'em!" suddenly an excited rider dashed into the midst of the peaceful activities of the southern town. "they're coming! they're coming!" he cried, waving his hat. "the yankees are coming!" this would be flashed on the screen. then ensued a wild scene. colored mammies rushed here and there seeking their charges. men began to look to their arms. then came the advance guard of the retreating confederates, turning back to fire at their enemies. "come on now, ruth--alice! this is where we make our rush--just as the first of the union soldiers appear!" called paul, who was acting the part of a southern youth. "grab up your stuff and come on!" ruth was to carry a bandbox and a case supposed to contain the family jewels. alice, who played the part this time of a frivolous young woman, was to save her pet cat. "here they come!" yelled paul, as the first of the unionists came into view at the head of the street. "hurry, girls!" out they rushed, down the steps of the mansion, fleeing before the mounted union soldiers, who laughed and jeered, firing at the confederates, who were retreating. ruth and estelle, with some of the other women, were in the lead. alice had lingered behind, for the cat showed a disposition to wiggle out of her arms, and she wanted to keep it to make an effective picture. finally the creature did make its escape, but alice was not going to give up so easily. she started in pursuit, and then one of the union soldiers, maurice whitlow, spurred his horse forward. he wanted to get in the foreground of the picture and took this chance. "get back where you belong!" yelled the director angrily. "who told you to get in the spotlight? get back!" but it was too late. alice, in pursuit of the cat, was running straight toward whitlow's horse, and the next moment she slipped and went down, almost under the feet of the prancing animal. chapter ix miss dixon's loss "look out!" shouted paul, and, dropping what he was carrying, he made a leap toward the animal whitlow was riding. "roll out of the way of his feet!" cried the director. "shall i keep on with the film?" asked the camera man, for his duty was to turn until told to stop, no matter what happened. "let it run!" alice cried. "i can get out of the way. don't stop on my account!" she had been in motion pictures long enough to know what it meant to spoil a hundred feet or more of film in a spirited picture, necessitating a retake. she had seen her danger, and had done her best to get out of harm's way. the cat had leaped into some bushes and was out of sight. whitlow, his face showing his fear and his inability to act in this emergency, had instinctively drawn back on the reins. but it was to the intelligent horse itself, rather than to the rider, that alice owed her immunity from harm. for the horse reared, and came down with feet well to one side of the crouching girl, who had partly risen to her knees. at the same moment paul sprang for the steed's bridle and swerved him to one side. then, seeing that alice was practically out of danger, paul's rage at the carelessness of whitlow rose, and he reached up and fairly dragged that young man out of the saddle. "you don't know enough to lead a horse to water, let alone ride one in a movie battle scene!" he cried, as he pushed the player to one side. "why don't you look where you're going?" whitlow was too shaken and startled to reply. "go on. help her up and keep on with the retreat!" cried the director. "that's one of the best scenes of the picture. couldn't have been better if we had rehearsed it. never mind the cat, miss devere. run on. paul, you land a couple of blows on whitlow and then follow alice. hold back, there--you union men--until we get this bit of by-play." paul, nothing loath, gave whitlow two hard blows, and the latter dared not return them for fear of spoiling the picture, but he muttered in rage. then paul, shaking his fist at the unionists, hurried on after alice, and the retreat continued. what had threatened to be a disaster, or at least a spoiling of the scene, had turned out well. it is often so in moving pictures. in the remainder of the scene the girls had little part. they had been driven from their home, and, presumably, were taken in by friends. the rest of the scenes showed the union soldiers making merry in the southern town they had captured. "my! that was a narrow escape you had!" exclaimed ruth, when she and her sister were at liberty to return to the farmhouse. "were you hurt?" "no; i strained one arm just a little. but it will make a good scene, so russ said." "too good--too realistic!" declared paul. "when i get a chance at that whitlow----" "please don't do anything!" begged alice. "it wasn't really his fault. if i hadn't had the cat----" "it was his fault for pushing himself to the front the way he did," said the young actor. "only the best riders were picked to lead the charge. he might have known he couldn't control his horse in an emergency. that's where he was at fault." "he is a poor rider," commented estelle. "but you showed rare good sense, alice, in acting as you did. a horse will not step on a person if he can possibly avoid it. mr. whitlow's horse was better than he was." "just the same, i got in two good punches!" chuckled paul, "and he didn't dare hit back." "he may make trouble for you later," alice said. "oh, i'm not worrying about that. i'm satisfied." there was a spirited battle scene later in the day between the union and confederate forces; the latter endeavoring to retake the village. a confederate battery in a distant town was sent for, and the union position was shelled. but as by this time the union cannon had come up and were entrenched in the town, an artillery duel ensued. views were shown of the union guns being manned by the men, who wore bloody cloths around their foreheads and who worked hard serving the cannon. real powder was used, but no balls, of course, and now and then a man would fall dead at his gun. similar views with another camera were taken of the confederate guns and the scenes alternated on the screen afterward, creating a big sensation. then came an attack of the confederate infantry under cover of the southern battery. this was spirited, detachments of men rushing forward, firing and then seeking what cover they could. at times a man would roll over, his gun dropping, sometimes several would drop at the same time. these were those who were detailed to be shot. the unionists replied with a counter charge, and for a time the battle waged fiercely on both sides. then came a lull in the fighting, with the confederates ready to make a last charge in a desperate attempt to recapture the town. "i know what would make a good scene," said maurice whitlow, during the lull when fresh films were being loaded into the cameras. "if we had an airship now some of us union fellows could go for reinforcements in that. it would make a dandy scene." "an airship!" cried russ. "say! remember that these scenes are supposed to have taken place in . the only airships then were those the inventors were dreaming about or making in their laboratories. no airships in civil war plays! i guess not! balloons, maybe, but no airships." "more fighting! camera!" called mr. pertell, and again the spirited action was under way. cannon boomed; rifles spat fire and smoke; men fought hand to hand, often rolling over dead; riderless horses dashed here and there. now and then a man would narrowly escape being run down. as it was, several were burned from being too near the cannon or the guns, and one man's leg was broken in a fall from his horse. but it was part of the game, and no one seemed to mind. a real hospital was set up at oak farm, not a mere shell of a building, and here the injured, as well as those who simulated injury, were attended. ruth and some of the women made up as nurses, though this was not the big scene in which ruth and alice were to take part. "confederates retreat!" directed mr. pertell, and the southern forces, having been defeated, were forced to withdraw. their attempt to recapture their town had failed. "whew! that was hot work!" cried paul, as he came back to the farmhouse, having played his part as a confederate soldier. "it certainly was," agreed mr. devere, who had been the directing union general. now that the "war" was over northerners and southerners mingled together in friendly converse, their differences forgotten. "i just can't bear the smell of powder!" complained miss dixon. "i wish i had my salts." "i'll get them for you, dear," offered miss pennington. "i'm going up to our rooms." the former vaudeville actresses, with ruth, alice, and some of the others, were resting on the farmhouse porch. miss dixon smelled the salts and declared she felt much better. "there's to be a dance in the village to-night," paul remarked at the supper table. "let's go!" proposed alice. "will you take me, paul?" "of course i will." "may i have the pleasure?" asked russ, of ruth. "why, yes, if the rest go." "we'll all go!" chimed in miss dixon. "some of the extra men are good dancers. they proved it in the ballroom scene the other day. we can get a man, pearl." "all right, my dear, just as you say." the little party was soon arranged. "estelle might like to go," suggested alice. "i'll go to ask her," offered ruth, for miss brown had quit the supper table early and gone to her room. as ruth mounted the stairs she heard miss dixon and miss pennington talking in the hall outside their rooms. "i can't see where it can be," miss dixon was saying. "it was on your dresser when i went up for the salts," said her chum. "are you sure you didn't take it after that?" "positive! it's gone--that's all there is to it." "what's gone?" asked ruth. "one of my rings," was miss dixon's answer. "i left it on my dresser and my door was open. it was there when i went down to supper, and we were all at the table together----" "except estelle brown!" said miss pennington quickly. chapter x lieutenant varley for a moment ruth stood looking with wide-open eyes at the two former vaudeville actresses. on their part they stared boldly at ruth, and then miss dixon turned and slightly winked at miss pennington. "that was one of your valuable rings, wasn't it, dear?" asked miss pennington, in deliberate tones. "it certainly was--the best diamond i had. i simply won't let it be lost--or taken. i'm going to have it back!" she spoke in a loud tone, and the door of estelle's room, farther down the hall, opened. estelle looked out. she was in negligée, and she seemed to be suffering. "has anything happened?" she asked. "yes," answered miss dixon. "something has happened. some one has stolen my diamond ring!" "oh!" gasped ruth, "you shouldn't say that!" "say what?" "stolen. it's such a--such a harsh word." "well, i feel harsh just now. i'm not going to lose that ring. it was on my dresser when i went down to supper, and now it's gone. it was stolen--or taken, if you like that word better. perhaps you want me to say it was--borrowed?" and she looked scornfully at ruth. "it may have slipped down behind your dresser." "i've looked," said miss pennington. "you came up here from the table before we did," she went on, addressing estelle. "did you see anything of any one in miss dixon's room?" "i? no, i saw no one." estelle was plainly taken by surprise. "did you go in yourself," asked miss dixon brusquely. "come, i don't mind a joke--if it was a joke--but give me back my ring. i'm going into town, and i want to wear it." "a joke! give you back your ring! why, what do you mean?" and estelle, her face flashing her indignation, stepped out into the hall. "i mean you might have borrowed it," went on miss dixon, not a whit daunted. "oh, it isn't anything. i've often done the same thing myself when we've been playing on circuit. it's all right--if you give things back." "but i haven't taken anything of yours!" cried estelle. "i never went into your room!" "perhaps you have forgotten about it," suggested miss pennington coldly. "you seem to have a headache, and sometimes those headache remedies are so strong----" "i am tired, but i have no headache," said estelle simply, "nor have i taken any strong headache remedies, as you seem to suggest. i haven't been walking in my sleep, either. and i certainly was not in your room, miss dixon, nor do i know anything about your ring," and with that she turned and entered her room, whence, presently, came the sound of sobbing. for a moment ruth stood still, looking at the two rather flashy actresses, and wondering if they really meant what they had insinuated. then alice's voice was heard calling: "i say, ruth, are you and estelle coming? the boys have the auto and they'll take us in. come on." ruth did not answer, and alice came running up the stairs. she came to a halt as she saw the trio standing in the hall. "well, for the love of trading stamps! what's it all about?" she asked. "are you posing for faith, hope and charity?" "certainly not charity," murmured ruth. "and i certainly have lost what little faith i had, though i hope i do get my ring back," sneered miss dixon. "your ring? what's the matter?" asked alice. "have you lost something?" "my diamond ring was taken off my dresser," said the actress. "and that estelle brown was up here ahead of us, and all alone," said miss pennington. "she may have borrowed it and forgotten to return it." "that's what one gets for leaving one's valuable diamond rings around where these extra players are allowed to have free access," sneered miss dixon. "you mean that little chip diamond ring of yours with the red garnets around it?" asked alice. "it isn't a chip diamond at all!" fired back miss dixon. "it was a valuable ring." "comparatively, perhaps, yes," and alice's voice was coolly sneering, though she rarely allowed herself this privilege. "i'm sorry it is lost----" "why don't you say taken?" asked miss pennington. "because i don't believe it was," snapped alice. "either you forgot where you laid it or it has dropped behind something. as for thinking estelle brown even borrowed it, that's all nonsense! i don't believe a word of it." "nor i!" exclaimed ruth. "did you speak to her about it?" asked alice, and then as the sound of sobbing came from estelle's room she burst out with: "you horrid things! i believe you did! shame on you!" and she hurried to the closed door. "it is i--alice," she whispered. "let me in. it's all a terrible mistake. don't let it affect you so, estelle dear!" then alice opened the unlocked door and went in. ruth paused for a moment to say: "i think you have made a terrible mistake, miss dixon," and then she followed her sister to comfort the crying girl. "humph! mistake!" sneered miss dixon. "that's what we get for mixing in with amateurs," added her chum. "come on, we'll speak to mr. pertell about it." but, for some reason or other, the director was not told directly of the loss of the ring, nor was estelle openly accused. she felt as badly, though, as if she had been, even when ruth and alice tried to comfort her. estelle had left the table early, but though she had passed miss dixon's room, she said she had seen no one about. "don't mind about the old ring!" said alice. "it wasn't worth five dollars." "but that i should be accused of taking even five dollars!" "you're not!" said ruth, quickly. "they don't dare make an open accusation. i wouldn't be surprised if miss dixon found she had lost her ring and she's ashamed to acknowledge it." "oh, but it is dreadful to be suspected!" sighed estelle. "you're not--no one in his senses would think of even dreaming you took so much as a pin!" cried alice. "it's positively silly! i wouldn't make such a fuss over such a cheap ring." but miss dixon did make a "fuss," inasmuch as she talked often about her loss, though she still made no direct accusation against estelle. but miss dixon and her chum made life miserable for the daring horsewoman. they often spoke in her presence of extra players who did not know their places, and made sneering references to locking up their valuables. at times estelle was so miserable that she threatened to leave, but ruth and alice would not hear of it and offered to lay the whole matter before mr. pertell and have him settle it by demanding that the loser of the ring either make a direct accusation or else keep quiet about her loss. mr. devere, who was appealed to by his daughters, voted against this, however. "it is best not to pay any attention to those young ladies," he advised. "the friends of estelle know she would not do such a thing, and no one takes either miss dixon or miss pennington very seriously--not half as seriously as they take themselves. it will all blow over." there were big times ahead for the moving picture girls and their friends. some of the most important battle scenes were soon to be filmed, those that had already been taken having been skirmishes. "i have succeeded in getting two regiments of the state militia to take part in a sham battle for our big play," said mr. pertell one day. "they are to come to this part of the country for their annual manoeuvers under the supervision of the regular army officers, and by paying their expenses i can have them here for a couple of days. "they will come with their horses, tents, and everything, so we shall have some real war scenes--that is, as real as can be had with blank cartridges. it will be a great thing for my film." "and will they work in with our players?" asked mr. devere. "oh, yes, indeed! i intend to use your daughters in the spy and hospital scenes, and you as one of the generals. in fact, mr. devere, i depend on you to coach the militia men. for though they know a lot about military matters, they do not know how best to pose for the camera. so i'll be glad if you will act as a sort of stage manager." "i shall be pleased to," answered the old player. and he was greatly delighted at the opportunity. about a week after mr. pertell had mentioned that two regiments of militia were coming to oak farm, ruth and alice awakened one morning to see the fields about them dotted with tents and soldiers moving about here and there. "why, it does look just like a real war camp!" exclaimed alice, who, in a very becoming dressing gown, was at the window. "oh, isn't it thrilling! how dare you?" she exclaimed, drawing hastily back. "what was it?" asked ruth from her room. "one of the officers had the audacity to wave his hand at me." "you shouldn't have looked out." "ha! a pity i can't look out of my own window," and to prove that she was well within her rights alice looked out again, and pretended not to see a young man who was standing in the yard below. there was a bustle of excitement at the breakfast table. all the players were eager to know what parts they would have, for this was the biggest thing any of them had yet been in--with two regiments taking the field one against the other, with many more cannon and guns than mr. pertell had hitherto used. "i'll be able to throw on the screen a real battle scene," he said. "the only trouble," declared pop snooks, "is that their uniforms aren't like those of the days of sixty-three." pop was a stickler for dramatic correctness. "it won't matter," said mr. pertell. "the views of the battle will be distant ones, and no one will be able to see the kind of uniforms the men wear. those who are close to the camera will wear the proper civil war uniforms we have on hand. the officers of the guard have agreed to that." considerable preparation was necessary before the big film of the battle could be taken, and to this end it was necessary to have several conferences among the officers and mr. pertell and his camera men and assistants, including mr. devere. a number of the guard officers were constantly about the farmhouse, arranging the plans. one afternoon alice was sitting on the porch with estelle, waiting until it was time for them to take their parts in a side scene of the production. a nattily attired young officer came up the walk, doffing his cap. "i beg your pardon," he said. "i am lieutenant varley, and i was sent here to ask for mr. pertell. perhaps you can tell me where i can find him?" alice looked and blushed. he was the one who had audaciously waved to her beneath her window, but now he showed no sign of recognition. as his gaze rested on the face of estelle brown, however, he started. "excuse me!" he began, "but did you reach your destination safely?" "my destination!" exclaimed estelle. "what do you mean? i don't know you!" "perhaps not by name. but are you not the young lady whom i met some years ago in portland, oregon, inquiring how to get to new york?" "you are mistaken," said estelle, and her voice was frigid in tone. "i have never been in portland in my life," and she turned aside. chapter xi wonderings for a moment lieutenant varley seemed to hesitate, and alice felt sorry for him. he was distinctly not of the type that would try to make an acquaintance in this way just because estelle was a pretty girl. he seemed embarrassed and ill at ease. but he was not the sort of young man to give up, once he thought he was right, as he obviously did in this case. to do so, alice felt sure he reasoned, would have been to acknowledge that he was just the sort he seemingly was not. "i really beg your pardon," he went on, in a firm but respectful tone. "i am sure i have met you before. i do not wonder that you do not remember me, but i cannot forget you. yours isn't a face one easily forgets," and he smiled genially, and in a manner to disarm criticism. "but i never was in portland," insisted estelle, and it was plain that she was puzzled by his persistence but not offended by it. "and i don't remember ever having seen you before." "perhaps if i recall some of the circumstances to you it may bring back the memory," suggested the lieutenant. "believe me, i do not do it out of mere idle curiosity, but you seemed in such distress at the time, and so uncertain of where you wanted to go, that i really wished after i had directed you that i had placed you in charge of the conductor of your train." "but i never was in portland," said estelle again, "and though i have been in new york, i went there from boston. surely you have confused me with some one else." the young officer shook his head. "i couldn't do that," he said with a smile that showed his white, even teeth. "it was just about this time three--no, four years ago. i was in portland on business, and as i entered the railroad station you were standing there----" estelle shook her head, smiling. "well, for the sake of argument," admitted the lieutenant, "say it was some one who looked like you." "all right," agreed miss brown, and she and alice drew near the porch railing, on the other side of which stood the officer with doffed hat. "a young lady was standing there, and she seemed quite bewildered," went on lieutenant varley. "i saw that she was in some confusion, and asked if i could be of any service to her. she said she wanted to get to new york, but did not know which train to take. i asked her if she had her ticket, and she replied in the negative. i asked her if she wanted to buy one, and she said she did, showing a purse well filled with bills----" "then surely it could not have been i!" exclaimed estelle with a merry laugh. "i never had a purse well-filled with bills. we moving picture players--at least in my class--don't go about like millionaires. gracious! i only wish i did have a well-filled purse, don't you, alice?" "surely. but what else happened? i'm interested in the story." "and i was interested in the young lady," went on the officer. "i bought her ticket for her with the money she handed me, and put her on the train. she was quite young--about as old as you"--and he smiled at estelle, "and i asked her if some one was going to meet her. she said she thought so, but was not sure, at any rate she felt that she could look after herself. i left her, and meant to speak to the conductor about her, but did not have time. "i have often wondered since whether she arrived safely, and when i saw you sitting here i felt that i could ascertain. for i certainly took you for that young lady." "i am sorry to spoil your romance," said estelle, "but i am not the one. i never was farther west than chicago, and then only for a little while, filling a short engagement in the movies." "well, i won't insist on your identity," said the lieutenant, "but i'm sure i'm not mistaken. however, i won't trouble you further----" "oh, it has been no trouble," interrupted estelle. "i'm sure i hope you will find that young lady some day." "i hope so, too," and the lieutenant bowed. but, judging from his face, alice thought, it was plain that he was sure he had already found the young lady in question. at that moment mr. pertell came out on the porch and saw the lieutenant. "ah, i'm glad you are here," observed the manager. "i want to ask you a great many things. this staging of sham battles is not as easy as i thought it would be." "we can have the sham battles all right," answered the officer, with a smile. "but i can imagine it is not easy to get good moving pictures of them. we have to operate over a large area, and we can't always tell what the next move will be. though, of course, for the purpose of making views we can ignore military regulations and strain a point or two." "that's just what i want to talk about," remarked mr. pertell. "in the attack, for instance, the way the plans have been made the sun is wrong for getting good views. can't we switch the two armies around?" "well, i suppose we can. i'll speak to the colonel about it," and then the two went inside, where mr. pertell had his office in the parlor of the farmhouse. "what do you think of him, estelle?" asked alice. "why, i think he's very nice, but he's altogether wrong about me." "and yet he seemed so positive." "yes, that is what makes it strange. but i never saw him before--that is, as far as i know; and i'm certain i was never in portland. he must be mistaken, but it was nice of him to admit it. i thought at first he was using the old method to get acquainted." "so did i. but he isn't that kind." "he doesn't seem to be." russ dalwood came around the corner of the porch with paul ardite and hal watson, a young man lately engaged to play juvenile roles. hal had become very friendly with the little group that circled around ruth and alice. "you girls have an hour yet before you go on," russ informed them. "we haven't anything to do until then, either. want to take a run in to town? i've got to call at the express office for some extra film, and the auto is ready. where's ruth?" "up in her room. i'll go for her," offered alice. "shall we have time?" "plenty. you can even buy yourself some candy--or let us do it for you," laughed paul. "we'll let you do it!" said estelle, as alice hastened to summon her sister. "ruth! ruth! where are you?" called alice, as she ran upstairs--alice seldom walked. "here, just reading over my new part. what's the matter?" "we're going for an auto ride with the boys. come along. you can study in the car." "yes, a lot of studying i could do under those circumstances. but i'll come--i want a bit of diversion. who else is going?" alice told her, and then spoke about the young lieutenant. "wasn't it queer he should be mistaken?" she asked. ruth did not reply for a moment. "wasn't it?" repeated her sister. "i was just wondering," said ruth, slowly. "was it?" chapter xii an interruption while alice was putting on her hat ruth looked at her in some surprise. "was it?" she repeated. "was what?" asked her sister. "was it a mistake?" "of course it was, ruth! didn't i tell you estelle said he must have taken her for some one else, as she had never been in portland in her life? of course, it was a mistake. what makes you think it wasn't?" "because, alice, i am beginning to have doubts regarding estelle." "doubts! you don't mean about the ring?" "of course not! but i am beginning to think she is not altogether what she seems to be." "what do you mean?" "well, nothing serious, of course. and if she has done what i think she has it isn't any worse than many girls have done, and have gained by it, rather than lost, though it was risky." "you mean?" "i mean that i believe she isn't telling us all she knows. she is hiding something about her past. and i believe it is that she has run away from home because her family would not let her go into moving pictures. you know we sort of suspected that before. now, in that case, she would have every reason to deny that she had seen that young lieutenant in portland." "why should she, providing i grant that you are right?" "because he might know her friends and would tell them where she was. and she doesn't want that known until she has made a reputation. i don't blame her. if ever i ran away----" "ruth! _you_ are not thinking of it, are you?" "silly! of course not. but if i should i wouldn't want to run back home until i had something to show for my efforts. it may be that way in estelle's case. she doesn't want to return like the prodigal son." "i believe you're entirely wrong," declared alice. "what i think is that she perhaps comes of good people. when i say that i don't mean that they were any better than we are, but that they so regarded themselves, and would look askance at motion picture players. well, estelle doesn't want to bring any annoyance on her family, and that may be the reason she doesn't tell much about herself. but as for that young officer's having seen her, i believe estelle when she says he is mistaken. don't you?" "i don't know what to believe," returned ruth. "but i'm not going to worry over it." "and you won't tell her you don't believe she is what she seems to be?" "of course not, you little goose! but i'm going to keep my eyes open. you know we may be able to give her some good advice. you and i, alice, don't meet with near the temptations that assail other girls in this business, and it's because father is with us all the while. now estelle isn't so fortunate; so i propose that we sort of look after her." "oh, i'm very willing to do that." "and if we see anything that is likely to cause her trouble, we must shield her from it. that is what i mean by sort of keeping watch over her. at the same time, i believe that she is not altogether what she seems. she is hiding something from us--even though we are trying to be so kind to her. but she doesn't really mean to do it. she is just afraid, i think." "and you really believe that lieutenant knows her?" "he may. at least i think, from what you said, that he is honest in his belief. but we will watch and wait. we must try to help estelle in the hour of trial." "of course we will. now hurry, for they are waiting for us." "such a funny thing just happened to me!" cried estelle to the party of young folks when they were in the automobile and on the way to the village. "i was mistaken for some one else." "what--again?" asked alice. "no, the same incident that you witnessed," and she related the episode of the lieutenant as alice had detailed it to ruth. "that was queer," commented hal watson. "i should say so!" exclaimed russ. "was he at all fresh?" paul asked, and his air was truculent. "not in the least!" estelle hastened to assure him. "he was honestly mistaken about it, that was all," and she enlarged on the incident, and seemed so genuinely amused by it that alice nudged her sister as much as to say: "see how much in error you are." but ruth only smiled, and alice noticed that she regarded estelle more closely than ever. the party made merry in the town, going into the "emporium," for ice-cream sodas; and even the presence of maurice whitlow at the other end of the counter, where he was imbibing something through a straw, could not daunt alice's high spirits. whitlow smiled and smirked in the direction of his acquaintances, but he received no invitation to join them. as estelle was going out in the rear of the party, the extra player slid up to her and asked: "mayn't i have the pleasure of buying you some more cream?" "you may not!" exclaimed estelle, not turning her head, and there were snickers from the other patrons in the place. maurice turned the shade of his scarlet tie, and slid out a side door. "you're getting too popular," chided alice to her friend. "first it's the young lieutenant, and now it's your former admirer." "i can dispense with the admiration of both!" "even the lieutenant?" asked ruth, meaningly. "oh, he wasn't so bad," and estelle either was really indifferent, or she assumed indifference in a most finished manner that would have done credit to a more experienced actress than she was. "what's the matter--are we late?" asked paul, as, on the way back to oak farm, he saw russ look at his watch and then speed up the car a bit. "yes, a little. mr. pertell said he wanted to begin that skirmish scene at eleven exactly, and it's ten minutes to that now. we can just about make it. the sun will be in just the right position for making the film. it's in a thicket you know, and the light isn't any too good. that's the scene you girls are in," he went on. "speed along," urged paul. "i've got to get into my uniform and make up a bit." there is very little "make up" done for moving pictures taken in the open, and not as much done for studio work as there is on the regular stage. the camera is sharper than any eye, and make-up shows very plainly on the screen. of course, eyes are often darkened and lips rouged a bit to make them appear to better advantage. even the men make up a little but not much. for close-up views, though, where the faces are more than life size, artistic make-up is very essential. the camera, in this case, is a magnifying glass, and the most peach-blow complexion would look coarse unless slightly powdered. "we'll be all right if we don't get a puncture," said hal. no sooner were these words out of his mouth than there came a hiss of escaping air. "there she goes!" cried paul. "stop, russ!" "no, we haven't time. i'm going to keep on. it's better to get in on the rims and cut a shoe to ribbons than to spoil the film." they sped along in spite of the flat tire. and it was well they did, for mr. pertell was anxiously waiting for his players when they arrived at oak farm. "you cut it pretty fine," was his only comment. "don't do it again. now get ready for that skirmish scene." this was one little incident in the big war play. in it ruth and alice were to be shown driving along a country road. there was to be an alarm, and a body of confederate cavalry was to encounter one of the outposts of the union army. there was to be a skirmish and a fight, and the union men were to be driven off, leaving some dead and wounded. the girls, though shocked, were to look after the wounded. all was in readiness. the soldiers, some drawn from the newly-arrived national guards, were posted in their respective places. lieutenant varley was to play the part of one of the wounded unionists. "all ready--come on with the carriage!" called mr. pertell to ruth and alice, who were waiting out of range of the camera. they had rehearsed the direction they were to take. "go on!" called the director to russ. "camera!" the grinding of the film began, and ruth and alice acted their parts as they drove along in the old-fashioned equipage. suddenly, in front of them the bushes crackled. "there they come!" cried ruth, pulling back the horses as called for in the play. "the soldiers!" but instead of a band of men in blue breaking out on the road, there came a herd of cows, that rushed at the carriage, while the horses reared up and began to back. "stop the camera! stop that! cut that out!" frantically cried mr. pertell through his megaphone. "hold back those men!" he added to his assistant who had signaled for the confederates to rush up. chapter xiii forgetfulness ruth and alice for the moment were not quite certain whether or not this was a part of the scene. very often the director would spring some unexpected effect for the sake of causing a natural surprise that would register in the camera better than any simulated one. but these were real cows, and they did not seem to have rehearsed their parts very well, for they rushed here and there and surrounded the carriage, to the no small terror of the horses, which ruth had all she could do to hold in. "oh, what shall we do?" cried alice. "i'm going to jump out!" "you'll do nothing of the sort!" exclaimed her sister. "sit where you are! do you want to be trampled on or pierced with those sharp horns, alice?" "i certainly do not!" "then sit still! this must be a mistake." it did not take much effort on ruth's part to make alice remain in the carriage with all those cows about. for she had learned on rocky ranch that while a crowd of steers will pay no attention to a person on a horse, once let the same person dismount, and he may be trampled down. these, of course, were not wild steers--alice could see that. but she thought the same rule, in a measure, might hold good. more cows crashed through the bushes until the road was fairly blocked, and then came another rush of many feet and the union skirmish party came galloping along. they had received no orders to hold back, and so dashed up. at the same moment a ragged boy with a long whip came rushing up. evidently, he was in charge of the cows, but when he saw the soldiers in their uniforms, a look of fear spread over his face. "i didn't do nothin', mister captain! honest i didn't!" he yelled. "these is pap's cows, an' i'm drivin' 'em over to the man he sold 'em to. i didn't do nothin'." "nobody said you did!" laughed lieutenant varley with a bow to ruth and alice in the carriage. "but why did you drive them in here to spoil the picture?" "i didn't know nothin' about no picture--honest i didn't! i took this road because it was shorter. don't shoot pap's cow-critters. i'll take 'em away." "well, that's all we want you to do," said mr. pertell, coming up with a grim smile. "you nearly got yourself and your cow-critters in trouble, my boy. drive 'em back now, and we'll go on with the film. did any of 'em get in, russ?" he asked. "just a few, on the last inch or so of the reel. i can cut that out and go on from there. hold the carriage where it is, ruth," he called. "all right," she answered, for she had now quieted the restive horses. "don't be afraid, boy," said alice to the lad. "you won't be hurt." "and won't they hurt pap's cow-critters, neither?" "no, indeed. it was all a mistake." "i--i didn't know there was no war goin' on," remarked the lad, as he sent an intelligent dog he had with him after the straying animals. "me an' pap we lives away over yonder on t'other side of the mountain. an' we don't never hear no news. i was plum skeered when i seen all them ossifers. thought sure i was ketched, same as i've heard my grandpap tell about bein' ketched in the army. he was a soldier with sherman, and i've heard him tell about capturin' cow-critters when they was on the march." "well, this would be like old times to him, i suppose," said mr. pertell. "but this is only in fun, my boy--to make motion pictures. so take your cows away and we'll go on with the work. drive 'em on," and the boy did so with a curious, backward look at the girls in the carriage, and at the union soldiers, who were going back to their places to get ready anew for the skirmish charge. "and this time we'll have it without cows," said mr. pertell. "they might go all right in a film of sherman's march, but not in this skirmish fight. all ready now. take your places again." the preliminary advance of the carriage, containing ruth and alice had been filmed all right. very little need be cut out. once the cows were beyond the camera range, russ again began grinding away at the film. "now come on--union soldiers!" cried the director. from their waiting place lieutenant varley led his men; and as they swept on past the carriage, alice and ruth registering fear, the confederates rushed out to meet them. then began the skirmish. guns popped. horses reared, some throwing their riders unexpectedly, but this made it all the more realistic. men fought hand to hand with swords, using only the flats, of course. horses collided one with another, and the animals seemed to enter into the spirit of the conflict fully as much as did the men. there was a rattle of rifles, but no cannon were used in this scene. russ and his helpers filmed it, and, standing behind them watching the mimic fight, was the director, shouting orders through his megaphone and, when he could not make himself heard in this way, using a field telephone, calling his instructions to helpers stationed out of sight in the bushes, where they could relay the commands to those taking part in the skirmish. "a little livelier now!" yelled mr. pertell. "give way, you union fellows, as though you were beaten, and then drive them back to the fight, mr. varley. that's the way!" the conflict raged and the cameras clicked away. it was all one to the camera men--a parlor drama or a sanguinary conflict. so long as the shutter worked perfectly, as long as the focus was correct and the film ran freely, the camera men were satisfied. "now you confederates pretend to be overwhelmed, and then rally with a rush and sweep the unionists out of the thicket!" ordered the director. this was done, and, all the while, at one side of the picture crouched ruth and alice, as two southern girls. they had leaped from their carriage and were waiting the outcome of the conflict, stooping down out of the way of flying bullets. this was a side scene in the war play, and did not involve the main story. ruth and alice, as did the other main characters, assumed various roles at times. "come on now! you unionists are beaten. retreat!" called the director, and lieutenant varley's men rode off, leaving him and some others injured on the field of the conflict. it was here that alice and ruth took an active part again. ruth rushed up to the fallen lieutenant and felt his pulse. no sooner had she done so than the director cried: "stop the camera! that won't do, miss devere!" "why not?" she asked. "because you felt his pulse with your thumb. no nurse would do that. the pulse in the thumb itself is too strong to allow any one to feel the pulse in another's wrist. use the tips of your first and second fingers. now try again. ready, russ!" this time ruth did it right. it was characteristic of mr. pertell to notice a little detail like that. "not one person in a hundred would object to the pulse being felt with the thumb," he explained afterward; "but the hundredth person in the audience would be a doctor, and he'd know right away that the director was at fault. it is the little things that count." ruth and alice busied themselves ministering to the wounded who were made prisoners by the confederates. the lieutenant was put in their carriage and driven away. that ended the scene at the place of the skirmish. "very well done!" mr. pertell told the girls, as they prepared for the next act, which was in a room of a southern house, whither the wounded had been carried. these were busy days at oak farm. with the arrival of the two regiments of the national guard, pictures were taken every day, leading up to the big battle scene, which had been postponed. when they were not posing for the cameras, the guardsmen were drilling in accordance with the regulations of the annual state encampment under the direction of the regular army officers. "well, have you quite recovered from your wounds?" asked alice of lieutenant varley one day, as she met him outside the farmhouse. "oh, yes, thanks to the care of your sister and yourself. by the way, i hope your friend miss brown is not angry with me." "why should she be?" "well, because i thought i had seen her before." "i don't believe she is. i haven't heard her say. but here she comes now. you can ask her," and estelle came around the turn of the path. seeing alice talking with the lieutenant, she hesitated, but alice called: "come on--we were just speaking about you." "i wondered why my ears burned," laughed estelle. "perhaps you two are going somewhere," said the officer, preparing to take his leave. "oh, to no place where you are not welcome," answered alice, graciously, with a side look at her companion to see if estelle objected. but the latter gave no sign, one way or the other. "thank you!" exclaimed the guardsman. "i have to take part in a little scene in about an hour, but i would enjoy a walk in the meanwhile. you are both made up, i see?" "yes, we are southern belles to-day," laughed alice. "belles every day," returned the lieutenant with a bow. "nicely said!" laughed estelle. "you are improving!" she and alice wore the costumes of generations ago, big bonnets and hoopskirts. "let's go over and see what they're filming there," suggested alice, pointing to where a crossroads store had been put up. the scene at the store was one to represent a dispute among some southerners and some northern sympathizers. it was to end in a fight in which one man was to draw his revolver. all went well up to the quarrel, and then it became too realistic, for, by some chance, there was a bullet in the revolver instead of a blank cartridge, and it entered the leg of one of the disputants. he fell and bled profusely. "get dr. wherry!" yelled mr. pertell. "dr. wherry went into the village this morning to get some stuff," russ said, "and he hasn't come back yet." "then somebody will have to go after him!" cried the director. "i'll go!" offered alice. "i can take this horse and carriage!" for a rig was hitched outside the "store." "i'll go with you!" cried estelle, and then, in costume and made up for the pictures as they were, they got into the vehicle and drove off. chapter xiv in the smoke "do you think he'll die?" asked estelle, as she took the reins and flicked the horse lightly with the whip. "i hope not," answered alice. "did it make you faint to see the blood?" "a little. did it you?" "yes. i can't bear it! it makes me---- oh, it makes me----" estelle closed her eyes, and alice was surprised to see her turn pale, even under her rouge, and shudder. "that's queer," alice said. "i should have thought, being on a ranch as you were, you might have become used to accidents and scenes of violence." "who said i was on a ranch?" "why, you did!" "i did?" "yes; don't you remember? that day when we were talking about branding cows----" "oh, maybe i did. i'd forgotten. oh, dear! here comes an auto, and i'm not sure about this horse. i'm afraid he'll start to rear." at this intimation that there might be trouble, alice's face took on a worried look, and she fore-bore to press the questions she had been asking estelle. the horse showed some signs of fear as he passed the automobile in the road, but the man driving the car was considerate enough to stop his machine and motion to the girls to pass. they did so, the horse getting as far to one side of the road as he could, his nostrils distended and his ears pricked forward. "there! thank goodness that's over!" sighed estelle. "now to make speed and get that doctor. i hope the man doesn't die." "i do too," acquiesced alice. "did you see how sharply the man looked at us?" "who, the man that was shot?" "no, the one in the auto. he stared and stared!" "probably he wondered where in the world we got a horse in these days that was afraid of an auto. i wonder myself where this steed has been in hiding. there are so many cars now that it is a wonder horses aren't using gasoline as perfume." "no, he wasn't looking at the horse," persisted alice. "he was looking at us. perhaps he knew you, estelle." "why do you say that? i'm sure i never saw him before. maybe it was you he was staring at." "no, it was you he was staring at, but i don't blame him. you are very striking looking to-day." "it's this dress. isn't it quaint?" "and pretty! oh, but we mustn't talk so frivolously when that poor man may be dying. we must drive faster." "talking isn't going to make the horse go any slower. in fact, i think maybe he'll go quicker to get the trip over with sooner so he can be rid of our chatter. but i don't think the poor man is badly hurt. he may bleed a lot, but they can hold that in check until we get the doctor." they drove on, and were presently in the village. they had been told where dr. wherry had gone--to a drugstore to get some medical supplies--and thither they made their way. "do you notice how every one is staring at us?" asked alice, as they drove along the streets. "they do seem to be," admitted estelle, looking for the drugstore. "i guess it's the horse; he is so bony he has many fine points about him, as russ said. and we're queer looking in these costumes ourselves." when they alighted at the pharmacy and started in, they became aware of the growing sensation they were creating. for a little throng had gathered in front of the store, and more men and boys came running up, to form in two lines--a living lane--through which alice and estelle had to pass. "we certainly are creating a sensation," gasped alice, growing embarrassed. "look! a regular bridal crowd," said estelle in a low voice. though they undeniably presented a pretty picture in their paint, powder, curls and hoopskirts, they were also an unusual one for that little country village. "look at the society swells!" cried one boy. "dat's de new fashion--makin' your nose look like a flour barrel!" added another. "aren't those dresses sweet?" sighed a girl. "they must be the latest new york style," added a companion. "i heard that full skirts were coming in again." "well, ours are certainly full enough," murmured alice, looking down at her swaying hoops. and then some one guessed the truth. "they're actresses--the movie actresses!" came the cry, and this attracted more attention than ever, for if there is one person about whom the american public is curious, it is the actor. "oh my!" exclaimed estelle, "now we are in for it. hurry inside the store!" the girls fairly ran into the friendly shelter, and some of the crowd attempted to follow, but the drug clerks barred the way, guessing what the excitement was about. "dr. wherry!" gasped alice. "is he here?" "right back there--in the prescription department," a clerk said. "which of you is ill?" "neither one!" cried estelle. "we want him for a man out at oak farm. he's been shot--an accident in the play. tell him to hurry, please, and then show us some way of getting out through a side door. i can't face that crowd--this way," and she looked down at her elaborate hoop-skirted costume, which might have been all right in the days of sixty-three, but which was unique at the present time. "what's the trouble?" asked dr. wherry, coming from behind the ground-glass partition. "oh, miss devere and miss brown!" he went on as he recognized the moving picture girls. "is some one hurt?" they told him quickly what the trouble was, and he cried: "i'll go at once. you'd better come back with me in the auto if you don't want to run the gauntlet of the staring crowd. i'll bring my machine around to the side door." "what about the horse we drove over?" asked alice. "i'll have mr. pertell send a man for that." the girls, in their curiosity-exciting costumes, managed to slip out the side door and into the doctor's automobile without attracting the attention of the crowd. then they made the trip back in good time and comfort. "and to think we never for a moment thought of changing our things!" cried alice, when they were at oak farm again. "or even of rubbing off some of the make-up," added estelle. "but we were so excited--at least i was--when i saw the poor fellow hurt. i hope it is not serious." "no, he's lost a little blood, that's all," said dr. wherry. "but i thought you were used to such scenes, miss brown, coming from the west, as you did." "i from the west? oh, yes, i have been there. come on, alice, let's see if they still want us for anything, and, if they don't, we'll change our clothes," and estelle seemed glad of a chance to hurry away. "i wonder," said alice to her sister afterward, "whether she is really so squeamish as she pretends, or if she doesn't want it known that she is from the west?" "it's hard to say. estelle is acting more and more queerly every day, i think." "so do i. though i am quite in love with her. she has such a sweet disposition." "yes, she is a lovely girl. i only wish there wasn't that bit of mystery about her." "and it is a mystery," went on alice. "every once in a while i catch lieutenant varley looking at her, when he thinks he isn't observed, and he shakes his head as though he could not understand it at all." "then you think he still feels sure she is the girl he met in portland?" "i'm positive he does, and he isn't doing it to further his own ends and force an acquaintance with her, either. he honestly believes he has met her before." "well, it is very strange. but she doesn't seem to want to talk about anything connected with her past." "no, and i suppose we should not try to force matters." the man who was shot was soon out of danger, and, meanwhile, the taking of the war scenes went on with some one else in his place. a number of sham engagements had been fought, all working up to the big final battle, in which ruth would play her part as an army nurse, and alice would act as the spy. estelle, too, had been given a rather important part, much to the annoyance of miss dixon, who had been expecting it. the vaudeville actress made sneering and cutting remarks about "extra players butting in," and there were veiled insinuations concerning the missing ring, but estelle took no notice, and alice, ruth and her other friends stood loyally by her. "we'll film that burning barn scene to-day," said mr. pertell one morning at the breakfast table, when he had ascertained that the atmospheric conditions were right. "that's the one where you two devere girls are surprised on your little farm by the visit of some union soldiers. you have been caring for a wounded cousin, who has escaped through the union lines, and at the news that the yankees are coming you hide him in the barn. then the unionists set fire to it, and you girls have to drag him out. "there'll be no danger, of course, for the fire won't be near you--in fact, the barn won't burn at all--only a shack nailed to it. and the smoke will be from the regular bomb. you have plenty of them, haven't you, pop snooks?" "oh yes, plenty of smoke bombs, mr. pertell." all was soon in readiness for the burning-barn scene. ruth and alice received the wounded cousin (an inside scene this) and then, when an old colored mammie (mrs. maguire) came panting with the news that the yankees were coming, the wounded confederate was carried out to the barn. then came the visit of the yankees, who, suspecting the presence of the escaped prisoner, made diligent search, but without success. "fire the barn, anyhow!" cried the captain. then came the spirited scene where ruth and alice got their wounded relative out. he was a slim young man, and they could easily carry him, for he was supposed to be overcome by the smoke. "ready, alice?" asked ruth, as they went through the action called for in the script. "yes, ready. you take his head and i'll take his heels. don't be too stiff," alice admonished the young man. "we can carry you better if you're limp." "i'll be limp enough if i swallow any more of that smoke," choked the actor. "it's fierce!" indeed, pop snooks had been very liberal in the matter of smoke bombs. great clouds of the black vapor swirled here and there, and ruth and alice had to get free breaths whenever they could. "come on!" yelled the director through his megaphone. "lively!" alice and ruth, half carrying, half dragging, the wounded soldier, staggered out, russ clicking away at the camera. "good! that's good! it's fine!" exclaimed the enthusiastic director. ruth was conscious that she was suddenly dragging more of the weight of the man's body than at first. but she thought one of alice's hands had possibly slipped off, and she did not want to call a halt to get a better hold. "my! but this is choking!" gasped ruth. finally, she staggered out into the open, dragging the soldier by his shoulders. she slumped down on the ground, in a place free from smoke, and registered exhaustion. "where's alice?" cried paul, who was holding back in readiness for his appearance in the scene. "where's alice?" "isn't she there?" gasped ruth, rising on her elbow. "no, she isn't. she must be----" "hold that pose, ruth! don't stir or you'll spoil the scene!" yelled the director. "we'll get your sister!" chapter xv the hospital tent "the show must go on!" this is the motto of circus and theatrical performers the world over. no matter what happens, under what strain or pain the player labors, no matter what occurs short of death itself, the public must not be allowed to guess that anything is wrong. and sometimes even death itself has been no barrier--for players have gone through with their parts on the stage when, but the act previous, they have learned that some loved one had passed away. and more than one clown has bounded into the sawdust ring with merry quip and jest, with a smile on his painted face, while his heart was breaking with grief. and so it was with ruth devere. as she staggered out of the smoke clouds and saw that alice had not followed, at once the dreadful thought came to her that her sister had been overcome by the fumes. and, although the smoke bombs were harmless as regards fire, the breathing of the chemical fumes for any length of time might mean death. thus, as ruth was about to stagger to her feet to go back into the murky cloud to look for alice, there came the director's orders to "hold that pose!" the show must go on! that meant it would not do to spoil the scene, ruin the film, and necessitate a retake if, by any possibility, it could be avoided. "stay where you are, ruth! stop the camera, russ! hold the pose--both of you. we'll go on from there when we get alice out!" and ruth, her heart torn with anguish, must remain. she was glad her father was not present. "get in there and get the girl!" cried pop snooks who was busy lighting more smoke bombs. "get that girl, some of you fellows!" for he had guessed in an instant what had happened. it was not the first time one of the players had been overcome by the heavy fumes. into the cloud dashed some of the head property man's helpers. russ and paul, who could leave their posts while the camera was not in motion, also penetrated the murkiness. fortunately, alice had been overcome when within a few feet of the clear atmosphere, and it was the work of but an instant for paul to carry her outside, where she could breathe pure air. "the poor dear!" cried mrs. maguire. "here, give her this ammonia and water." "don't come too close to her, mrs. maguire!" warned the director. "your black make-up will come off on her face, and it will show in the film." the director had to think of all those things, though it might seem a bit heartless. "i'll be careful," promised the motherly old woman. "i'll be careful." alice sipped the aromatic spirits of ammonia, and felt better. "did i faint?" she asked. "how silly of me!" "are you all right?" asked ruth, still in her place by the side of the soldier, who was supposed to be unconscious. "yes, ruth dear. i'm all right now. oh, and did i leave you to carry him all alone? i'm so sorry!" "it was all right. i dragged him." "yes, the scene is all right," said mr. pertell. "now, alice, i don't want to be heartless, but will you be ready to go on in this, or shall we abandon it and make a retake?" "oh, i'll go on. just a moment, and i'll be all right." after a minute or two the plucky girl recovered from the effects of the smoke, and, though she was weak and wan, managed to go through her part. she and ruth carried their "cousin" out of the burning barn which was then allowed to fall to ruins. or rather, the extra part, built on for the purpose, was, pop snook's smoke bombs effectually concealing from the audience the fact that the real barn was not in the least harmed. "well, i'm glad that's over," said alice with a sigh, as a little later she washed off her make-up and donned her ordinary clothes. "do you feel bad?" her sister asked. "yes, sort of choked." "then let's take a walk up on the hill where there is always a breeze." on the grassy eminence with the fresh breezes blowing about them, alice soon felt much better. but mr. pertell called off some of the scenes set down for next day, so that she might have a rest. "we'll soon be ready for the big hospital scene, ruth, and also for the one where you try to get away with the papers, alice," said mr. pertell to the two girls one day. "and, in order that everything may run smoothly i've made a little change in the scenario. i'm going to have a preliminary hospital scene. in that you will be a sort of orderly, or assistant nurse, ruth. and there comes an emergency in which you do so well that you are sent for to be a nurse in one of the big hospitals maintained near the front. that will make the story more logical. "so we'll have one of those hospital scenes to-day. i'll stage a small engagement, and have a number of men wounded. they'll be brought in, and there will be a night scene. the doctors and other nurses go off duty, and you are in charge. an emergency occurs--maybe a bandage slips from an artery and you sit and hold the wound until a doctor can come and tie the artery again. we'll work it out as we go along." "is there anything for me?" asked alice. "no, your part will stand all right as it is until you get to the big hospital scene. come on now, ruth; we'll have a rehearsal." the rehearsal went off well, and the little change promised to strengthen the story of the war play. the hospital was set up near mr. apgar's corn-crib. "and maybe that'll be a good thing," he said. "if you folks use enough of them there disinfectants and carbolic acid, you may scare away all the rats and mice that eat my corn in the winter." "oh! will there be rats and mice?" asked ruth, apprehensively. "not in the hospital," said mr. pertell with a laugh. "it will be strictly sanitary--as much so as things were in the days of sixty-three." the fight between the two forces was staged some distance away from the hospital, and the guns soon began to rattle and to roar again. the girls did not mind them by this time, however. this skirmish had no particular part in the general story, but it was filmed just the same, as it could be spliced in with the other fighting scenes. "and you can't get too much of that," mr. pertell said. russ, with some helpers, was taking the fighting pictures preliminary to the hospital act. he was nearing the end of the reel in his machine when, to his dismay, he found he had forgotten to bring a spare one. "here, you!" he called to one of the extra soldiers lying lazily on the grass near the camera, "hop over and ask pop snooks to give you an extra reel for me." the man did not answer. "don't you hear me?" yelled russ, grinding away at the film which was being quickly used up. "go and get me that reel!" still no response. "are you deaf?" shouted russ, and then he thought perhaps the discharge of so many cannon had made the man unable to hear. "go over and punch that fellow!" cried russ to paul. "wake him up, and tell him to get me that extra reel." "all right," paul assented. "i'd go myself only i have to carry a message to headquarters in a minute or two." he ran over and kicked the soldier, who seemed to be asleep. "hi! what's the idea?" demanded the rudely awakened one. "the camera man wants you to go to get him some film." "who--me?" "yes--you! skip!" "i can't go get no film!" "you can't? why not?" "'cause i'm dead, that's why! i was told to be killed, and i was. i fell off my hoss dead, an' i'm deader'n a door nail. i dassn't git up to git no film for nobody. i'm dead!" and the man rolled over and closed his eyes. chapter xvi a retake "what's the matter over there?" called russ to paul. "is he going to get my film?" "he says he can't." "can't? why not? has he lost his legs?" "no. but he's dead. this is carrying realism to the extreme." "oh, good-night!" cried russ. "i haven't but a few feet left. make him go." "i won't go i tell you," the man cried. "i was told to play dead, and i'm goin' to," and he stuck to the instructions he had received. fortunately, one of russ' helpers was free a moment later, and he went for the extra roll of film, while the dead man enjoyed his part to his satisfaction. "well, he did just right," said mr. pertell, when told of the incident afterward. "i wish more performers would do exactly as they are told. of course, i don't mean to say a player must slavishly do just as i tell him. but in some cases a dead man's coming to life might spoil a big scene." matters were now in readiness for the preliminary hospital scene. a ward had been fitted up in a shed where electric lights could be used to get the necessary illumination, the current being brought from town. in the shed were ranged white beds, in which a number of wounded men were reposing. other men were in wheeled chairs, while still others sat up as if recovering from a long and dangerous siege from wounds. all were picturesquely bandaged. the preliminary scenes had been taken. the doctor had made his rounds of the wounded on the cots. he had taken their temperature and had felt their pulses, while the other women of the company, as nurses, accompanied the surgeon on his journey. other wounded were brought in. night settled down in the hospital. the big, hissing electric lights were turned off, and from outside a window "moonlight" streamed in. the moonlight, of course was made by another electric light, properly shaded. "now, i think we're ready for you, ruth," said the director. "you are on duty alone in the ward when the emergency occurs." in the glow of the beams of light from the window ruth, on duty alone, took her place. "all ready now!" called mr. pertell, from where he was standing behind russ, who was grinding away at the camera. "you start from your half-doze, ruth, and listen. then you approach one of the cots and discover that the bandage has slipped and that the man is bleeding to death. you press on the artery, and finally rouse another of the hospital patients--one not badly wounded--and send him for the surgeon." ruth carried out the instructions perfectly. her acting was so very natural that afterward, when the film was shown, more than one person found himself holding his breath lest ruth should remove her thumb from the severed artery. the slightly wounded man limped out to get the surgeon, who came rushing in, and the artery was tied. then followed words of praise for ruth. this laid the foundation for her summons to a larger hospital when the proper time came. the next day more battle views were the order of the day. in one of these estelle had to do some fast riding, to leap her horse across a ditch and speed away from pursuing troopers. "aren't you nervous for fear you'll fall?" asked ruth, as the young horsewoman was making ready. "well, no. i don't think about that part. all i am afraid of is that i may get out of range of the camera. you see i'm not very old at this business." "just how did you come to get into it?" asked alice. "why, it was a sort of accident. i was on a boat one day, leaning over the rail looking at the water, when a gentleman came up, begged my pardon for speaking without being introduced, and asked me if i had ever been in the movies. "i hadn't, though i had often thought i would like to be, and i told him so. he asked me to call at his studio, and i did. they gave me a 'try out,' found i photographed well, and they cast me for small parts. then they found out i could ride and they let me do some outdoor stuff. from then on i did very well, and when i heard your company was going to make a big war play, i applied to mr. pertell. he took me, i'm glad to say." "and we're glad you're here," ejaculated alice. "we'll go out and watch you jump; it fascinates me, though it makes me afraid," ruth declared. "my sister and i did some riding while we were at rocky ranch, but it was nothing to what you do." "oh, it takes practice, that's all," answered estelle. there were some animated scenes previous to the one in which estelle took part. there was a fight over the possession of a bridge, and the confederates, having driven off their enemies, prepared to blow it up to prevent the union army from using it. estelle was to try to reach the bridge before it was destroyed, but, failing in that, she was to ride her horse to a narrow part of the stream and leap over. all went well, and the time came for her to take her swift ride to try to reach the bridge. on and on she galloped, until she was met by a colored man who warned her of the fact that in another moment the bridge would be destroyed. "she's going pretty close!" murmured mr. pertell, as he stood near russ, who was filming the scene. "some of those timbers may fall pretty near her." but estelle seemed to know no fear. she rode straight for the bridge, and she was only a short distance away when it blew up, the planks and rails flying high into the air. then she turned her horse to reach, ahead of her pursuers, the place she was to jump the stream. so near was she to the bridge that she had to swerve her horse quickly to avoid being struck by a fragment of the falling wood. "plucky girl, that!" murmured mr. devere. while estelle was being filmed down by the stream, one of the assistant camera men, a new hand, prepared to take a scene where a southern farmer rides up to warn the confederate cavalry of estelle's escape, so they may take after her. maurice whitlow was the farmer. "here, you!" cried mr. pertell to whitlow, "ride down there and deliver the message--that's your part in this scene." there was a small automobile which mr. pertell had been using standing near, and maurice leaped into this and started across the field toward a detachment of the southern cavalry. away rattled maurice in the car, and the camera man ground away, showing the farmer on his way to give the warning. suddenly mr. pertell turned and saw what was going on. "for the love of gasoline, stop!" he cried. "the whole scene is spoiled. there'll have to be a retake! of all the stupid pieces of work this is the worst! stop that camera!" chapter xvii estelle's story "what's the matter?" cried russ dalwood, running back from the stream where he had been to see that an assistant was successfully getting the scene after estelle had leaped to the other bank. "matter! look!" cried the director, and he pointed to maurice, speeding to carry his message in the small runabout. "good-night!" gasped russ, who understood at once. "why, what's wrong with it?" asked paul. "isn't he running the machine all right?" "oh, he's running it all right," said mr. pertell in tones of disgust. "and that's just the trouble! i told him to jump on a horse with that dispatch, and he goes in the auto!" "i suppose he thought it was quicker," commented paul. "quicker! yes, i should say it was! but i'll get him out of there quicker than he can shake a stick at a dead mule. the idea of riding in an auto to carry a message in civil war days. why, there wasn't a real auto in the whole world then. how would it look in a film to see an up-to-date runabout butting in on a scene of sixty-three. get him back here and make him start over again on a horse as he ought to," went on the director. "an auto in sixty-three! next he'll be sending wireless telephone messages about fifty years before they were ever dreamed of!" fortunately, not much of the film had been reeled off, and the scene was one that could easily be made over. estelle's leap was not spoiled, nor was the blowing up of the bridge. "huh! i didn't think anything about there not being autos in those days," said maurice, when he had been brought back and mounted on a horse. "that's just it," commented mr. pertell. "you've got to think in these days of moving pictures. the audiences are more critical than you would suppose. even the children now laugh at fake scenes and incongruities. and as for using a dummy in danger scenes, it's getting harder and harder every day to get by with it. you stick to horses or to shank's mules, young man, when it comes to transportation in this war film. no autos where they are going to show in the film." that was only one of the many details the director and his assistants had to look after. if eternal vigilance is the price of liberty, it is much more so the price of good films. the camera sees everything in a pitiless light. it exaggerates faults and it refuses to shut its eye to anything at which it is pointed. the absolute truth is told every time. of course, there are trick films, but even then the camera tells the truth fearlessly. it is only the on-lookers' eyes that are deceived. the camera can not be fooled. and though a man may be seen to be shaking hands with himself or cutting off his own head, it is done by double exposure, and could not be accomplished were it not for the fact that the camera and the film are so fearlessly honest and truth-telling. "what's the matter, estelle?" asked alice of the rider that afternoon, when they were in ruth's room resting after the work of the day. "you seem to be in pain." "i am. i strained my side a little in that water jump. petro slipped a bit on the muddy bank." "did you do much jumping out west?" asked ruth, while alice was getting a bottle of liniment. "in the west? i don't know that i ever jumped there. i can't remember----" estelle paused, and passed her hand across her eyes as though to shut out some vision. "are you faint?" asked ruth. "no--no, it isn't that. it--it is just that i--that i---- oh, i wonder if i can tell you?" and estelle seemed in such distress that the two sisters hastened to her. "what is it? tell me, are you badly hurt?" asked ruth. for she had known of performers who concealed injuries that they might not be laid off, and so lose a day's work. "what is the matter, estelle?" "it is my--my head." "did you fall? i didn't hear them say anything about it!" exclaimed alice. "no, it isn't that," and the girl looked from one sister to the other. "oh, i wonder if i dare tell you?" "if there is anything in which we can help you, tell us, by all means!" answered ruth, warmly--sympathetically. "but we don't want to force ourselves----" "oh, no! it isn't that. i'm only wondering what you will think of me afterward." "we shall love you just the same!" cried impulsive alice. "don't be too sure. but i feel that i must tell some one. i have borne all i can alone. it is getting to the point where i fear i shall scream my secret to the cameras--or some one!" then estelle had a secret! "do tell us. perhaps we can help you--or perhaps my father can," suggested ruth. "i don't believe any one can help me," said estelle. "but at least it will be a relief to tell it. i--i am living under false pretenses!" she blurted out desperately. "false pretenses!" repeated alice. at once her mind flashed back to miss dixon's ring. was it the taking of this that estelle was hinting at? the girl must have guessed what was in the mind of her hearers, for she hastened to add: "oh, it isn't anything disgraceful. it's just a misfortune. you remember you have been asking me where i learned to ride--whether i didn't use to live on a ranch--questions like that. well, you must have noticed that i didn't answer." "yes, we did notice, and we spoke about it," said truthful ruth. "we thought you didn't wish to tell," added alice. "wish to tell! oh, my dears, i would have been only too glad to tell if i could." "why can't you?" asked ruth. "are you bound by some vow of secrecy? is it dangerous for you to reveal the past?" "no, it is simply impossible!" "impossible!" the two sisters exclaimed. "yes, i can no more tell you what life i lived, where i lived, who i was, or what i was doing, up to a time of about three or four years ago, than i can fly." "why not?" asked alice, puzzled. "because the past--up to the time i named--is a perfect blank to me. my mind refuses absolutely to tell me who i was or where i lived--who my people were--anything of the past. my mind is like a blank sheet of paper. i can remember nothing. oh, isn't it awful!" and she burst into tears. chapter xviii "what can we do?" "you poor dear!" cried alice, and she knelt down on the floor beside estelle and put her arms about the weeping girl. ruth, too, with an expression of sympathy, stroked the bowed head. "we want so much to help you," ruth murmured. "let me get you something," begged alice. "some smelling salts--some ammonia--shall i call any one--the doctor----?" "no, i--i'll be all right presently," said estelle in a broken voice. "just let me alone a little while--i mean stay with me--talk to me--tell me something. i want to get control of my nerves." ruth did not seem to know what to say, but alice pulled a small bottle from her pocket, and held it under estelle's nose. "it's the loveliest new scent," she said. "i bought a sample in town." estelle burst into a laugh, rather a hysterical laugh, it is true, but a laugh nevertheless. it showed that the strain and tension were relaxing to some extent. "isn't it sweet?" alice asked. "it is, dear. let me smell it again. it makes me feel better," and estelle breathed in deep of the odorous scent. "how silly i was to give way like that," she went on. "but i simply couldn't help it. this has been going on for so long, and it got so i couldn't stand it another minute. how would you like it not to know who you are?" "not very much, i'm afraid," said ruth, softly. "that, in a way, is why it has been such a relief to be in the moving pictures," estelle went on. "i could be so many different characters, and, at times, i thought perhaps, by chance, i might be cast for the very part i have lost--cast for my real self, as it were." "you must have had a hard time," said alice. "i haven't told you half the story yet," estelle went on. "would you like to hear the rest?" "indeed we would!" exclaimed ruth. "not from any idle curiosity, but because we want to help you." "and i do need some one to help me," murmured estelle. "i am all alone in the world." "you must have relatives somewhere!" insisted alice. "none that i ever heard of. but then, who knows what might have happened in the life that is a blank to me--in the life that lies beyond that impenetrable wall of the past? "but i mustn't get hysterical again. just let me think for a moment, so i may tell you my story clearly. i shall be all right in a moment or two." "let me make you a cup of tea," proposed ruth. "i'll make some for all of us," and presently the little kettle was steaming over the spirit lamp, and the girls were sipping the fragrant beverage. "thank you. that was good!" murmured estelle. "i feel better now. i'll tell the rest of my miserable story to you." "don't make it too miserable," and alice tried to make her laugh a gay one. "i won't--not any more so than i can help. i think it will do me good to let you share the mystery with me." "then it is a mystery?" asked ruth. "somewhat, yes. you may think it strange, but i can not think back more than three years--four at the most. i am not at all certain of the time. but go back as far as i can, all i remember is that i was on a large steamer." "on the ocean?" asked alice. "no, on the great lakes. i was going to cleveland, which i learned when i asked one of the officers." "and didn't you know where you were going before you asked?" ruth questioned. "i hadn't the least idea, my dear. i might just as well have been going to europe. in fact, when i first looked out and saw the water, i thought i was on the ocean." "but where did you come from, what were you doing there, where were your people?" cried ruth. "that's it, my dear. where were they? i didn't know. no one knew. all i could grasp was the fact that i was there on the boat." "alone?" "yes, all alone." "but who bought your ticket--who engaged your stateroom?" questioned ruth. "that is the queer part of it. i did it myself. when i first became conscious that i was in a strange place i was so shocked that i wanted to scream--to cry out--to ask all sorts of questions. then i realized if i did that i might be taken for an insane person and be locked up. so i just shut myself in my stateroom and did some thinking. "the first thing i wanted to know was how i got on the steamer, but how to find that out without asking questions that the steamship people would think peculiar, was a puzzle to me. finally, i decided to pretend to want to change my room, and when i went to the purser i asked him if that was the only room to be had. "'why no, miss,' he said, 'but when you came on board and i told you what rooms i had, you insisted on taking that one.' that was enough for me. i realized then that i had come on board alone, and of my own volition, though i had not any recollection of having done so, and i knew no more of where i came from than you do now." "how very strange!" murmured alice. "and what did you do?" "well, i pretended that i had been tired and had not made a wise choice of a room, and asked the purser to give me another. "'i thought, when you picked it out, you wouldn't like that one,' he said to me, 'but you looked like a young lady who was used to having her own way, so i did not interfere.' "that was another bit of information. evidently, i looked prosperous, a fact that was borne out when i examined my purse. i had a considerable sum in it, and the large valise i found in my room was filled with expensive clothes and fittings. yet where i had obtained it or my money or my clothes i could not tell for the life of me. all i knew was that i was there on board the ship." "and did you change your stateroom?" asked ruth. "yes; the purser gave me another one. and then i sat down and tried to puzzle it out. why was i going to cleveland? i knew no one there, and yet i had bought a ticket to that port--or some one had bought it for me." "did that occur to you?" asked alice. "that some one might have had an object in getting you out of the way." "well, if they had, they took a very public and expensive method of doing it," estelle said. "i was on one of the best boats on lake erie, and i had plenty of money." "did you find in what name your room was taken?" asked ruth. "that might have given you a clue." "the name given was estelle brown," was the answer. "i gave that name myself, for i recognized my handwriting on the envelope in which i sealed some of my jewelry before handing it to the purser to put in his safe. estelle brown was the name i gave." "and was it yours?" asked alice. "i haven't any reason to believe that it was not. in fact, as i looked back then, and as i look back now, the name estelle brown seems to be my very own--it is associated closely with me. so i'm sure i'm estelle brown--that is the only part i am sure about." "but what did you do?" asked ruth. "didn't you make some inquiries?" "i did; as soon as i reached cleveland. at first i hoped that my memory would come back to me when i reached that place. i thought i might recognize some of the buildings. in fact, i hoped it would prove to be my home, from which i had, perhaps, wandered in a fit of illness. "but it was of no help to me. i might just as well have been in san francisco or new york for all that the place was familiar to me. so i gave that up. then i began to look over the papers to see if any estelle brown was missing. but there was nothing to that effect in the news columns. all the while i was getting more and more worried. "i went to a good hotel in cleveland and stayed two or three days. then i happened to think that perhaps my clothes might offer some clue. i examined them all carefully, and the only thing i found was the name of a boston firm on a toilet set. at once it flashed on me that i belonged in boston. i seemed to have a dim recollection of a big monument in the midst of a green park, of narrow, crooked streets and historical buildings. "then, in a flash it came to me--i did belong in boston. how i had come from there i could not guess, but i was sure i lived there. so i bought a ticket for there and went as fast as the train could take me. "but my hopes were dashed. even the sight of bunker hill monument did not bring the elusive memory, nor did viewing the other places of historic interest. yet, somewhere in the back of my brain, i was sure i had been in that city before. i went to the place where my toilet set was bought, but the man had sold out and the new owner could give me no information. "i did not know what to do. my money was running low, and i had not a friend to whom to turn. i happened to go in to see some moving pictures, and the idea came to me that perhaps i could act. i had rather a good face, so some one had hinted." "you do photograph beautifully," said alice. "that's what one of the managers in boston told me when i applied to him," said estelle. "he gave me a small part, and then i learned that new york was really the place to go to get in the movies, so i came on, with a letter to a manager from the boston firm. "it must have been my face that got me my first engagement, for now i know i couldn't act. but, somehow or other, i made good, and then i got this engagement with mr. pertell. "and that is my story. you can see what a strange one it is--for me not to know who i am. i'm almost ashamed to admit it, and that is why i have been avoiding all references to my past. but now i have told you, what do you think?" "i think it's just terrible!" cried alice. "the idea! not to know who you are." "the question is," said ruth, "what can we do to help you? this must not be allowed to go any further. valuable time is being lost. we want to help you, estelle. what can we do? we must try to find out who you are." "yes, but how can you?" asked the strange girl. chapter xix a big gun ruth did not answer for several seconds. she seemed to be thinking deeply, and alice, who was fairly bursting with numberless questions she wanted to ask, respected her sister's efforts to bring some logical queries to the fore. "then your hopes that boston would prove to be your home were not borne out?" asked ruth, after a bit. "no, but even yet i feel sure that i have lived at least part of my life in boston, or near there. one doesn't have even shadowy memories of big monuments and historic places without some basis; and it was not the memory of having seen pictures of them. it was a real vision." "and the name estelle brown?" "oh, i'm sure that belongs to me. it seems a very part of myself." "did you tell any of this to mr. pertell or to the other moving picture managers?" asked alice. "no. you are the first persons to whom i have told my secret," estelle said. "i was afraid if i mentioned it they might make it public for advertising purposes, you know. they might make public the fact that a young actress was looking for herself and her parents. i never could bear that!" "but you want to find your folks, don't you?" asked alice. "that's the queer part of it," estelle replied. "i seem never to have had any relatives. the way i feel about it now, i would never know that i had had a father or a mother. i seem to have just 'growed,' the way poor topsy did in uncle tom's cabin. that is another strange part of my present existence. i seem to be in a world by myself, and, as far as i can tell, i have always been there." "what about lieutenant varley?" inquired alice. "lieutenant varley?" and estelle's voice showed that she was puzzled. "the young officer who said he met you in portland." "oh, yes. i had forgotten. well, i have absolutely no recollection of that, and i'm sure i would remember if i had been in the west. i'm certain i never was there." "and yet if you weren't in the west how did you learn to ride so well?" ruth queried. "that's another part of the puzzle, my dear. riding seems to come as natural to me as breathing. i don't seem ever to have learned it any more than i learned how to dance. i seem always to have known how." "there's only one way to account for that," alice said. "how?" "from the fact that you must have started to learn to ride and to dance when you were very young--a mere child." "i suppose that would account for it. and yet, i can't remember ever being a child. i don't recall having played with dolls or having made mud pies. for me my existence begins about three or four years back, and goes on from there, mostly in moving pictures." "it is a queer case," commented ruth. "i don't know what to do to help you. perhaps it would be a good thing to speak to mr. pertell about it. often when children have been kidnapped, you know, their pictures are flashed on the screen in hundreds of cities, and sometimes persons in the audiences recognize them. that might be done with you, estelle." "no, i wouldn't dream of doing that. perhaps something may turn up some day that will tell me who i really am. and perhaps i shall be sorry for having learned." "no, you will not!" declared alice. "you come of good people--one can easily tell that." "thank you, dear. and now i have inflicted enough of my troubles on you. let's talk about something pleasant." "you haven't burdened us with your troubles, estelle dear," insisted ruth. "it is a strange story, and we are interested in the outcome." "indeed we are," said alice. "we want very much to help you." "that's good of you. but i don't see what you can do. i'm just a sort of topsy, and topsy i'll remain. now please don't say anything about what i have told you to any one--not even to your father--unless i give you permission. i don't want to be the object of curiosity, as well as of suspicion." "suspicion!" cried alice. "yes, about miss dixon's ring." "oh! no one in the world believes you took that--not even miss dixon herself. i believe she has found the old paste diamond, and is too mean to admit it!" cried impulsive alice. "you mustn't say such things!" objected her sister. "well, neither must she, then. oh, estelle! wouldn't it be great if you should prove to be the daughter of a millionaire!" "too great, my dear. don't let's think about it. but i feel better for having unburdened some of my troubles on you. and if you will still be as nice to me as you always have been----" "why shouldn't we be?" asked ruth. "oh, i don't know, but i thought----" "silly!" cried alice, as she threw her arms about the strange girl and kissed her. suddenly, from a distant hill, came a dull, booming sound, that, low as it was, seemed to make the very ground tremble. "what's that?" cried alice. "thunder," suggested ruth. "it sounded more like an explosion," asserted estelle. "there it goes again!" exclaimed alice. "look!" cried her sister. she pointed through the open window, and as the girls peered out they saw the top of the hill fly upward in a shower of dirt and stones. once more the deep boom sounded. "it's a big gun!" cried alice. "i remember, now. mr. pertell said he wanted pictures of a siege of a fort, and he sent for a big gun to get explosive effects. come on over!" "and be blown to pieces?" objected ruth. "don't dare go, alice devere!" "oh, come on! there's no danger. russ is going to make the films. i guess they're just trying it now. it's too late to make good pictures. come on." "i'll go," offered estelle. "i don't mind the noise." ruth declined to go, so the other two girls set off. on the porch they met russ and paul, who confirmed their guess that it was a big siege gun which mr. pertell had sent to new york to get, so he might show the effect of explosive shells. "i'm going to film some to-morrow," russ said. "be careful," urged alice. "don't get blown up!" "i'm no more anxious for that than any one," laughed russ, and together they set off toward the place where the big gun was being tried out. chapter xx a wrong shot the big gun which mr. pertell had secured to make more realistic the war play he was preparing for the films, was an old fashioned siege rifle, made toward the close of the civil conflict. it had not been used more than a few times, and then it had been stored away in some arsenal. the director, hearing of it, had secured it to fire at a certain hill on oak farm. this hill would, in the motion pictures, form a stronghold of the southern forces and it would be demolished by shells from the large cannon, and then would follow a charge on the part of the union soldiers. real shells, with large explosive charges in them, would be used, but it is needless to say that when the shots were fired at the hill the players taking the parts of the southerners would be at a safe distance. "they're just trying it out now," observed russ, who with paul, was walking over the fields with alice and estelle. "mr. pertell wants to get the range, and decide on the best places from which to make the pictures. i think we'll film some to-morrow if it's a good day." "what's the matter with your eyes, estelle?" asked paul, as he looked at her. "were you working in the studio to-day? i know those lights always affect my sight." "why, no, i wasn't in the studio," and then estelle realized why her eyes were so inflamed--it was from crying. she gave alice a meaning glance, as though to enjoin silence, but she need have had no fears. alice would not betray the secret. the big gun had been mounted on a level piece of land, not far from the hill, and on this plain had been thrown up earthworks behind which the union forces would take their stand in an effort to reduce the confederate stronghold. "they're going to fire!" cried estelle as they came within sight of the gun, and saw, by the activities of the men about it, that a shot was about to be delivered. alice covered her ears with her hands, and russ and paul stood on their tiptoes and opened their mouths wide. "what in the world are they doing that for?" asked estelle. "i can't hear a word you say!" called alice, making her voice loud, to overcome her own hearing handicap. "there she goes!" cried russ. the earth trembled as flames and smoke belched from the muzzle of the cannon, and the girls screamed. something black was seen for an instant in the air amid the swirl of smoke, and then another portion of the hill was seen to lift itself up into the air and dirt and stones were scattered about. "a good shot!" observed russ, letting himself down off his tiptoes. "that would make a dandy scene for the film." "that's right," agreed paul, also letting himself down and closing his opened mouth. "why did you do that?" asked estelle, when the echoes of the firing had died away. "why did you stand on your toes, and open your mouths?" "to lessen the shock to our ear drums," answered paul. "it is the concussion, that is, the rushing back of air into the vacuum caused by the shot, that does the damage. by opening your mouth you equalize the air pressure on the inside and the outside of your ear drums, just as you do when you go through a river tunnel. when there is a partial vacuum outside your ear, the air inside you presses the drum outward, and by opening your mouth--or by swallowing you make the pressure equal. sometimes the pressure outside is greater than the pressure inside, and you must also equalize that before you can be comfortable." "but that wasn't why you stood on your toes," alice said. "no; we did that to have less surface of our bodies on the ground so the vibration would be less. if one could leap up off the earth at the exact moment a shot was fired it would be much better, but it is hard to jump at the right instant, and standing on one's toes is nearly as good. then you present only a comparatively small point which the vibrations of the earth, caused by the explosion of the gun, can act upon." "that's a good thing to remember," estelle said. "are they going to fire again?" "it looks so," observed russ. "but if they knock away too much of the hill there won't be any left for the pictures to-morrow." "i believe they want to make the top of the hill flat," said paul. "they are going to have some sort of hand-to-hand fight on it after the unionists capture it," he went on. "i heard mr. pertell speaking of it." "there goes another!" cried alice, as she saw the same preparations as before and one man standing near the gun to pull the lanyard, which, by means of a friction tube, exploded the charge. once more the projectile shot out and, burying itself in the soft dirt of the hill, threw it up in a shower. "that'll save me a lot of work!" exclaimed a voice behind the young people, and, turning, they saw sandy apgar smiling at them. "that's a new way of plowing," he went on. "it sure does stir up the soil." "won't it spoil your hill?" asked alice. "not so's you could notice it. that hill isn't wuth much as it stands. it's too steep to plow, and only a goat could find a foothold on it to graze. so if you moving picture folks level it for me i may be able to raise some crops on it. shoot as much as you like. you can't hurt that hill!" the men at the gun signaled that they were going to fire no more that day, and then, as it was safe, the young folks made a trip to see the extent of damage caused by the shells. great furrows were torn in the earth and the stones, and the top of the hill, that had been rounding, was now quite flat, though far from being smooth. the next day had been set for filming the scenes with the big gun in them. contrary to expectations, no pictures could be taken, as the throwing up of the earthworks had not been finished. but a number of men from both "armies" were set to work, and as it afforded good practice for the militia they were called on to dig trenches, throw up ridges of earth, and go through other needful military tactics. the girls had no part in the scenes with the big gun, except that, later on, they were to act as nurses in the hospital tent. on top of the hill a force of confederates would be stationed, and they were to reply to the fire of the big gun. of course, when the projectiles struck the hill the soldiers would be a safe distance away, but by means of trick photography scenes would be shown just as if they were sustaining a severe bombardment. "is everything ready?" asked mr. pertell, a few days after the setting up of the big gun, during which interval a sort of fort had been constructed on the hill and a redoubt thrown up. "i think so," answered russ. "we couldn't have a better day, as far as sunshine is concerned. i'm ready to film whenever you are." "i'll give the word in a minute. paul, you're in charge of a detachment of union soldiers that storms the hill as soon as the big gun has silenced the battery there." "very well, sir." the big gun rattled out its booming challenge and was replied to by volleys from the rifles of the confederates on the hill and by their field artillery, which they hurriedly brought up. shot after shot was fired, and one after another the confederate cannon were disabled. they were blown up by small charges of powder put under them, set off by fuses lighted by the confederates themselves, but this did not show in the picture, and it looked as though the southern battery was blown up by shots from the big gun. "all ready now, paul! lead your men!" yelled the director, who was standing near russ and his camera. "rush right up the hill. stop firing here!" he called to those in charge of the big gun. but something went wrong, or some one misunderstood. as paul was charging up the hill at the head of his little band, russ, turning his head for an instant, saw a man about to pull the lanyard of the big gun. "don't shoot! don't shoot!" he yelled. "it's aimed right at paul and his fellows!" but russ was too late. the man pulled the cord. there was a deafening roar, a cloud of smoke, a sheet of fire, and a black projectile was sent hurtling on its way against the hill, up the side of which paul was climbing with his soldiers. chapter xxi the big scene nothing could be done! no power on earth could stop that projectile now until it had spent itself, or until it had struck something and exploded. horror-stricken, those near the big gun looked across the intervening space. how many would survive what was to follow? the man who had pulled the lanyard sank to the ground, covering his face with his hands. for a brief instant paul, leading his men, looked back at the sound of the unexpected shot. he had been told that no more were to be fired. doubtless, this was an extra one to make the pictures more realistic. but when he saw, in a flash, something black and menacing leaping through the air toward him and his men, instinctively he cried: "duck, everybody! duck!" he fell forward on his face and those of his men who heard and understood did likewise. ruth, alice and estelle, who were watching the scene from a distant knoll, hardly understood what it was all about. they had thought no more shots would be fired when paul began his charge, but one had boomed out, and surely that was a projectile winging its way toward the partly demolished hill. "that is carrying realism a little too far," said ruth. "i hope----" "paul has fallen!" cried alice. "oh--something has happened!" one must realize that all this took place at the same time. the firing of the shot, the realization that it was a mistake, paul's flash of the oncoming projectile, his command to his men and the vision had by the girls. all in an instant, for a shot from a big gun does not leave much margin of time between starting and arriving even when fired with only a small charge of powder for moving picture purposes. and, so quickly had it happened that russ had not stopped turning the crank of his camera, nor had an assistant on the hillside, where he had been stationed to film paul and his soldiers. and then the projectile struck. into the soft dirt of the hillside it buried its head, and then, as the explosion came, up went a shower of earth and stones. and ever afterward the gunner who inserted that charge blessed himself and an ever-watchful providence that he had put in but half a charge, the last of the powder. for it was this half-charge that saved paul and his men. the projectile struck in the hill a hundred feet below where paul was leading his force up the slope, and though they were well-nigh buried beneath a rain of sand and gravel, they were not otherwise hurt--scratches and bruises being their portion. "what are they trying to do, kill us?" cried a man, staggering to his feet, blood streaming from a cut on his cheek. "this is too much like real war for me!" yelled another throwing down his gun. "i'm going to quit!" "no you don't!" shouted paul. "come on. it was a mistake. they won't fire any more. it will make a great scene on the film. come on!" he gave one look back toward the union battery and saw mr. pertell fluttering a white flag which meant safety. waving his sword above his head, paul yelled again: "come on! come on! it's all right! up the hill with you! that shot was only to put a little pep in you!" "pep! more like sand! i got a mouthful!" muttered a sergeant. "get every inch of that. it's the best scene we've had yet, though it was a close call!" telephoned mr. pertell to the operator on the side of the hill. "film every inch of it!" "all right! i'm getting it," answered the camera man and he went on grinding away at his crank. the explosion of the shell had, for the moment, stopped the advance of paul and his men up the hill, but this momentary halt only made it look more realistic--as though they really feared they were in danger, as indeed they had been. now the director called: "it's all right, paul! go ahead! keep on just as if that was part of the show." "it was a lively part all right!" and paul laughed grimly. "come on, boys!" and the charge was resumed. back of the dismantled battery, whence they had presumably been driven by the fire from the big gun, the confederates were massed. they were waiting for paul's charge, and they, too, had been a little surprised by the unexpected firing of the shell. but now, in response to a signal on the field telephone, they prepared to resist the assault. "come on, boys! beat the yankees back!" was the battle cry that would be flashed on the screen. then came the fierce struggle, and it was nearly as fierce as it was indicated in the pictures. real blows were given, and more than one man went down harder than he had expected to. there were duels with clubbed rifles, and fencing combats with swords, though, of course, the participants took care not to cut one another. in spite of this, several received minor hurts. but this result only added to the effectiveness of the scene, though it was painful. but in providing realism for motion pictures more than one conscientious player has been injured, and not a few have lost their lives. it is devotion of no small sort to their profession. back and forth surged the fight, sometimes paul's men giving way, and again driving the confederates back from the crest of the hill. small detachments here and there fired volleys of blank cartridges from their rifles, but there was not as much of this for the close-up pictures as there had been for the larger battle scenes. for while smoke blowing over a big field on which hundreds of men and horses are massed makes a picture effective, if seen at too close range it hides the details of the fighting. and mr. pertell wanted the details to come out in this close-up scene. back and forth surged the fight until it had run through a certain length of film. then the orders came that the confederates were to give up and retreat. before this, however, a number of them had been killed, as had almost as many union soldiers. then came a spirited scene. paul, leading his men, leaped up on the earthworks of the confederate battery, cut down the southern flag--the stars and bars. in its place he hoisted the stars and stripes, and with a wild yell that made the fight seem almost real, he and his men occupied the heights. "well done!" cried mr. pertell, enthusiastically, when he came over from the ramparts of the big gun. "are you sure none of you was hurt when that shell exploded?" "none of us," answered paul. "it fell short, luckily, and the dirt was soft. no big rocks were tossed up, fortunately, and we came out of it very nicely." "glad to hear it. i've discharged the man who fired the gun." "that's too bad!" "well, i hired him over again--but to do something else less dangerous. i can't afford to take chances with big cannon. but i think the scene went off very well. that stopping and the bursting of the shell made it look very real." "that's good," paul said, wiping some of the dirt and blood off his face, for he had been scratched by the point of some one's bayonet. that ended this particular scene for the day, and the players could take a much-needed rest. plenty of powder had been burned, and the air was rank and heavy with the fumes. "are you sure you're all right, paul?" asked alice, when he came up to the farmhouse later in the day. "well, i think i'd be better if you would feel my pulse," he said, winking at russ. "and you don't need to be in a hurry to let go my hand. i sha'n't need it right away." "silly!" exclaimed alice, as she turned, blushing, away. "it must have been a shock to you," said ruth. "it was. but it was over so quickly i didn't have time to be shocked long. now, let's talk about something nice. come on in to the town, and i'll buy you all ice-cream." "that will be nice!" laughed estelle. it was several days later that mr. pertell, coming to where the moving picture girls and their friends were seated on the porch, said: "the big scene is for to-morrow. in the hospital. this is where you are looking after the wounded officer, ruth, and alice, on pretense of being a nurse seeking to give aid, comes in to get the papers. i want this very carefully done, as it is one of the climaxes of the whole play. so we'll have some rehearsals in the morning." "am i to do that riding act?" asked estelle. "yes, you'll do the horse stunt as usual. there's to be a cavalry charge, miss brown, so don't get in their way and be run down." "i'll try not to," she answered. chapter xxii alice does well long rows of wounded men lay stretched out on white cots in the hospital. some wore bandages over their heads all but concealing their eyes. others were so entwined with white wrappings that it was hard to say whether they were men or oriental women. still others raised themselves on their elbows, spasms of pain corrugating their brows, while red cross nurses held to their lips cooling drinks. here at the bedside of one stood a grave surgeon, slowly shaking his head as he came to the melancholy conclusion that a further operation was useless. over there they were carrying out a motionless form on a stretcher, a sheet mercifully draped over what was left. at the entrance to the hospital other bearers were carrying in those who came from the scene of the distant firing. the boom of big guns shook the frail shack that had been turned into a hospital. now and then, as the wind blew in fitful gusts, there was borne on it the acrid smell of powder. and again, in some dark corner of that building of suffering, there could be seen through the cracks, left by hasty builders, the flash of fire that preceded the booming crash of the cannon. a sad-faced woman in black moved slowly down the line of cots led by a sympathetic nurse. she came to one bed, stopped as though in doubt, passed her hand over her face as if she did not want to admit that what she saw she did see, and then she fell on her knees in a passion of weeping, while the surgeons turned away their heads. she had found what she had sought. from the farther door there entered a man, limping on crutches improvised from the limbs of a tree. stained bandages were about one arm and another leg. his head, too, was wrapped so that only half his face showed. a hurrying orderly met him. "you can't come in here!" he cried. "why not, i'd like to know. ain't this the horspital?" "of course it is." "then why can't i come in here. i'm hurt, and hurt bad, pardner. shot through leg and arm, and part of my jaw gone. why can't i come in?" "'cause you can't. didn't we just carry you out for dead? what'll the audience think if they see you walking again? git on out of here!" "i will not! i've wrapped this bandage around my head on purpose so they won't know me. let me come in, will you? that's real lemonade them pretty nurses is givin' out to drink, and i'm as dry as a fish. i've been firin' one of them guns until i've swallowed enough smoke to play an animated cannon ball. let me in the horspital." "yes, let him in!" called mr. pertell through his megaphone. he was at the far end of the shack that had been hastily erected on oak farm as a hospital, for the last big scenes of the war play, "a girl in blue and a girl in gray." "all right, just as you say," answered the orderly. "come on in, bill. are you going to die this time?" "i am not! i'm going to be one of them converts, and get chicken sandwiches and jelly." "you mean convalescent." "um. that's it! lead me to me bed, will you, for i'm a sadly wounded old soldier--that's what i am." amid laughter he was led to a cot, where a smiling nurse tucked him in between the yellow sheets. for, as has been said, yellow takes the place of white in inside scenes. and this was an inside scene, powerful electric lights dispelling all shadows so the cameras could film every motion and expression. "now remember!" called mr. pertell when the "wounded man," one of the extra players, had been comfortably put to bed, "remember no smiling or laughing when we begin to make the picture. this is supposed to be serious." the rehearsal went on and finally the director announced that he was satisfied. then the scenes were enacted over again, but with more tenseness and with a knowledge that every motion was being filmed with startling exactness. "now, ruth, you come on!" called mr. pertell. "we've made a little change from the original scenario. you're to relieve miss dixon, who has been on this case. he's one of the northern officers, you remember, and he has with him papers that the confederacy would do much to get. "they are under the officer's pillow, you know. he is afraid to let them out of his possession. you must humor him, though you know that the papers will soon have to be taken away as he is to be operated on. it is here that alice, as the spy, gets her chance. she pretends to be one of the nurses of this hospital, dons the uniform, and comes in here to get the papers. are you ready?" "yes," answered ruth. then the big hospital scene began. ruth, in her garb of a nurse, took her place at the side of the injured officer's cot. she felt his pulse, took his temperature and administered some medicine. then the injured man, who was mr. devere himself, sank back on his pillows. his hand went under the mass of feathers and brought out a packet of papers. at this point a close-up view was taken, showing on the screen the papers in magnified shape, so that the audience could note that they were civil war documents. it was these that the officer was afraid would fall into the hands of the confederates, so he kept them ever near him. ruth made as if to remove them when he had placed them under the pillow again, but he awoke with a start and prevented her. this was to show that it was necessary for some one to take them while the operation was being performed. then the scene changed to show alice preparing for her work as a spy. the camera was taken to another part of the hospital, ruth and her father having a respite, though they maintained their positions. "did i do all right, daddy?" asked ruth. "very well, indeed. you are getting to be a good actress. i wish you were on the speaking stage." "i like this ever so much better. i never could speak before a whole crowd." alice was shown making her way into the hospital, a previous scene having depicted her as promising the confederate officer in whose employ as a spy she was, that she would get the papers. she entered the hospital, pretending to be in search of a missing relative. then, watching her chance, she prepared a sleeping powder for a tired and half-sleeping nurse off duty and prepared to take her uniform. alice played her part well. the sleeping nurse aroused, took the drugged drink, and went more soundly to sleep than ever. then alice was shown in the act of taking off the uniform. another scene showed her walking boldly into the ward room to relieve ruth. there was a little scene between the two sisters, and ruth registered that alice must be very careful not to alarm or shock the wounded man who was soon to undergo the operation. alice acquiesced, and then sat down beside the cot. slowly and carefully, like some pickpocket, she inserted her fingers under the pillow. amid a tenseness that affected even the actors working with her, alice took out the papers, inch by inch, and began to move away with them. it was at this point that she was to be discovered by paul, in the next bed. he had, in a previous scene, supposed to have taken place several months before, saved alice's life, and they had fallen in love, alice promising to wed him after the war. he supposed her to be a true northern girl, and now he discovered that she was a southern spy. there was a strong scene here. paul leaped from his bed, and tried to get the papers away from alice. she, horror-stricken at being discovered as a spy by her lover, is torn between affection for him and duty to the south. she throws him from her, as he is weakened by illness, and is about to escape with the papers, when she fears paul is dying and she is stricken with remorse. she decides to give up her task for the sake of her lover. slowly and softly, without awakening the old officer, she puts the papers back under his pillow and then, stooping over paul, who has fainted from loss of blood, she kisses his forehead and goes out in a "fadeaway." "good! great! couldn't be better!" cried mr. pertell, as alice came out of range of the camera. "that was better than i dared to hope. this will make a big hit!" chapter xxiii a bad fall "have you made up your mind yet, estelle?" "no, ruth! i haven't. i don't know what to do." the two girls were in estelle's room. miss brown was putting some protective padding under her outer garments, for in a little while she was to take part in a desperate ride--one of the last scenes in the big war play--a ride that had a part in a cavalry charge that was to be made by the desperate confederates on the hosts of unionists, who were closing in on their enemies. it was to be the last battle--a final stand of the southern states, and they were to lose. but estelle was to make a desperate ride to try to save the day. this time she was to pose as a daughter of the south. the ride would necessarily be a reckless one, and estelle felt that she might fall; so she was preparing for it. "i don't know what to do," she went on to ruth, who was helping her. "sometimes i feel like doing as you and your sister suggest, and let your father into the secret--and mr. pertell too--and have them try what they can do to discover who i am. "then again, as i think it over, i'm afraid. suppose i should turn out to be some one altogether horrid?" "you couldn't, my dear, not if you tried. but if you don't want my father to know, and would rather work out this mystery yourself, why, i won't say another word." "i want to think about it a little more," estelle said. they had been talking about her strange case, and the possible outcome of it. alice had suggested that a motion picture story be written around it. "it could be called 'who is estelle brown?'" alice said, "and it could be a serial. you could pose in it, estelle, and make a lot of money. and, not only that, but you'd find out who your relatives were, i'm sure." "oh, i couldn't do it!" estelle had cried. "i'd like the money, of course. i never was so happy as when i found i had a purse full when i was on that cleveland boat! but i could not capitalize my misfortune that way." "no, i was only joking," said alice. and so the matter had gone on. now ruth had broached the subject again, and estelle was still undecided. "wait until after this big ride of mine," she said. "then i'll make up my mind. i really do want to know who i am, and i think, after this engagement, if i don't find out before, i'll go to boston again. i'm sure my people are from that vicinity." so it was left. from outside came the stirring notes of a bugle. at the sound of it ruth and estelle started. "that's the signal," said the latter. "i must hurry." "i'll help you," offered ruth, and she assisted in the tying of the last strings, and the snapping of the final fastenings of the suit of protective padding the rider wore. "you don't take part in the actual charge, do you?" asked alice, who came in at this point. "well, i have to ride ahead of the union forces for a way," estelle answered. "but i'm not afraid. petro will carry me safely, as he has done before." the girls went down and out into the yard. off on the distant meadow of oak farm, which had been turned into a battlefield for the time being, were two hostile armies. the two regiments of cavalry were to meet in a final clash that was to end the war. there was to be the firing of many rifles and cannon. there were to be charges and countercharges. men would fall from their horses shot dead. certain horses, trained for the work, would stumble and fall, going down with those who rode them, the men having learned how to roll out of the way without getting a broken arm or leg. in spite of their training and practice, nearly all expected to be scratched and bruised. however, it was all part of the game and in the day's work. "all ready now!" called mr. pertell. "we're going to have the first skirmish, and, after that, miss brown, you are to do your ride. are you ready?" "yes," estelle told the director. the signal was given through the field telephone and then, with his ever-present megaphone, the director began to issue his orders. the rifles cracked, the big guns rumbled and roared, smoke blew across the battlefield and horses snorted and pawed at the ground impatient to be off and in the charge. to them it was real, even though their masters knew it was only for the movies. bugles tooted their inspiring calls, and the officers, who knew the significance of the cadence of notes, issued their orders accordingly. "deploy to the left!" came the command to a squad of union cavalry, and the men trotted off, to try a flank movement. then came the firing of a confederate battery in a desperate attempt to scatter the union forces. all the camera men in the employ of the comet film company were engaged this day, and russ was at his wits' end to keep each machine loaded with film, and to see that his own was working properly. pop snooks had never before been called on to provide so many "props" as he was for this occasion, but he thoroughly enjoyed the work, and when, at the last minute, he had to make a rustic bridge whereon two lovers had a farewell before the soldier rode off to battle, the veteran property man improvised one out of bean poles and fence rails that made a most artistic picture. "they'll have to get up the day before breakfast to beat pop snooks!" exclaimed russ, admiringly. all was now ready for the big cavalry charge. "all ready!" came the order from mr. pertell. "cameras!" and the cranks began to work, reeling off the sensitive film. the two bodies of cavalry rushed toward one another, hoofs thundering, carbines cracking, sabres flashing in the sun, white puffs of smoke showing where the cannon were firing. "now miss brown!" yelled the director, above the riot of noise. "this is where you make the ride of your life!" "all right!" answered the brave girl, and, giving rein to her horse, she dashed off ahead of a detachment of cavalry that was to try to intercept her. on and on rode estelle. ruth and alice, who had finished their part in this scene, stood on a little hill, watching her. on and on dashed estelle, doing her part well, and foot after foot of the film registered her action. she was almost at the end now. she reached the confederate ranks, gave over the message she had carried through such danger, and then, turning her horse, dashed away. how it happened no one could tell. but suddenly petro stumbled, and though estelle tried to keep him on his feet she could not. "oh--oh!" gasped ruth. "look!" and then she turned her head away so as not to see. alice had a flash of estelle flying over the head of her falling horse, and then, unable to stop, the rushing soldiers on their horses rode over the very place where estelle had fallen. chapter xxiv a denial of identity confused shouts, cries, and orders echoed over the field, mr. pertell, dropping his megaphone, rushed toward the scene of the accident, calling on russ to follow and yelling back an order to have the stretcher men and the doctor follow him. dr. wherry was even then waiting in readiness, for it had been feared that this big scene might result painfully, if not dangerously, for more than one. some men had also been detailed as stretcher bearers and were in waiting. "shall we film this?" asked one of russ's helpers, as the former dashed past on his way to help estelle. "no. don't take that accident. it won't fit in with the rest of the film. it's all right up to that point, though. we can make a retake of the last few feet if we have to." even in this time of danger and suspense it was necessary to think of the play. that must go on, no matter what happened to the players. "go on with the cavalry charge--farther over!" directed mr. pertell, when he arrived on the scene and found a group of men about the fallen girl. "you can't do any good here. we'll look after her. i can't delay any longer on this scene. go on with the charge, and carry out the program as it was outlined to you. russ, you look after the camera men." "what about estelle?" "dr. wherry and i will see to her." the girl's golden hair was tumbled about her head, having come loose and fallen from under her hat in her fall. she lay in a senseless heap at one side of her horse. the animal had not gotten up, and at first it was thought he had been killed. but it developed that estelle had trained him to play "dead" after a fall of this kind, and the intelligent creature must have thought this was one of those occasions. "easy with her, boys," cautioned the director, as the stretcher men tenderly picked up the limp form. "she may have some broken bones." they placed her carefully on the stretcher and bore her to the hospital. mrs. maguire was ready to assist the trained nurse, who was kept ready for just such emergencies. "the poor little dear!" exclaimed the motherly irish woman. "poor little dear!" meanwhile, the cavalry charge went on. estelle had done her part in this. was it the last part she was to play? ruth and alice asked themselves this as they hurried toward the hospital. "oh, if she should be killed!" gasped ruth. "wouldn't it be dreadful? and no one to tell who she really is," added alice. "we must go to her." "yes, as soon as they will let us see her," agreed ruth. dr. wherry and the trained nurse were busy over the injured girl. a quick examination disclosed no broken bones, but it could not yet be told whether or not there were internal injuries. they could only wait for her to recover consciousness and hope for the best. all that could be done was done. "plucky little girl!" murmured mr. pertell, when told that estelle was resting easily, but was still insensible. "she must have seen that she was going to have a bad fall, but she kept on and saved the film for us. we won't have to retake her scene at all--merely cut out the accident. do your best for her, dr. wherry." "i will, you may be sure." ruth and alice were told that they could see estelle as soon as she recovered consciousness, and it was safe for visitors to be admitted. and several hours after the accident the nurse, miss lyon, came to summon them from their room, where they were waiting. "she has opened her eyes," miss lyon said. "did she ask for us?" alice asked. "i can't say that she did. she seems dazed yet. sometimes in falls like this, where the head is injured, it is days before the patient realizes what has happened." "is her head injured?" ruth inquired. "yes, she seems to have received a hard blow on it. whether there is a fracture or a concussion dr. wherry had not yet determined. it will take a little time to decide. meanwhile, you may see her, just for a moment." alice and ruth softly entered the room where estelle lay on a white bed. her face was pale, but her eyes were bright. there was a subtle odor of disinfectants, of opiates and of other drugs in the room--a veritable hospital atmosphere. "don't startle her," cautioned the nurse, motioning for silence. "we'll be careful," promised alice, in a whisper. the two sisters approached the bed. estelle looked at them but, strange to say, there was no look of recognition in her eyes. ruth and alice might have been two strangers for all the notice estelle took of them. "she--she doesn't know us," whispered ruth. "she will, as soon as you speak," said miss lyon. "just talk to her in a low voice, but naturally. she'll know you then, i'm sure." "how--how are you feeling?" asked ruth, in a whisper. there was no response--no light of recognition in the eyes. "a little louder and call her by name," suggested the nurse. "you try, alice," ruth whispered. her sister stepped to the bedside. "estelle, don't you know me?" alice asked. the eyes turned in the direction of the voice. "were you speaking to me?" came the question, and both ruth and alice started at the changed tones of their friend. "yes, to you," alice answered. "i--i _don't_ know you," was the gentle response. "don't you know me--alice devere? and this is my sister, ruth. don't you know us, estelle?" "is your name estelle?" came the query. "no, that is _your_ name," and alice smiled, though a cold hand seemed to be clutching at her heart. "that is your name--you are estelle. don't you remember?" "estelle what? who is estelle?" "you are. you are estelle brown! don't you know your own name?" the golden head on the white pillow was slowly moved from side to side. the bright eyes showed no sign of recognition. then came the gentle voice: "i am not estelle brown. i don't know her. what do you mean? i don't know any of you. why am i here? what has happened? i wish you would take me home at once. i live at the palace." "what--what does she mean?" gasped ruth, looking in alarm at the nurse. "i don't know. perhaps she is delirious and imagines she is playing in the moving pictures. was there a palace scene?" "not since she joined the company. but why does she deny her identity?" "i can not say. sometimes after an injury like this happens, people say queer things. we had better not disturb her further. i'll call dr. wherry." alice made one more effort to bring recollection to estelle. "don't you know me, dear?" she asked softly. "i am alice--your friend alice. this is ruth, and you are estelle brown, from boston, you know." "boston? i was never in boston. and i am not estelle brown. you must be mistaken." her eyes roved around the hospital room, and a look of pain and fright dimmed them. then, seeming to fear that she had been unkind, she said gently to alice: "i am sorry i do not know you, for you are trying to help me, i am sure. but i never heard the name estelle brown. i am not she--that is certain. if you would only take me home! my people will be worried. we live at the palace and----" she tried to raise herself up in bed. a look of pain came over her face, and she fell back with closed eyes. "she has fainted!" cried miss lyon. "i must get dr. wherry at once! don't disturb her!" she hastened off, while ruth and alice, not knowing what to think, went softly from the room. chapter xxv reunion "nothing but a passing fancy," said dr. wherry, later in the day, when ruth and alice questioned him about estelle. "when a person has received a hard blow on the head, as estelle has, the memory is often confused. she will be all right in a day or so. rest and quiet are what she needs." "then she is in no immediate danger?" asked mr. pertell. "none whatever, physically. she came out of that fall very well, indeed. the blow on her head stunned her, but the effects of that will pass away. she has no internal injuries that i can discover." the last scenes of the war play were taken. the confederates, after their final desperate stand were driven back, surrounded and captured. the "war" ended. the regiments of cavalry took their departure. the extra players were paid off and left. a few simple scenes were yet to be taken about oak farm, but the big work was over, and every one was glad, for the task had been no easy one. "does estelle yet admit her identity?" asked ruth of dr. wherry, two days after the accident. the physician scratched his head in perplexity. "no, i am sorry to say she doesn't," he answered. "she does not seem to recognize that name. i wish you and your sister would come in and speak to her again. it may be she will recognize you this time. a little shock may bring her to herself. i have seen it happen in cases like this." ruth and alice again went to the hospital. estelle was still in bed, but she seemed to be better. but, as before, there was no sign of recognition in the bright eyes that gazed at the two moving picture girls. "don't you know me--us?" asked alice, gently. "yes. you were here before, soon after i was brought here," was the answer. "oh, estelle! don't you know us!" cried ruth, in horror. "whom are you calling estelle?" "why, you. that is your name." "i am not she. you must be mistaken! oh, i wish they would take me home. i want father--mother--i want auntie amma. oh, why don't they come to me?" ruth and alice looked at one another. what did it mean? this babbling of strange names? was it possible that they were on the track of discovering the identity of the girl who now denied the name she had given? "who is your father?" asked ruth. "and who is auntie amma?" inquired alice. "why, don't you know? they live with me at the palace. and my doll. why don't you bring my doll?" "she is delirious again," whispered the nurse. "you had better go. evidently, she thinks she is a child again. her doll!" "i want my doll! why don't you bring me my doll?" persisted the stricken girl. "what doll do you want?" asked alice. "my own doll," was the reply. "my dear doll that i always have in bed with me when i am ill; my doll estelle brown!" "estelle brown!" cried ruth, in sudden excitement. "is that the name of your doll?" "yes! yes! bring her to me, please!" "who gave you that doll?" asked ruth, and she waited anxiously for the answer. "my doll--my doll estelle brown. why, my daddy gave her to me, of course. my father!" "and what was your father's name?" asked ruth in a tense voice. she and alice and the nurse leaned forward in eager expectation. they all recognized that a crisis was at hand. would the stricken girl give an answer that would be a clue to her identity--the identity she had denied? or would her words trail off into the meaningless babble of the afflicted? "what is your father's name?" ruth repeated. the girl in the bed raised herself to a sitting position. she looked at the devere sisters--at the trained nurse. in her eyes now there was not so much brightness as there was weariness and pain. and also there was more of the light of understanding. she looked from one to the other. her lips moved, but no sound came from them. it was a tense moment. would she be able to answer? would the obviously injured brain be able to sift out the right reply from the mass of words that hitherto had been meaningless? "what is your father's name?" repeated ruth in calm, even tones. "your father who gave you the doll, estelle brown? who is he?" like a flash of lightning from the clear sky came the answer. "why, he is daddy passamore, of course!" "passamore!" gasped alice. "passamore?" "is your name passamore?" whispered ruth. "yes, i am mildred passamore. my father is jared passamore of san francisco. i don't know why i am here, except that i was hurt in the railroad accident. if you will telegraph to my father, at the palace hotel, san francisco, he will come and get me. and please tell him to bring my doll, estelle brown. "i know it seems silly for a big girl like me to have a doll," went on the injured one. "but ever since i was a child i have had estelle with me when i was ill. i am ill now, but i feel better than i did. so telegraph to daddy passamore to bring estelle brown with him when he comes for me. and tell him i was not badly hurt in the wreck." and with that, before the wondering eyes of the nurse, of alice and of ruth, estelle brown--no--mildred passamore, turned over and calmly went to sleep! for an instant those in the hospital room neither moved nor spoke. then alice cried: "that solves it! that ends the mystery! i'll go and get the paper." "what paper?" asked ruth. "don't you remember? the old paper that i wrapped my scout shoes in when we were packing to come to oak farm. the one that father saved because it had a theatrical notice of him in it. "it was that four-year-old paper which contained an account of the strange disappearance of the wealthy san francisco girl, mildred passamore. don't you remember? there was a reward of ten thousand dollars offered for her discovery." "oh, i do remember!" gasped ruth. "and this is she!" "must be!" declared alice. "she says that's her name. and from what she told us she can, as estelle brown, think back only about four years. she must have received some injury that took away her memory. now she is herself again. "ruth, i believe we have found the missing mildred passamore! we must tell daddy at once, and mr. pertell. then we must telegraph mr. passamore. i'll get his address from the old paper. but the palace hotel, san francisco, will reach him, i presume. oh, isn't it all wonderful!" "it certainly is," agreed ruth. they gave one glance at the sleeping girl--mildred or estelle--and then went out, while miss lyon summoned dr. wherry to acquaint him with the strange turn of the case. "mildred passamore found! how wonderful!" exclaimed mr. devere, when his daughters told him what had happened. "but we must make sure. it would be a sad affair if we sent word to the father, and it turned out that this girl was not his daughter. we must make sure." alice got out the old paper. it contained a description of the missing mildred passamore, and in another newspaper dated a few days before the one alice had used as a wrapper for her shoes (another paper which mr. devere had saved because of a notice in it) was a picture of the girl. "it is she! our girl--the one we knew as estelle brown--is mildred passamore!" cried alice as she looked at the picture in the paper. "there is no doubt of it," agreed ruth, and mr. devere affirmed his daughters' opinions. mr. pertell was told of the occurrence, and, being a good judge of pictures and persons, he decided there was no doubt as to the identity. "we will telegraph to mr. passamore at once," decided the director. the crisis--for such it was in the case of the injured girl--seemed to mark a turn for the better. she slept nearly forty-eight hours, awakening only to take a little nourishment. then she slept again. she did not again mention any names, nor, in fact, anything else. her friends could only wait for the arrival of mr. passamore to have him make sure of the identity. he had sent a message in answer to the one from mr. pertell saying that he and his wife were hastening across the continent in a special train. "that means he hasn't found his daughter up to this time," said the manager, "and there is every chance that this girl is she." three days after her startling announcement estelle or mildred, as she was variously called, was much better. she sat up and seemed to be in her right mind. "i don't in the least know what it is all about, nor how i came here," she said, smiling. "the last i remember is being in a railroad train on my way from san francisco to visit relatives in seattle. there was a crash, and the next i knew i found myself in bed here. i presume you brought me here from the train wreck." "yes, you were brought here after the--the--ah, accident," said mr. pertell, lamely. "the nurse tells me you are a moving picture company," went on mildred. "i shall be interested to see how you act. i always had a half-formed desire to be a moving picture actress, but i know daddy passamore would never consent to it." "and she's been in the films for three years or more, and doesn't remember a thing about it!" murmured alice. "good-night!" "alice!" rebuked her sister. but alice, for once, did not care for ruth's rebuke. her astonishment was too great. and it was a queer case. "we must be very careful!" said dr. wherry when, after a swift ride across the continent, mr. passamore and his wife reached oak farm. "we must not startle the patient." "oh, but i want to see my little girl!" cried the mother, with tears in her eyes. "my little girl whom i thought gone for ever!" "i hope this will prove to be she," said mr. devere. "i'm sure it will!" cried the father. "no one but mildred would remember her old doll--estelle brown!" and he held up a battered toy. softly, the parents entered the room. the girl on the bed heard some one come in, and sat up. there was a look of joy and happiness on her face; and yet it was not such as would come after a separation of four years. it was as if she had only separated from her loved ones a few hours before. "oh, daddy! momsey!" she cried. "i did so want you! and did you bring estelle brown?" "my little girl! my own little lost girl!" cried mrs. passamore. "oh, after all these years--when we had given you up for dead!" "after all these years? why, momsey, i left you only two days ago to go to seattle. there must have been a wreck or something; for i heard a dreadful crash, and then i awakened here with these nice moving picture folk. they were on the same train, i guess." dr. wherry made the parents a signal not to tell the secret just yet. "and did you bring estelle?" asked mildred. "yes, here is your doll!" and as mr. passamore handed it to his daughter he and his wife exchanged tearful glances of joy. the lost had been found. it was a scene of rejoicing at oak farm, and the moving picture girls came in for a big share of praise. for had it not been for the fact that alice had seen the paper containing the account of the missing girl and saved it, the identity of mildred might not have been disclosed for some time. finally, she was told what had happened; that for four years she had been another person--estelle brown--a name she had taken after the awakening following the railroad accident because of some kink in the brain that retained the memory of the doll. "then lieutenant varley was right, he must have seen you in portland," said alice, when explanations were being made. "he must have," admitted mildred. "but i don't understand how it happened." later on it was all made clear. mildred passamore, the daughter of a wealthy family, living temporarily at the palace hotel, in san francisco, had started on a trip to visit relatives in seattle. she was well supplied with money. the train mildred was on was wrecked near portland, oregon, and the girl received a blow on her head that caused her to lose her sense of identity completely. she did not seem to be hurt, and she was not in need of medical aid. without assistance, she got on the relief train that took the injured in to portland, and there it was that lieutenant varley saw her in the station. through some vagary of her brain, mildred imagined she wanted to go to new york, and, as she had plenty of money, she bought a ticket for that city, the one to seattle having been lost. lieutenant varley had helped her and, though he suspected something was wrong with the young lady the impression with him was not very strong until it was too late to be of assistance to her. so, her identity completely lost, mildred started on her trip across the continent. what happened on that journey she never could recollect clearly. that she got on the great lakes and then went to boston was established. the reason for that was that, as a child, she had lived there. this accounted for the toilet set her mother had given her, and for the recollection of the monument and the historic places. why she was attracted to moving pictures could only be guessed at, but she "broke in," and "made good." her ability to ride was easily explained. her father owned a big stock farm, and mildred had ridden since a child. but all this, as well as other remembrances of her younger days, was lost after the injury to her head in the railroad accident. she retained but one strongly marked memory--the name of her doll, the name which she took for her own. so, as a new personage, she came to oak farm, unable to think back more than four years, and totally without suspicion that she was the missing mildred passamore. that she was not recognized as the missing girl was not strange, since the search in the east had not been prosecuted as vigorously as it had been in the west. mr. and mrs. passamore, hearing that the train on which their daughter was traveling had been wrecked, hastened to portland, but there they could find no trace of mildred. lieutenant varley, who might have given a clue, had sailed for europe the day after his meeting with mildred. then began the search which lasted four years, and had now come to an end at oak farm. "and to think that i have been two persons all this while!" exclaimed mildred, when explanations had been made, and she was on the road to recovery. "but what made my memory come back?" "the same thing that took it from you," explained dr. wherry. "it was the blow you received on the head when you fell from your horse. there had been a pressure on your brain, from the railroad crash, and the fall from your horse relieved it, so you came to yourself." "oh, i wonder if i could have taken miss dixon's ring in my second personality?" asked mildred one day, when various happenings were being explained to her. "no, you didn't!" exclaimed alice. "it was found down under the carpet, back of her bureau. a maid discovered it there when cleaning. and that snip of a miss dixon left without apologizing to you." "oh, it doesn't matter, since i am not estelle brown, and my doll doesn't care what they say about her!" laughed mildred. miss dixon and her friend had left oak farm to go back to new york, for their part in the pictures was finished for the time being. "and to think that i really became a movie actress, after all!" laughed estelle. "i think i shall continue in it, daddy! it must be fun, though i don't recollect anything about it." "no you sha'n't!" laughed mr. passamore. "your mother and i want you at home for a while." there is little more to tell. mildred passamore rapidly recovered her health and strength. her part in the pictures was finished and though he did not exactly relish the appearance on the screen of his daughter in battle scenes, the millionaire, realizing what his refusal would mean to mr. pertell, made no objections. besides, it was estelle brown who was filmed, not miss passamore. "well, what is next on the program?" asked alice of the director one day, after several other war plays had been made and when they were about to leave oak farm, to go back to new york. "oh, i think i'm going to get out a big film entitled 'life in the slums.' you and ruth will play the star parts." "no!" laughed alice. "not since we became millionaires. you will have to cast us for rich girls. mr. passamore gave us the ten thousand dollars reward, you know." "all right!" laughed the director, "then i'll bill you as the rich-poor girls." before going back to san francisco with mildred, mr. passamore had insisted that ruth and alice take the reward, as it was through their agency that he received word of his daughter's whereabouts. but ruth and alice insisted on sharing their good fortune with their friends in the company, so all benefited from it. the day came for the moving picture players to leave oak farm. "good-bye, sandy!" called alice to the young farmer. "i suppose you're glad to see the last of us!" "well, not exactly, no'm! still, i'll be glad not to see houses and barns that have only fronts to 'em, and there won't be no more mistakes made trying to haul up water from a well that's only made of painted muslin. i'll try an' get back to real life for a change!" the big war play was over. it was a big success when shown on the screen, and the pictures of ruth, alice and mildred--or estelle brown, as she was billed--came out well. the fight where paul and his men were nearly blown up was most realistic. "you girls are not going to retire, just because you have a little money, are you?" asked russ of ruth, one day, when they were back in new york. "indeed, we're not!" cried alice. "and i wouldn't be surprised if mildred joined us. i had a letter from her the other day, and, after seeing herself on the screen, she says she is crazy to do it all over again. give up the movies? never!" and it remains for time to show what further fame the moving picture girls won in the silent drama. for the present, we will say farewell. * * * * * transcriber's notes: obvious punctuation errors corrected. page , "proping" changed to "propping". (propping it up) page , "himmel" changed to "himmel". (ach himmel! ach!) page , "bruskly" changed to "brusquely". (miss dixon brusquely) page , "devere" changed to "devere". (in fact, mr. devere) page , "property" changed to "proper". (the proper civil) note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustration. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h.zip) the moving picture boys on the coast or showing up the perils of the deep by victor appleton author of "the tom swift series," "the moving picture boys," "the moving picture boys in the west," etc. illustrated [illustration: blake & joe, leaving their automatic camera working, aided in the work of rescue.--page .] new york grosset & dunlap publishers * * * * * * books by victor appleton the moving picture boys series mo. illustrated. price, per volume, cents, postpaid the moving picture boys the moving picture boys in the west the moving picture boys on the coast the moving picture boys in the jungle the moving picture boys in earthquake land the tom swift series mo. illustrated. price, per volume, cents, postpaid tom swift and his motor cycle tom swift and his motor boat tom swift and his airship tom swift and his submarine boat tom swift and his electric runabout tom swift and his electric rifle tom swift and his sky racer tom swift in the caves of ice tom swift among the diamond makers tom swift and his wireless message tom swift in the city of gold tom swift and his air glider tom swift in captivity tom swift and his wizard camera tom swift and his great searchlight tom swift and his giant cannon grosset & dunlap publishers--new york * * * * * * copyright, , by grosset & dunlap the moving picture boys on the coast contents chapter page i an unexpected attack ii a daring raid iii the pursuit iv back to big b v a new kind of drama vi on the coast vii at the lighthouse viii blake learns a secret ix at practice x to san francisco xi a strange charge xii on a long voyage xiii a mimic fire xiv attacked by a swordfish xv suspicious actions xvi joe suspects something xvii after the wreckers xviii failure xix on the trail xx the discovery xxi the capture xxii a life guard's alarm xxiii the doomed vessel xxiv out of the wreck xxv a new quest the moving picture boys on the coast chapter i an unexpected attack "well, blake, it doesn't seem possible that we have succeeded; does it?" and the lad who asked the question threw one leg over the saddle of his pony, to ride side fashion for a while, as a rest and change. "no, joe, it doesn't," answered another youth. "but we sure have got some dandy films in those boxes!" and he looked back on some laden burros that were following the cow ponies across a stretch of arizona desert. "well, all i've got to say," remarked the cowboy, the third member of the trio; "is that taking moving pictures is about as strenuous work as rounding up or branding cattle." "i guess you don't quite believe that, hank; do you?" asked blake stewart. "you haven't seen us work so very hard; have you?" "work hard? i should say i have," answered hank selby. "why, the time those indians charged our cave, and joe and i, and munson and his crowd were getting ready to fire point-blank at them, there you stood, with bullets whizzing near you more than once, grinding away at the handle of your moving picture camera as hard as you could. hard work--huh!" "but we got the films," declared blake, not caring to go too deeply into an argument. "and i'm anxious to see how they will develop." "so am i," declared joe. "i wonder what will be next on the program?" "why, you're going to look for your father; aren't you, joe--your father whom you haven't seen since you were a little chap--whom you can't even remember?" and blake looked sharply at his chum and partner, joe duncan. "that's what i am, blake, just as soon as i can get to the coast. but i mean, what will we do after that? go back to new york?" "i suppose so, and take up our trade of making moving picture films for whoever wants them. it will be a rather tame life after the excitement we have had out here." "that's what. but maybe it will be good for a change." the two moving picture boys, i might explain briefly, were on their way to flagstaff, arizona, after having gone out into the wilds, with a cowboy guide, hank selby, to make moving picture films of some moqui indians who had broken away from their reservation, to indulge in some of their weird dances and ceremonies. while making these films, the boys and their companion, who were hidden in a cave where the indians could not see them, saw the redmen about to torture, as they thought, four white prisoners. joe and blake recognized these men as their business rivals, who were also trying to get some moving picture films of the indians, to secure a prize of a thousand dollars, offered by a new york geographical and ethnological society. to fire on the indians, and thus save the white captives, meant that joe, blake and hank would disclose their position in the cave, but there was nothing else to do, and they did it. the white captives, unexpectedly freed, came rushing toward the shelter, with the savages after them, and it looked as if there would be a fierce fight. in spite of this blake held his ground, taking picture after picture. and, in the nick of time, a troop of united states cavalry came dashing up to capture the renegade indians, who surrendered; blake also getting pictures of the dash of the troopers. unexpectedly in the company was a sergeant duncan who proved to be a half-uncle of joe duncan, and the sergeant was able to tell the lad where his long-lost father was last heard from, since joe had only lately learned that his parent was living. and so, after their strenuous time in getting pictures of the indians, the boys were on their way to big b ranch, where hank selby was employed, and whence they had started to find the hidden savages. but flagstaff was the real temporary headquarters of the lads, since there was located a theatrical company, engaged in doing some moving picture dramas based on western life, and joe and blake had been hired to "film" those plays. they had been given a little time off to make an attempt to get views of the indians at their ceremonies, and they expected to resume, for a time, making films of more peaceful scenes among their theatrical friends. "yes, we sure did have a strenuous time," remarked blake, as they rode along at an easy pace. "and how those indians threw down their guns, and gave in, when the troopers charged against them!" "that's right," agreed joe. "and those bugle notes, when they started to gallop, telling us that help was on the way, was the sweetest music i ever heard." "same here," came from hank. "but say, if it's all the same to you boys, i think we might as well camp here and have grub. this looks like good water and there's enough grazing for the critters to-night. then we can push on early in the morning, and in a couple of days more we ought to make big b ranch." "it seems to take us longer coming back than it did going," remarked blake, as he slid from his pony, and pulled the reins over the animal's head as a signal for it not to wander. "i thought we'd sure come in sight of the ranch to-day." "oh, it's farther than that," said hank, as he looked about for wood with which to make a fire. "i guess you were so anxious to get on the trail of the indians on your way out that you didn't notice how much ground you covered. and it was quite a few miles, believe me!" "i do!" said joe, with half a groan. "i'm sore and stiff from so much saddle riding. i'm not used to it." "oh, you'll limber up soon," said hank, cheerfully. "now, if you boys will get the water, and break out the grub, i'll get supper. it'll soon be dark." the lads busied themselves, and soon a cheerful little blaze was going, while the tired horses and burros, relieved of the burden of saddles and packs, were rolling luxuriously around at the length of their tether ropes. "i wonder if all the moquis and navajos who skipped off their reservations have been driven back?" asked joe, as they were about ready to eat. "what makes you ask that?" inquired blake quickly, and with a curious look at his chum. "oh, no special reason. but you know captain marsh, of the troop in which my uncle, sergeant duncan, was enlisted, said he had rounded up several bands of 'em, and i was just thinking that----" "that maybe there were some more running around loose that we could make pictures of; is that it, joe?" "well, yes. you know that society offered a prize of a thousand dollars for the best reel of ceremonial dances, but there were smaller prizes for ordinary pictures of indians in various activities. i thought maybe we could get some of those." "i'm afraid not--not on this trip, at least," spoke blake. "i don't believe there is ten feet of unexposed film left, and that wouldn't make much of a reel. we used up all we brought with us making those cowboy pictures, the forest fire and the time the bear chased hank, besides the indian views. nothing more doing in the camera line until we get back to flagstaff." "oh, well, i was just wondering," spoke joe, and he gazed off across the uneven stretch of country. but there was that in his voice and glance which did not bear out his unconcerned words. however, blake was too much occupied in getting supper just then to pay much attention to his chum, for the lad was hungry--as, indeed, his companions also seemed to be, for they attacked the simple provender with eagerness when hank announced that it was ready. the evening was setting in when they had finished, and, bringing up a pail of fresh water, in case they should get thirsty during the hours of darkness, and placing the saddles and packs in a compact mass, the three proceeded to spend the night in the open. and yet not exactly without shelter, either, for they had with them small dog-tents, as they are called, that afford considerable protection against the night winds and dew. and, with a fire glowing at their feet, the travelers were far from being uncomfortable. a pile of wood had been collected near the blaze, and while nothing was said about standing watch, it was understood that if any of them roused in the night he was to pile fuel on the embers, not only to keep up the genial heat, but to drive off any prowling beasts that might try to raid their stock of provisions. "well, i'm going to turn in," finally announced blake. "i'm dead tired." "and i'm with you," added joe. hank said nothing, but the boys watched him as he walked some little distance from the camp, to a slight elevation. on this he stood, gazing off into the distance. "i wonder what he's looking for?" queried joe. "i--i hardly know," replied blake. and yet, in his heart, each lad was aware of something that he hesitated to put into words. presently hank came back, and as the firelight shone on his face his expression betrayed no anxiety--in fact, no emotion of any kind. "did--did you see anything, hank?" asked blake. "no--nothing. snooze away. i think--i'll have a pipe before i go to bed," and he sat down on a small box and looked into the glowing embers. soon afterward, joe, looking from his small shelter tent, saw hank fingering his big revolver, spinning the cylinder, and testing the mechanism. "something's up!" whispered joe to himself. "i wonder if it can be that he saw----" he did not finish the sentence, for just then hank put away the weapon and soon the aromatic odor of burning tobacco filled the night air. "oh, pshaw!" exclaimed the lad. "i'm foolish to worry about nothing; i'm going to sleep!" and he turned over, and closed his eyes. but, somehow, sleep would not come at once. even with his eyes closed he could fancy the figure of the cowboy guide sitting by the fire. blake seemed to be less uneasy than did his chum. if he saw hank by the fire he made no mention of it, and from his tent came no movement that showed he was awake. presently joe began to speculate on the new experience he felt would come to him, if he succeeded in locating his father. "it really doesn't seem possible--that i'm going to have folks at last," murmured joe. "and maybe not only a father, but brothers and sisters--uncle bill duncan said he didn't know. i may have more than blake, if i keep on," and then, with more pleasurable thoughts than worrying about an indefinable something, the lad finally lost himself in slumber. the camp was still. even hank had crawled into his little tent, after a final pipe. he did not get to sleep soon, and had either of the boys been awake they would have seen him come out several times before midnight, and stalk about, peering off into the darkness. then, after looking to the tether ropes of the animals, he would go back to the small shelters, throw some embers on the fire, and drop off into a doze. for the cowboy was a light sleeper, and the least sound awakened him. "i guess there'll be nothing doing," he whispered to himself after one of these little observations. "i thought i saw some signs just about dusk, but maybe it was some slinking coyote, or a big jack rabbit. anyhow, if--if anything does happen it won't come during darkness; that is, unless it's some of them half-breed or mexican rustlers, and i don't believe they've been around these diggings lately. i'm going to snooze." soon his heavy breathing told that he slept, and several hours passed before he again awoke. if he had made one other observation, probably he would have seen that which would have aroused his suspicions, for, about an hour after midnight, there was an uneasy movement among the animals. and in the starlight, which in a measure made the night less black, several shadowy, slinking forms might have been observed creeping toward the camp and the pile of provisions and supplies, among the latter of which were the boxes containing the valuable films of the moving pictures. it was hank, as might have been expected, who awakened. one of the burros, always an excitable, nervous beast, capered about and uttered a shrill whinny as if in fright. hank was out of his tent in an instant. leaping to his feet he blazed away with his revolver. its flash lit up the darkness, and was at once answered by half a dozen other flashes. "come on, boys!" yelled hank. "they're after us! i wasn't mistaken, after all! i did see some of 'em sneaking around! lively, now!" and he blazed away again. "what is it?" cried blake. "indians! they're after our horses!" yelled the cowboy, as the two lads joined him. chapter ii a daring raid "where are they?" "which way shall we shoot?" joe and blake questioned thus by turn as they leaped to hank's side. they were in darkness now, for the cowboy had ceased shooting, and those who had come to attack had likewise allowed their weapons to become silent. as a matter of fact, hank selby had only fired in the air, if possible to frighten off the indians, and it seemed that the redmen had done the same, since there was no whine of bullets over the head of the guide. "what is it?" asked blake, fingering the rifle he had caught up as he rushed from the tent. "indians," replied hank, in a low voice. "it's probably some band of moquis or navajos, who escaped being rounded up as the others were. probably they were chased so hard, or were so surprised at one of their camps, that they had to leave without their ponies. and they do hate to walk. they saw our animals and tried to get 'em, but i was suspicious all along." "but where are they now?" asked joe, peering out into the darkness. "i can't see a thing, and our animals seem to be all there." "the beggars dropped down, and are hiding," said the cowboy. "they didn't like the quick way i fired on 'em, i guess; though, land knows! i don't want to hurt any of 'em if i can help it. they don't know just what to do, and they're biding their time." "did they get any of our horses--or things?" asked blake, anxiously, his thoughts on the valuable films. "not as yet," replied hank. "but this thing isn't over with. they'll come back, once they decide it's worth while. we've got to get ready for 'em." "how?" asked blake. "well, we've got to pile our stuff up as a sort of shelter, and then we've got to bring in the animals. it won't do to have the imps run off with 'em, and that's what they're aiming to do." "but won't it be risky to go out there in the darkness to bring in the ponies and burros?" asked joe. "you say the indians are concealed out there." "so i believe they are," replied hank. "but i fancy my shooting drove 'em back a bit, even though i did fire in the air, or so high over their heads that they couldn't be harmed. so i guess we can make a move out there without getting hurt. anyhow, it's got to be done, and, as i know more about such business than you boys, having been at it longer, i'll just attend to that. you'd better make the best sort of breastworks you can. for, though i don't believe these beggars will actually shoot to hurt, still it's best to be on the safe side. be cautious, now." and, while hank is thus preparing to secure the pack and saddle animals, and the boys to gather the boxes and bales into a compact mass, i will take just a few moments to tell you more about the moving picture lads than i have yet done. in the first book of this series, entitled "the moving picture boys; or, the perils of a great city depicted," i introduced to you joe duncan and blake stewart. at that time they lived in the village of fayetteburg, in the central part of new york state. blake worked on the farm of his uncle, jonathan haverstraw, while joe was hired boy for zachariah bradley. and it happened that they both lost their places at the same time. blake's uncle decided to retire to a home for the aged, and mr. bradley said he could no longer afford to pay joe any wages. the boys did not know what to do until they made the acquaintance of mr. calvert hadley, a moving picture photographer. the latter had come to fayetteburg with a theatrical company to get some views in a country drama that was being enacted, some of the scenes being laid in the nearby city of syracuse. blake and joe watched a mimic rescue scene in the creek, thinking it real, and later mr. hadley offered them work as his assistants in new york. he was employed by the film theatrical company, to make its moving pictures. the boys jumped at the chance. before the little country drama was over, however, an accident occurred, in full view of the moving picture camera. mrs. betty randolph, a wealthy southern lady, was run into, while riding in her carriage, by a reckless autoist. mrs. randolph offered a reward for the arrest of this man, who escaped in the confusion, and urged the two boys to try to effect his capture. they said they would, and how they went to new york, learned the moving picture business, and helped mr. hadley get films for his "moving picture newspaper," is all set down in the first book. the perils of taking views in a great city, at fires, elevated railroad accidents, burning vessels, of divers at work, in making educational films--all this is told. eventually, while making scenes at a thrilling balloon ascension, joe and blake discovered the reckless autoist and gave chase in a car. they caught him, too, and got the reward, with which they purchased some moving picture cameras, and went into business on their own account. they made films to order, and were often employed by mr. hadley or by mr. ringold, head of the film theatrical company. this company consisted of a number of actors and actresses who were engaged to enact various sorts of plays and dramas before the camera. among them was henry robertson, who did "juvenile leads"; harris levinberg, the "villain"; miss nellie shay, the leading lady, and miss birdie lee, who did girls' parts. last, but not least, was christopher cutler piper--known variously as "c. c." or "gloomy." he preferred to be called just c. c., not liking his two first names, but he was so often looking on the dark side of life, and predicting direful happenings that never came to pass, that he was often dubbed "gloomy." however, he was the comedian of the troupe, and could utter the most unhappy expressions while doing the most comical acting. it was not all easy sailing for the two lads. one man--james munson, a rival moving picture proprietor--often made trouble for them, and once put them in no little danger. after having helped mr. hadley make a success of his moving picture newspaper, by means of which current happenings, and accidents, were nightly thrown on a screen in various theatres, joe and blake, as i said, went into business for themselves. in the second volume of the series, entitled "the moving picture boys in the west; or, taking scenes among the cowboys and indians," our heroes had an entirely different series of adventures. mr. ringold decided to take his theatrical troupe to arizona, there to make films for a number of western dramas. he asked the boys if they would like to join mr. hadley in doing this work. at the same time a new york scientific society, engaged in preserving records, pictures and photographic reproductions of the indians, made a prize offer for the best film showing the redmen in their ceremonial dances. the time was particularly ripe for this, as a band of the moquis, as well as several tribes of navajos, had broken from the government reservations to indulge in their strange rites. as the boys found that they could do the two things--take the views of the indians, and make the theatrical pictures--they accepted the offer. just before they left, however, joe received a strange letter. it was from a man signing himself sam houston reed, who stated that he had met a man who was looking for a joe duncan. joe, who had known there was some mystery about his early life, was overjoyed at the prospect of finding some "folks," and wished very much to meet mr. reed. but the latter had neglected to date, or put any heading on his letter. all there was to go by was part of a postmark, which showed it came from arizona, and mr. reed also mentioned big b ranch. however, the moving picture boys and the theatrical company started west. on the way the boys had a glimpse of their rivals, also hastening to get the indian views. how they got to flagstaff, made many views there, and then how joe and blake started to find the place where the runaway indians were hidden away, doing their mysterious dances--all this is told in the second volume. eventually they reached big b ranch, only to find that mr. reed, like a rolling stone, had gone. however, some of the cowboys remembered him, and had heard him talk of having met a certain bill duncan, whose half-brother, nate, was looking for a lost son. it was supposed that this nate duncan was joe's father. as nothing toward finding mr. duncan could then be done, joe and blake kept on toward the indian country. a cowboy, hank selby, offered to accompany them, and they were glad he did. they had many adventures before getting on the track of the indians, and when they found them in a secret valley, and, concealed in a cave, began taking moving pictures, they discovered, as i have said, four white men in danger of torture. how they rescued them, how the troopers came, and how one turned out to be bill duncan, joe's half-uncle, i have mentioned in this book as well as in the second volume. and, on their way back to big b ranch and to flagstaff, the night attack had taken place. "how are you making out, blake?" asked joe, as he worked at stacking up the boxes and bales into a sort of rude breastwork near the shelter tents. "all right, joe," was the answer. "i hope hank makes the animals safe." "he doesn't seem to be having much trouble. i can't see any of the indians now." "no, they're probably hiding down in the grass, waiting for a chance to make a raid. i wonder how many there are?" "quite a bunch, i should say, from the shooting. here comes hank now." as he spoke, the cowboy appeared, leading by their long tether ropes the riding ponies and the pack animals. the steeds showed signs of their recent excitement. had it not been for the alarm they gave they might have been stolen without our friends being any the wiser. "see any of 'em, hank?" questioned joe. "no, but they're there, all right. boys, there may be some hot work ahead of us. you want to get ready for it." "do--do you think they'll shoot?" asked blake. "well, they'll do their best to get our things away from us," was the answer. "they're desperate, i'm afraid." hank busied himself tethering the steeds nearer the temporary camp, while joe and blake finished their labors in building a defense against the possible rush of the redmen. this was hardly finished, and they had scarcely collected a pile of brush to make a bright fire, if necessary, when there arose all around fierce shouts. at the same time there was a fusillade of shots; but, as far as could be seen, all the indians were firing in the air. "look out!" yelled hank. "they're going to rush us!" before he ceased speaking there was the sound of many feet running forward. the shooting and shouting redoubled in volume, and the restless animals tried to break loose. "the imps!" cried hank. "they're trying to stampede our animals, just as they did the cattle that time. look out, boys!" but nothing could be done against such numbers. the camp was overwhelmed in a daring raid, and though the boys and hank did all they could, firing wildly in the air, they could not stand off the attack. strangely enough, no effort was made to mistreat the boys or their companion. the indians simply rushed over them and made for the pile of goods in the rear of the tents. they did not even seem to be after the horses. "stop 'em!" cried blake. "they'll take all our things!" "our cameras!" yelled joe. "they may break 'em!" hank had all he could do to restrain the wild steeds, which sought to break loose. the rush was over almost as quickly as it had started. off into the darkness disappeared the indians, their shooting and yelling growing fainter and fainter. "i saved the horses!" cried hank. "yes, but they got a lot of our stuff!" exclaimed blake. "joe, throw some wood on the fire, so we can see what is missing!" chapter iii the pursuit blazing up brightly, after joe had thrown some light sticks on the embers, the fire revealed a much disordered camp. the indians had rushed over it as a squad of football players might tear through a rival eleven, leaving devastation in their wake. the only consolation was that hank had managed to prevent the animals from stampeding, and the possession of their ponies, in a country where foot travel is almost out of the question, was a big factor. "but they got almost everything else," said blake, as he looked about the temporary camp. "they made for the grub, that's sure," spoke joe. "i guess they were hungry." "but why they didn't try harder to make off with the horses is what i can't understand," spoke blake, as he continued to make an examination of the damage done. "i thought that was what they were after." "they were," declared hank; "but i guess they realized that taking horses is a pretty serious crime out here. they knew that all sorts of efforts would be made to recapture 'em, and by men who would not be as gentle with 'em as uncle sam's soldiers. so i guess they decided to pass up the horses and only take some grub. that isn't so serious, especially as the poor beggars are probably well-nigh starving, having been away from their regular rations so long. well, it might be worse, i suppose. they will hardly come back to-night, and i guess we can get a little rest when i picket these animals out again. we got off pretty lucky, i take it, for there was sure a big bunch of them." "lucky?" cried blake. "i should say not. look here!" and he pointed to the upset pile of boxes and bales, only a few of which were now left. "we have had the worst kind of bad luck!" "how's that?" demanded joe, hurrying to the side of his chum. the fire was brighter now. "what did they take?" "our reels of exposed film, for one thing!" cried blake. "what! not our prize indian pictures?" gasped joe. "that's what they did, joe! every one of those films we worked so hard to get is gone!" "but what could the indians want with them?" asked joe. "they don't know how to develop 'em, and, even if they did, they would be of no use. they can't know what they are, but if the least ray of light gets into the boxes it means that the films are ruined!" "that's right," assented blake, hopelessly. "what can we do?" "they probably didn't know they were taking your films, boys," spoke hank, who had finished making fast the horses. "they very likely thought the boxes held some new kind of food, and they just grabbed up anything they could get their hands on. i reckon the beggars are nearly starving, and that's what made 'em so bold. you'll notice they didn't once fire at us--only up in the air. they just wanted to scare us." "and they took our films, thinking they were something good to eat," murmured blake. "yes. i'm not saying, though, that they didn't hope to stampede the animals; but they went wrong on that calculation, if they had it in mind." "they have our films," continued joe, in a sort of daze, so suddenly had the events of the last half-hour occurred. "what can we do?" "chase after 'em and get our stuff back!" exclaimed blake, quickly. "i'm not going to stand that loss. they can have the grub if they want it, but i'm going to get back those films that we went to such trouble, and so much danger, to snap." "but how are you going to do it?" asked joe. "start in pursuit!" cried his chum with energy. "come on, hank, you can follow an indian trail; can't you?" "i sure can, when it's as broad as the one they'll be likely to leave. but not now." "why not?" asked blake. for answer the cowboy guide waved his hand toward the darkness all about. there seemed to be a haze over the sky, obscuring the stars. "it would be worse than useless to start out on the chase now," said hank. "we can't do anything until morning." "but they'll be too far away then," objected blake. "and, while it might do little harm if they opened those film boxes in the darkness, it sure would spoil every picture we took to have them exposed in daylight. let's go now!" and he started toward the animals. "no," and hank shook his head. "i don't think you need worry about not catching those fellers in daylight," he went on. "they won't go far before stopping to eat the stuff they took from us. then they'll have a sleep and start on the trail by daylight. we can do the same, and i think we can catch up with them. it would be risky to start out at night in a country we know so little about. we'll have to wait." blake sighed, but there was no help for it. the upset camp was put in some kind of shape, the horses were again looked to, and the fire once more replenished. the travelers carried an unusually large supply of provisions, and though most of these had been taken, there was still enough food left for a day or two. in that time they might be able to get more, if they could not recapture their own from the indians. "we'll start the first thing in the morning, as soon as it is light enough to see," decided hank. "and now, if it's all the same to you boys, i'm going to have a bite to eat. that excitement made me hungry." "same here," confessed joe, and soon they were all satisfying their appetites. "oh, but i do hope we can catch up with them and take those films away from 'em," murmured blake, as he again sought his tent. "we will," declared joe, with conviction. "if we have to, i'll get word to my soldier uncle and have the troops chase 'em." "the only trouble is that it might be too late," spoke blake. "i'm afraid of the films getting light-struck. but i guess all we can do is to wait and trust to luck." there was no further alarm that night, and after a hasty breakfast, eaten when it was hardly light enough to see, the remaining supplies and provisions were packed and the ponies saddled. "i guess we can start now," exclaimed hank, as he leaped to his steed. "it will soon be lighter. forward, march!" chapter iv back to "big b." "well, we haven't caught up to 'em yet," remarked joe duncan, about noon the next day, when they stopped for a little lunch and to allow the horses to drink at a water hole and rest. "no, the beggars keep well ahead of us," agreed blake, shading his eyes with his hand and gazing off across the hot, sunlit stretch that lay before them. "oh, if they have opened those film boxes!" he exclaimed hopelessly. "they have ponies, and that's more than i calculated on," remarked hank. "i thought when they raided our camp that they were after our animals, and when they didn't take 'em i thought it was because they were afraid of being chased as horse-thieves by a sheriff's posse. now i see they didn't want our mounts, as they had plenty of their own. it was grub they were after, and they got it." "and our picture films," added blake. "don't forget that." "that was only a mistake, i tell you," insisted hank, "though, for that matter, the indians wouldn't hesitate to take 'em just for fun, if they thought they could make trouble that way." "and they will make a heap of trouble, too, i'm afraid," spoke blake. "here now!" called joe, in jollier tones. "don't come any of that c. c. piper business, blake. look on the bright side." "well, i suppose i ought to, but it's hard work." they had traveled all that morning, hoping to come up with the roving band of indians. but they had had no success. hank did pick up the trail of the raiders soon after starting out. the indians had left their horses tethered some distance from the camp, and had crept up afoot, probably having spied blake, joe and hank from afar the previous evening. and though the moccasined feet of the savages left little trace on the hard and sun-baked earth, there was enough "sign" for so experienced a trailer as was hank to pick up. thus he had been led to where the horses had been left, and after that it was easy enough to follow the marks of the hoofs. "there are about twenty-five in this band, as near as i can make out," said hank, "and every one of 'em has a horse of some sort. pretty good travelers, too, i take it, since our animals were fresh and we haven't been able to come up to 'em yet, though we've kept up a pretty fair gait. but we'll get 'em yet." "if only it isn't too late," spoke blake, whose one fear was that the valuable picture films would be spoiled. "let's hurry on." "another little rest will do the horses good," said the cowboy guide. "then we can push on so much the faster. our horses are our best friends, and we've got to treat 'em right if we want the best service out of them. another half-hour and we'll push on." and, though blake fretted and fumed at the delay, he knew it would not be best to insist on having his way. soon, however, they were in the saddle again and once more in pursuit. "the trail is getting fresher," declared hank, about four o'clock that afternoon. "their horses are tiring, i guess, and ours seem to be holding out pretty well." "which means----" began joe. "that we may get up to them before dark," went on the cowboy. "and then we'll see what happens." "will they run, do you think?" inquired blake. "they will as long as their horses hold out, for they must know that this ghost-dance business is about over and that most of their friends are back on the reservations. but when we come up to them----" and the cowboy paused and significantly examined his revolver. "does it mean a fight?" went on blake, and he could not restrain a catch in his breath. it was one thing to have an indian fight with some shelter, but different out in the open. "well, i hardly think it will be what you might call regular and up-to-date fighting," replied hank. "they may fire their guns and revolvers at us to try and frighten us back, but i don't actually believe that they'll make trouble. they know the punishment would be too serious. and i believe a lot of those indians have only blank cartridges that they had when they were in some wild west show. i know there was mighty little whining of bullets, for all the shooting they did last night. but, at the same time," he went on, "it's best to be prepared for emergencies." they continued on, and the boys had now become so used to the signs of the indian trail that they could note the changes almost as well as could hank. here they could see where a rest was made, and again where some animal went out of the beaten path. bits of the indians' finery, too, were noted every once in a while--a bit of gaudy bead trimming, a discarded moccasin or some dyed feathers. "i do hope we come up with them before dark," said joe. "if we have to stay out on the trail all night, and part of next day, we may find nothing left of our things and the pack burros when we reach camp again." in order to make better time our friends had left behind, at the place where the indians had raided them, the pack animals, their cameras, a few films not taken by the indians, and as much of their provisions as they thought would not be needed on the trail. "i think this evening will end it," declared hank. "we might push on a little faster, as the going is good right here." the horses were urged to greater speed, and they responded gamely. they seemed to realize the necessity for haste, and took advantage of the momentary betterment in the surface over which they were traveling. the sun was sinking lower and lower in the west and the shadows were lengthening. eagerly the boys and the cowboy scout peered ahead, straining their eyes for a glimpse of those whom they were pursuing. then there came a bit of rough ground, and the pace was slower. next followed a little rise, and, as this was topped, blake, who had taken the lead for a short distance, uttered a cry and pointed forward with eager hand. "what is it?" cried joe and hank together. "there they are!" yelled blake. "the indians! right below us! come on!" riding to his side, the others saw a sharp descent, then a level plain stretching away for many miles. and moving slowly over this plain was a band of about twenty-five indians, mounted on ponies that seemed scarcely able to move. "that's them!" cried hank, as he dug his heels into the sides of his horse. "at 'em, boys! a short, swift gallop will bring us up to 'em now, and then--well, we'll see what will happen!" "come on!" yelled blake, and side by side the trio rode down into the valley, their animals seeming to take on new strength as they saw their quarry before them. "they've noticed us!" exclaimed blake. "that's right!" agreed hank. "well, now to see if we can catch 'em!" a movement amid the stragglers of the band told that they had glimpsed the approach of the whites. there was a distant shout, and at once the whole party was galloping off. "they'll distance us!" cried blake. "they're going to get away!" "not very far," was hank's opinion. "their horses are about done up. this is a last spurt." his trained eye had shown him that the indians were using quirts and their heels to spur the tired animals to a last burst of speed. true, the ponies did leap ahead for a few minutes; but not even the wild shouting of the redmen, the frantic beating of their steeds, and the firing of their guns could make the wearied muscles of the ponies respond for long. the spurt lasted only a few seconds, and then came a noticeable slowing down. on the contrary, the horses of our friends, though they had traveled far and hard, were in better condition and much fresher. "come on!" cried hank, rising in his stirrups and swinging his hat around his head, while he sent forth yells of defiance. "come on, boys! we have 'em!" he, too, began to shoot, but in the air as before, and the boys followed his example. their horses were shortening the distance between the two parties. suddenly one of the indians was observed to toss something from him. it fell to the ground and rolled to one side of the trail. "what's that?" cried joe. "one of the boxes of exposed film!" cried blake. "they know what we're after. oh, if only it isn't damaged!" "we can soon tell!" cried hank, taking the lead. then he yelled, between reports of his revolver: "hi there! you red beggars, give up! drop that stuff you took from our camp! you haven't any of the grub left, i suppose, but we want those pictures! drop 'em!" whether his talk was understood, or not, was not known; but others of the indians began tossing away either boxes of film or other things--aside from food--which they had taken from the camp. they never stopped their horses, though, but ever urged on the tired beasts. "here's the first reel!" cried blake, as he came up to where it lay. quickly dismounting, he picked it up. "not hurt a bit!" he cried exultantly; "and the seals haven't been broken, showing that it hasn't been opened." "good!" cried hank. "you go slow and pick up what you can, and joe and i will chase after the indians. evidently they're going to run for it." and it did seem so. the indians never paused, but continued to toss away article after article. they seemed afraid of the consequences should they be caught with anything belonging to the whites in their possession. they may have taken hank and the boys for the advance-guard of a sheriff's posse, and, knowing they had been doing wrong, were afraid. at any rate they made no stand. "i've got 'em all!" finally yelled blake. "then there's no use chasing after 'em any farther," said hank. "hold on, joe," for the boy was pushing on. the horses of the pursuers were pulled down to a walk. the indians noticed this at once, and, seeming to realize that the chase was over, they halted, and, turning, gazed in a body at the moving picture boys and their cowboy guide. "had enough, i reckon," murmured hank. "i guess you can't go on much farther. well, we'll turn back a ways and put some miles between us, so you won't try any of your tricks again, and then we'll go into camp ourselves. got everything, blake?" "yes, every reel of film, and not one has been opened, by good luck. maybe they thought it was powerful 'medicine,' and didn't want to run any chances." "we don't care, as long as we have 'em back," remarked joe, gleefully. "and now for a good rest." they turned back, and as they did so the indians gave a last shout of defiance and began to make camp for themselves. it was as if a lot of schoolboys, playing truant, had been rounded up, and as a last indication of defiance had given their class yell. "good riddance to you," remarked hank. "i don't want to see you again for a good many years." collecting the things the indians had thrown away, our friends rode on until dark, and then, out of sight of the roving redmen, they made a simple camp. they stood guard by turns, but there was no night alarm. the next day they reached the place where they had picketed the pack animals. nothing had been disturbed. "and now for big b ranch!" exclaimed blake, when once more the little cavalcade was under way. "and glad enough i'll be to see it!" said hank; "though i sure will miss you fellows." "the same here," echoed joe, and blake nodded in accord. they traveled on for another day, finding good water and plenty of grazing for the steeds. their provisions ran a bit low, for the indians had helped themselves liberally, but they managed to shoot some small game. and, on the second day after parting from the indians, they topped a rise, from the height of which hank cried: "there she is, boys!" "what?" asked blake. "big b ranch! we're back in civilization again!" chapter v a new kind of drama "and so you really got what you went for; eh, boys?" asked mr. alden, proprietor of big b ranch, as the trio rode in. "well, you had luck." "both kinds--good and bad," remarked hank, as he told how, after getting the rare films, they had nearly been lost again. "and you rescued your enemies, too? what became of munson?" "oh, he and his crowd went off by themselves," explained blake. "they felt badly about us beating them." "i've got a surprise for you, joe," went on the proprietor. "what sort?" asked the lad, eagerly; "is my father----?" "no, not that; but sam reed is back here again, and he can tell you what you want to know. he came the day after you left." "but i did better than that!" exclaimed joe. "i met my uncle, and i'm soon going to find my father, i hope," and he related his meeting with the trooper. "good!" cried mr. alden. "here comes sam now. i told him you might be along soon," and he turned to introduce a rather shiftless-looking cowboy who sauntered up. "pleased to meet you," said sam reed. "i never cal'lated when i writ that there letter that i'd ever see you in flesh and blood. i've got your pictures, though," and he showed those that had appeared in a magazine, giving an account of the work of joe and blake. as might have been expected, sam knew nothing of joe's father. the best the cowboy had hoped to do was to put the boy on the track of mr. william duncan, and, considering that joe's uncle, as i shall call him--though he was really only a half-uncle--had enlisted in the army, mr. reed would probably have had hard work to carry out his plans. "well, i'm glad you met your relative, anyhow," said sam to joe; "and i wish you luck in looking for your father. so he's somewhere on the southern california coast?" "yes, in one of the lighthouses," explained joe. "my uncle didn't know exactly where, but i can easily find out from the government office when i get on the coast." the boys were made welcome again at big b ranch, and talked over once more the exciting time that had happened to them there when the indians stampeded the cattle. "here are the films you left with me," said mr. alden, giving the boys those they had made of the cattle stampede and of the cowboys doing their stunts. "and so you got other good ones?" "yes, fine ones," replied blake. "and we must soon be getting back to flagstaff. we have stayed away longer than we meant to, and mr. hadley and mr. ringold may need our services." but the boys at the ranch would not hear of their starting for a few days, and so joe and blake stayed on, being royally entertained. they witnessed a round-up and the branding of cattle, but could get no pictures, as their films were all used up. however, the subjects had often been filmed before, so there was no great regret. then came a time when they had to say farewell, and they turned their horses' heads toward flagstaff. the cowboys gave them a parting salute of cheers and blank cartridges, riding madly around meanwhile. "it reminds me of the indian attack," said blake. "yes," assented joe. "i wonder if we'll go through another scare like that?" "i hope not," spoke his chum; but, though they did not know it, they were destined to face many more perils in the pursuit of their chosen calling. the ride to flagstaff from big b ranch was without incident. it was through a fairly well settled part of the country, as settlements go in arizona, and they made it in good time. joe often talked about the strange fate that had put him on the track of his father. "i wonder what kind of a man he'll be?" he often said to his chum. "the best ever!" blake would answer; "that is, if he's anything like you--and i think he must be." "that's very nice of you, and i hope he does turn out to be what i wish him to be. i can't even picture him in my mind, though." "well, i should think he'd be something like your uncle--even if they were only half-brothers." "if he is, i suppose it will be all right, though uncle bill is a little too wild to suit me. i'd want my father to be more settled in life." "well, it won't be a great while before you know," consoled blake. the boys received a royal welcome from mr. hadley and the members of the theatrical troupe. "oh, but it's good to see you back!" exclaimed birdie lee to blake, as she shook hands with him, and if he held her fingers a little longer than was necessary i'm sure it's none of our affair. "so you didn't get scalped, after all?" remarked c. c., gloomily, as he surveyed the boys. "well, you will next time, or else they will hold you as captives." "oh, stop it, gloomy!" called miss shay. "what do you want to spoil their welcome for, just as we have a little spread arranged for them?" for she had gotten one up on the spur of the moment, on sighting the boys. "a spread, eh? humph, i know i'll get indigestion if i eat any of it. oh, life isn't worth living, anyhow!" and he sighed heavily and proceeded to practice making new comical faces at himself in a looking-glass. "well, i'm glad you boys are back," said mr. ringold a little later at the impromptu feast, at which c. c. ate as much as anyone and with seemingly as good an appetite. "yes," went on the theatrical manager, "i shall need you and mr. hadley right along, now. i am going to produce a new kind of drama." "i--er--i'm afraid i can't be with you," said joe, hesitatingly. "i am at last on the track of my father, and i must find him." "where is he?" asked mr. ringold, when the lad had told his story. "somewhere on the southern california coast. in a lighthouse--just where i can't say. but i am going there, and so you will have to get some one else, mr. ringold, to take my place. blake can stay here, of course, and make moving pictures, but i----" "i'm going with you," said his chum, simply. there was a moment's silence, and then the theatrical manager exclaimed: "well, say, this just fits in all right. there's no need for any of us to be separated, for i intend taking my whole company to the coast to get a new series of sea dramas. the southern california coast will suit me as well as any. "joe, you can't shake me that way. we'll all go together, and you'll have plenty of chance to locate your father!" chapter vi on the coast the announcement of mr. ringold was followed by a silence, during which joe and blake looked at each other. it seemed like too much good fortune to learn that they would still have the company of their friends in this new quest. "do you really mean that?" asked joe. "you're not saying it just to help us out; are you, mr. ringold?" "no. what makes you think that?" "because it seems too good to be true. i wouldn't like anything better than to go with your company and make pictures." "the same here," added blake. "and if, at the same time, i can locate my father," went on joe, "so much the better, though i don't imagine i will have any trouble finding him, once i can communicate with the government lighthouse board, and learn where he is stationed. they have a list of all employees, i imagine." "yes, i think so," spoke mr. hadley. "as you say, it will be easy to locate him. and, boys, i'm very glad you're going to be with us again. i wouldn't like to break in two new lads, and we will certainly need three photographers to take all the scenes in the sea dramas that are planned." "will we have to go very far to sea?" asked macaroni, who was among those who had greeted the moving picture boys. the lads' thin assistant had been kept busy assisting mr. hadley while they were after the indians. "because if it's very far out on the ocean wave i don't believe i want to go; i'm very easily made seasick." "oh, we can arrange to keep you near shore," said the theatrical man, with a laugh. "he may be drowned, even near shore," put in c. c., with his most gloomy voice; though he was, at the same time, practicing some new facial contortions that were sending the women members of the troupe into spasms of laughter. "oh, there you go, gloomy!" exclaimed mr. hadley. "first we know you'll be saying we'll all be smashed in a train wreck going to the coast; or, if not, that we'll be carried off by a tidal wave as soon as we get there." "it might happen," spoke the gloomy comedian, as though both accidents were possible at the same time. "and it may rain--but not to-day," put in miss shay, with a look at the hot, cloudless sky. "then it's all settled," went on mr. ringold. "it is understood, joe, that you can have considerable time, if you need it, to locate your father. the dramas i intend to film will extend over a considerable time, and they can be made whenever it is most convenient. after all, i think it is a good thing that we are going to the southern california coast. the climate there will be just what we want, and the sunlight will be almost constant." "i'm sure i'm much obliged to you," said joe. "this trip after the indian films cost us more than we counted on, and we'll be glad of a chance to make more money. we're down pretty low; aren't we, blake?" "i'm afraid so. but then, we may get that prize money, and that will help a lot." "that's so," put in mr. hadley. "you had better have those films developed, and send them to the geographical society. i wouldn't ship them undeveloped, for they might be light-struck. you were lucky the indians didn't spoil them." the boys decided to do this, and during the next few days the reels of moving pictures were developed, and some positives printed from them. while the lads had been after the indians mr. ringold had sent for a complete, though small, moving picture outfit, and with this some of the pictures were thrown on a screen. "they're the finest i've ever seen!" declared mr. hadley, after inspecting them critically. "that charge of the soldiers can't be beaten, and as for the indian dances, they are as plain as if we were right on the ground. you'll get the prize, i'm sure; especially since you're the only ones who got any views, as i understand it." mr. hadley proved a good prophet, for in due time, after the films reached new york, came a letter from the geographical society, enclosing a substantial check for the two boys. the films were excellent, it was stated, and just what were needed. one other concern, aside from mr. munson's, and the one the latter mentioned, which had gone to indian land, had succeeded in getting a few views of the indians in another part of the state, but they were nowhere near as good as those blake and joe had secured after such trouble and risk. the attempt to get phonographic records had been a failure, the officers of the society wrote, though another attempt would be made if ever the indians again broke from their reservations. "and if they do," spoke blake, "i'm not going to chase after them." "me, either," decided joe. "i've had enough. now the sooner we can get to the coast the better i'll like it. just think, my father must be as anxious to see me as i am to find him; but as near as i can understand it, he doesn't even know that i am alive. think of that!" "it is rather hard," said blake, sympathetically. "but it won't be long now. i heard mr. ringold say we would start soon." there were a few scenes in some of the dramas enacted in arizona that yet needed to be filmed, and joe and blake helped with this work, macaroni assisting them and mr. hadley. "and after this, nearly all our work will have to do with the sea," said the theatrical man. "i want to depict it in all its phases; showing it calm, and during a storm, the delights of it, as well as the perils of the deep." before leaving flagstaff it was decided to give a few exhibitions of some of the moving pictures, so that the residents there, and a number of the cowboys and indians who had taken part in the plays, might see how they looked on the screen. a suitable building was obtained, and it was crowded at every performance. the indians were at first frightened, thinking it was some new and powerful kind of "medicine" that might have a bad effect on them. with one accord, when the film the boys had taken, showing the charge of the soldiers on the moquis, was put on, the redmen rushed from the building. and it was some time before they could be induced to return. "say, there's my uncle, as plain as anything!" exclaimed joe, when the excitement had calmed down, and the reel was run over again. "there's sergeant duncan, close to captain marsh!" and he indicated where the trooper was riding beside the commander of the cavalry. "that's right," agreed blake, as the pictures flickered over the screen, the figures being almost life size. "and he looks like you, too." "i wonder if my father looks like that?" said joe, softly. there were busy days ahead of them all now, and there was much work to be done in transporting all the "properties" to the coast, and arranging to move the picture outfit, the cameras and the entire company. the boys had little leisure, but joe managed to get a letter off to the government lighthouse board, asking for news of his father, nathaniel duncan. in reply he got a communication stating that a mr. duncan was stationed as assistant keeper at a light near san diego, and not far from point loma. "that's where we want to head for, then," said joe, as he talked the matter over with his chum. "i wonder if that will suit mr. ringold?" it did, as the theatrical manager stated, when the subject was broached to him. accordingly arrangements were made to ship everything there. the day came to bid farewell to flagstaff, which had been the stopping place of the theatrical troupe for several months. they had made many friends, and the indians had become so used to taking their parts in the dramas, and in getting good pay for it, that they were very sorry to see the "palefaces" leave. so, too, were the cowboys, many of whom had become very friendly with our heroes and the theatrical people. "but we've got to go," said blake, as he shook hands with his acquaintances. "indeed, if we didn't leave soon," said joe, "i'd be tempted to start off by myself. i've sent a letter to my dad, telling him all about how strangely i found him, and i'm just aching to see him. i guess he'll be pretty well surprised to get it." "i should imagine so," agreed blake. "one last round-up to say good-bye!" cried one of the cowboys, as the party started away from the quarters they had occupied. "everybody get in on this. whoop her up, boys!" he leaped to his steed, flourished his hat, and began riding around in a circle, firing his big revolver at intervals. "that's the ticket!" shouted the others, as they followed his example. soon two score of the light-hearted chaps were riding around the little crowd of the boys and their friends, saluting them, and saying farewell in this lively fashion. "whoop her up!" "never say die!" "come again, and we'll exterminate a whole band of redskins for you!" "and have a cattle stampede made to order any day you want!" these were only a few of the many expressions from the cowboys. "say, if they don't kill themselves, they'll make us deaf, with all that noise," predicted c. c. "this isn't a funeral," declared mr. hadley. "it's a jolly occasion, gloomy gus!" "huh! jolly? first you know some one will be hurt." but no one was, in spite of the direful predictions, and soon the cowboys drew off, with final shots from their revolvers, discharging them in the air. the indians, too, had their share in the farewell, though they were not so demonstrative as were their companions. "and now for the coast!" cried blake, as they reached the train. "and my dad," added joe, and there was a trace of tears in his eyes, which he did not attempt to conceal. blake knew just how his chum felt, and he found himself wishing that he, too, was going to find some relative. but he knew the only one he had was his aged uncle. little of incident occurred on the trip to san diego, which had been decided on as headquarters until a suitable location, away from any town, could be selected directly on the ocean beach. i say little of moment, but c. c. was continually predicting that something would happen, from a real hold-up to a train wreck. "and if that doesn't happen, a bridge will go go down with us," he said. but nothing of the kind occurred, and finally the boys and their friends reached the coast, going to the boarding place they had engaged. "and there's the old pacific!" exclaimed joe, as he and blake went down to the shore of the bay on which san diego stands. "it isn't very rough, however, and mr. ringold said he wanted tumbling waves as a background." "it gets rough at times, though," remarked a fisherman. "of course, if you want to see big waves you'll have to go beyond this bay. it's pretty well land-locked. oh, yes, the old pacific isn't always as peaceful as her name." chapter vii at the lighthouse the two boys talked for some time with the old fisherman, and then blake whispered to joe: "why don't you ask him where the lighthouse is where your father is supposed to be, and the best way of getting to it?" "i will," replied his chum. "the rockypoint light?" repeated the fisherman, in response to joe's inquiry. "why yes, i know it well. it's only a few miles from here. you can see her flash on a clear night, but you can't make out the house itself, even on a clear day, because she's down behind that spur of coast. from the ocean, though, she's seen easily enough." "and how can we get there?" asked blake. "well, you can walk right down the beach, though it's a middlin' long tramp; or you can go back to town, and hire a rig." "we'll walk," decided joe. "do you happen to know of a mr. duncan there?" he waited anxiously for the answer. "no, lad, i can't rightly say i do," said the fisherman. "i know the keeper, harry stanton, and, now i come to think of it, i did hear the other day that he had a new assistant." "that's him!" cried joe, eagerly. "who?" "my father, i hope," was the reply, and in his joy joe told something of his story. "well, you sure have spun a queer yarn," said the old fisherman, "and i wish you all sorts of luck. you'll soon be at the light if you go right down the beach. i'd row you down in my dory, only i've just come in from taking up my nets and i'm sort of tired." "oh, we wouldn't think of asking you," put in blake. "we can easily walk it." "some day i'll take you out fishing," promised the man. "and so you're here to get moving pictures; eh? well, i don't know much about 'em, but you couldn't come to a nicer place than this spot on the coast. and you only have to go a little way to get right where the real surf comes smashing up on the beach. of course, as i said, we're so land-locked just here that we don't see much of it, even in a storm. moving pictures; eh? i'd like to see some." "i guess you can be in them, if you want to," said blake. "i heard mr. ringold say he had one drama that called for a lot of fishermen." "me in moving pictures!" cried the old man. "ho! ho! i wonder what my wife'd say to that. i've been in lots of queer situations. i've been knocked overboard by a whale, i've been wrecked, and half drowned, and almost starved, but i've never been in a picture, except i once had a tintype taken--that was when i was married," and he chuckled at the remembrance. "these movin' pictures aren't like tintypes; are they?" "not much," laughed joe, as he and blake moved off in the direction of the lighthouse, calling a good-bye to their new friend. they had told mr. hadley, in starting out that morning, that they might not be back until late, for joe had a half notion that he would try to find the lighthouse that day. "i wonder what i shall say to him, when i first see him, blake?" joe asked, as they trudged along. "why--er--i hardly know," replied his chum. "i never found a lost father, myself." "and i never did, either. i guess i'll just say: 'hello, dad; do you know me?'" "that sounds all right," said blake. "he sure will be surprised." the walk was longer than they had thought, and when noon came they still had some distance to go. as they were hungry they sought out a fisherman's cottage, where, for a small sum, they had a fine meal. starting out again, they turned an intervening point of land about three o'clock, and then came in view of a lighthouse, located on a pile of rocks, not far from the high-water mark. "that's the place," said blake, in a low voice. "yes," agreed joe. "it looks comfortable and homelike, too." back of the lighthouse was a small garden, and also a flower bed, and a man could be seen working there. his back was toward the boys. "i--i wonder if that's him--my father?" said joe, softly. "he seems to be very old," for they had a glimpse of a long white beard, and the man seemed to be bent with the weight of many years. "go up and ask," said blake. "i'll wait here." "no, i want you to come with me," insisted his chum. "you were with me when i first heard the good news, and now i want you along to hear the conclusion of it. come on, blake." "no, i'd rather not," and nothing joe could say would induce his chum to accompany him. their talk had been carried on in low voices, and the aged man, working in the garden, had apparently not heard them. he continued to hoe away among the rows. "well, here goes!" exclaimed joe, with a sigh. now that he felt he was at the end of his quest his sensations were almost as sorrowful as joyful. in fact, he did not know exactly how he did feel. walking up toward the old man, he paused, and then coughed slightly to attract his attention. the lighthouse keeper turned, surveyed the boy and in a pleasant voice asked: "well?" "if--if you--are you my father?" asked joe, in trembling voice, holding out his hands. "your father!" cried the man in unmistakable surprise. "what is your name?" "joe duncan." "joe duncan? did duncan have a son?" "yes, and i'm the boy!" went on joe, eagerly, yet a doubt began creeping into his heart. "but are you mr. nathaniel duncan?" the old man paused a moment, and then said gently: "no, my boy. i'm harry stanton, keeper of rockypoint light." "but my father!" exclaimed joe. "i understood he was here! where is he?" "he was here," went on mr. stanton, as he leaned on his hoe and looked compassionately at the lad standing before him; "but he went away more than a week ago." "gone away!" echoed joe. "did he--did he get my letter?" "i don't know whether it was your letter or not," said the keeper. "one came for him the day after he left. it's here yet. it was from flagstaff, arizona, i believe." "that's my letter!" exclaimed joe. "and he never got it! poor dad, he doesn't yet know that i'm alive!" and he turned away with tears in his eyes. chapter viii blake learns a secret blake, looking on from a little distance, saw joe turn aside from the aged man. "that's rather queer," thought the lad. "if that was his father it isn't a very cordial welcome." as he looked, he saw joe walking out of the garden. "queerer still," blake mused. "even if that isn't mr. duncan, he must be somewhere around, for lighthouse keepers can't be very far away from their station, as i understand it." joe came walking toward his chum. his face showed his disappointment so unmistakably that blake called out: "what's the matter, joe?" "he's gone--he isn't here! he never got my letter!" "where has he gone?" asked blake, always practical. "i--i don't know. i didn't ask." "look here, joe!" exclaimed his chum. "i guess you're too excited over this. you let me make some inquiries for you. suppose he has gone? we may be able to trace him. men in the lighthouse service get transferred from one place to another just as soldiers do, i imagine. now you sit down here and look at the sad sea waves, as c. c. would say if he were here, and i'll go tackle that lighthouse keeper. you were too flustered to get any clues, i expect." "i guess i was," admitted joe. "when i found he wasn't there i didn't know what to do. i didn't feel like asking any questions." blake placed his arm around his chum's shoulder, patted him on the back, and started toward the aged man, who was still leaning on his hoe, looking in mild surprise at the two lads. "i'll find out all about it," called back blake. "ha! another boy!" exclaimed mr. stanton, as blake approached. "i didn't know this was going to be visiting day, or i might have put on my other suit," and he laughed genially. "are you another son of mr. duncan?" he asked. "no," replied blake. "i'm joe's chum. we're in the moving picture business together. but he says his father has left, and, as he naturally feels badly, i thought i'd make some inquiries for him, so we can locate him. do you know where mr. duncan went?" "no--i can't say that i do," was the slow answer. "and so you are chums; eh?" "yes, and we have been for some years." "that's nice. you tell each other all your secrets, i suppose?" "well, most of 'em." "never hold anything back?" "why, what do you mean?" asked blake, for there seemed to be a strange meaning in the old man's voice. "i mean, lad," and the lighthouse keeper's tones sank to a whisper; "i mean, if i tell you something, can you keep it from him?" "why--yes--i suppose so," spoke blake, wonderingly. "but what is the matter? isn't his father here?" "no, he's gone, just as i told him. but look here--he seems a nice sort of lad, and i didn't want to hurt his feelings. i'd rather tell you, as long as you're his chum, and if you can keep a secret." he looked to where joe was sitting on the rocks, watching the waves roll lazily up the beach and break. joe was far enough off so that the low-voiced conversation could not reach him. "i can keep a secret if i have to," replied blake. "but what is it all about? is mr. duncan--is he--dead?" the old man hesitated, and, for a moment, blake thought that his guess was correct. then the aged man said slowly: "no, my boy, he isn't dead; but maybe, for the sake of his son, he had better be. at any rate, it's better, all around, that he's away from here." "why?" asked blake quickly. "tell me what you mean!" "that i will, lad, and maybe you can figure a way out of the puzzle. i'm an old man, and not as smart as i was, so my brain doesn't work quickly. maybe you can find a way out. come inside where we can talk so he won't hear us," and he nodded toward the quiet figure of joe on the beach. blake wondered more than ever what the disclosure might be. he followed the aged man into the living quarters of the house attached to the light tower. "sit ye there, lad," went on mr. stanton, "and i'll tell you all about it. maybe you can find a way out." he paused, as if to gather his thoughts, and then resumed: "you see i'm pretty old, and i have to have an assistant at this light. i expect soon i'll have to give up altogether. but i'm going to hang on as long as i can. i've had three assistants in the last year, and one of 'em, as you know now, was nathaniel duncan, joe's father. before him i had a likely young fellow named--ah, well, i've forgotten, and the name doesn't matter much anyhow. but when he left the board sent me this duncan, and i must say i liked him right well." "what sort of a man was he?" asked blake. "a nice sort of man. he was about middle aged, tall, well built, and strong as a horse. he looked as if he had had trouble, though, and gradually he told me his story. his wife had died when his boy and girl were young----" "girl! was there a girl?" cried blake. "has joe a sister, too?" "he had--whether he has yet, i don't know," went on mr. stanton. "i'll tell you all i know. "as i said, nate duncan seemed to have had lots of sorrow, and he told me how, after his wife died, he had placed the boy and girl in charge of some people, and gone off to the california mines to make some money. when he come back, rich, the children had disappeared, and so had the people he left 'em with. he never could locate 'em, though he tried hard, and so did his half-brother, bill. but bill was different from nate, so i understand. bill was a reckless sort of chap, while joe's father was quite steady." "that's right," spoke blake, and then he related how joe had come to get a trace of his father. "well," resumed mr. stanton, "as i said, duncan came here, and he and i got along well together. then there came trouble." "trouble? what kind?" asked joe. "trouble with wreckers, lad. the meanest and most wicked kind of trouble there can be on a seacoast. a band of bad men got together and by means of false lights lured small vessels out of their course so they went on the rocks. then they got what they could when the cargo was washed ashore." "but what has that got to do with joe's father?" asked blake. "too much, i'm afraid, lad. it was said that the light here was allowed to go out some nights, so the false light would be more effective." "well?" "well, nate duncan had charge of the light at night after i went off duty. and it was always when i was off duty that the wrecks occurred." "do you mean to accuse joe's father of being in with the wreckers?" "no, lad. i don't accuse anybody; i'm too old a man to do anything like that. but ugly stories began to be circulated. government inspectors began to call more often than they used to, inspecting my light--my light, that i've tended nigh onto twenty-five years now. i began to hear rumors that my assistant wasn't altogether straight. he was said to be seen consorting with the wreckers, though it was hard to get proof that the men were wreckers, for they pretended to be fishermen. "then come a day when, with my own eyes, i saw nate duncan walking along the beach with one of the men who was said to be at the head of the wrecking gang. i could see that they were quarreling, and then nate knocked the man down. he didn't get up right away, for, as i said, nate was strong. i knew something would come of that, and i wasn't much surprised when that day nate disappeared." "disappeared?" cried blake. "went off completely, and left me alone at the light. i tended it all night, same as i had done before, many a time, and the next day i reported matters, and i had a new assistant--the same one i have now." "but that doesn't prove anything," said blake. "just because joe's father, and a man suspected of being a wrecker, had a quarrel, doesn't say that mr. duncan was a wrecker, too." "there's more to it," went on the old man. "the day after nate duncan disappeared detectives came here looking for him." blake started. there was more to the story than he had suspected. he looked at mr. stanton, and glanced out of the window to where joe still sat. "so that's why i say maybe it would be better for joe if his father was dead," went on mr. stanton. "disgrace is a terrible thing, and i couldn't bear to tell joe, when he asked me about his father." "but where did he go?" asked blake. "didn't he leave any trace at all?" "not a trace, lad--folks most generally doesn't when the detectives are after 'em. hold on, though, i won't say nate was guilty on my own hook. i'm only telling you what happened. i'd hate to believe he was a wrecker, misusing this light to draw vessels on the dangerous rocks; but it looks black, it looks black." "did the detectives actually accuse mr. duncan?" asked blake. "well, they as much as did. they said some of the wreckers had been arrested, and had incriminated the assistant light-keeper. but duncan was smart enough--provided he was guilty--to skip out. as i told joe, his father left just before the letter from flagstaff came, so he doesn't know his son is alive. poor man, i'm sorry for him. he told me how he had searched all over for his children, and at last, becoming tired and discouraged, he took this job just to have something to do, for he's well enough off not to have to work." "and there's no way of telling where he went?" questioned blake. "nary a one that i know of, lad. as i said, maybe he's better off lost." "not for joe." "well, maybe not; but for himself. there are heavy penalties for wrecking, and it's well he wasn't caught, though, as i say, i don't accuse him. only it looks black, it looks black. if he was innocent why didn't he stay and fight it out? yes, lad, it looks black." "i'm afraid so," sighed blake. "how can i ever tell joe the news?" "you mustn't!" exclaimed the old man. "that's just it. you must not tell him. i'd hate to destroy his faith in his father. it would be cruel. that's why i asked if you could keep a secret. you won't tell him; will you?" "no," said blake, in a low voice; "i won't tell him." chapter ix at practice there was silence between man and boy for a space, and then blake, understanding how hard it would be to keep the news from joe, said: "i'll have to tell him something, mr. stanton. joe will want to know why his father went away, and where. isn't there any way in which we may get a clue to the direction he took?" "wait a minute until i think, lad," said the old man. "it may be that we can find a clue, after all. nate duncan left some papers behind. i haven't looked at 'em, not wishing to make trouble, but there may be a clue there. i'll get 'em." "and i'll call joe in to go over them with me," said blake. "he'll want to see them." "but, mind you, not a word about what i've told you." "no, i'll keep quiet," promised blake. "i'll call him in, while you get the papers." going to the door of the little cottage, blake called to his chum. "what is it?" asked joe, eagerly. "was there some mistake? is my father somewhere around here, after all?" "well, we hope to find him," said blake, with an assurance he did not feel. "look here, joe, your father went away rather suddenly, it seems, but you mustn't think anything about that. he's been traveling all over, you know, looking for you and your sister----" "sister?" cried joe. "yes, you had a sister, though i can't get much information about her. neither could your uncle tell you, as you remember." "that's right. oh, if i could only find dad and her!" and joe sighed. "but maybe she isn't alive." "it's this way," went on blake, and he told as much of the lighthouse keeper's story as was wise, keeping from joe all information about the wreckers. "now, your father may have heard of some new clue about you," continued joe's chum, "and he may have gone to hunt that up," which was true enough, for with the warning that he was likely to be arrested as a criminal, there may have come to mr. duncan some information about his missing children. "but in that case," asked joe, "why didn't he leave some word as to where he was going?" "he may have been in too much of a hurry," suggested blake, realizing that he was going to have considerable difficulty in keeping joe from guessing the truth. "well, perhaps that's so," agreed the lad. "but maybe mr. stanton has some clues." the lighthouse keeper came downstairs at this moment with a bundle of papers in his hand. "here is all i found," he said. "it isn't much, but among the things he left behind is the letter you wrote," and he extended to joe the missive the lad had penned in such hope at flagstaff. "poor dad," murmured joe. "i wonder if he will ever get this?" together he and blake looked over the documents. as the keeper had said, there was not much. some memoranda, evidently made as different clues came to him; paid bills, some business letters, a few notes, and that was all. "what's this?" exclaimed blake, as he read one letter. "it seems to be from some shipping agent in san francisco, saying he can place--why, joe, it's to your father, and it says he can have a place as mate any time he wants it. was he a sailor?" he asked, eagerly, turning to the keeper. "so i understood." "then this is the very thing we're looking for!" cried blake. "look, it is dated only a short time before he left. i see now," and he gave the lighthouse keeper a peculiar look, when joe was not glancing in his direction. "mr. duncan got word that he could ship as a mate, and he left in a hurry." "maybe so," assented mr. stanton. "perhaps he had some new clue about you, joe, or possibly about your sister," suggested blake, hoping his chum would come to take this view. "maybe," assented joe. "but it's queer he didn't leave some word, or tell someone he was going." "he may not have had time," went on blake. "vessels have to sail in a hurry, lots of times, and he may have had to act quickly." "it's possible," admitted the keeper. "then i'll tell you what we'll do," continued blake. "we'll go to san francisco the first chance we get, and see this shipping agent. he may be able to put us on the right track." "i guess it's the only thing to do," agreed joe, in despondent tones. "poor dad! i nearly found him, and then i lost him again." they looked over the other papers. none offered as promising a clue as did the agent's letter, and this joe took with him, also his own to his father. "maybe i'll get a chance to deliver it to him myself," he said, with a smile that had little of hope in it. there was nothing more to be learned at the lighthouse. the boys left, after thanking the keeper, and promising to come and see him again. as they went out mr. stanton gave blake a little sign, warning him not to disclose the secret. "well, failure number one," said joe, as they took a carriage back to san diego, it being rather late. "yes, but we'll win out yet!" declared blake, with a confidence he did not feel. "we'll find your father and your sister, too." "i'll have more relations than you, blake, if i keep on, and can find them," said joe, after a bit. "that's right. well, i wish you luck," and blake wondered if joe would be glad he had found his father, after all. "wrecking is a black business," mused the lad. "but, like mr. stanton, i'm not going to think joe's father guilty until i have to. i wonder, though, if the story is known about san diego? if it is i'll have trouble keeping it from joe." but joe's chum found he had little to fear on this score, for, on getting back to the quarters of the theatrical troupe, the boys were told that the next day they would all take up their residence in a small seacoast settlement, out on the main ocean beach, away from the land-locked bay and where bigger waves could be pictured. "and there we'll enact the first of the sea dramas," said mr. ringold. "and all get drowned," murmured c. c., in his gloomiest tone. "i'll wash your face with snow--the first time it snows in this summer land--if you don't be more cheerful," threatened miss shay. "well, something will happen, i'm sure," declared c. c. "when do we move?" "to-morrow," said mr. ringold, while blake and joe told mr. hadley of their poor success in finding mr. duncan. the photographer, as did the other members of the company, sympathized with the lad. mr. ringold said that as soon as they got settled the boys could go to san francisco to look up the shipping agent. the transfer to the small seacoast settlement was a matter of some work, but in a week all was arranged, and the members of the company were settled in a large, comfortable house, close to the beach. "and now for some rehearsals," said mr. ringold, one morning. "one of the scenes calls for a shipwrecked man coming ashore in a small boat. now, c. c., i guess you'll have to be the man this time, as i need the others for shore parts. get the cameras ready." "i--i'm to be shipwrecked; am i?" inquired mr. piper. "do i have to fall overboard?" "not unless you want to," said mr. ringold, consulting the manuscript of the play. "then i'm not going to, for i'll catch my death of cold if i do." "hum! i'm glad he didn't have any other objections," murmured the theatrical man. "this is going to be easy." the preparations were made, it being customary to rehearse the scenes and acts before "filming" them to secure good results. a boat was launched, after some trouble on account of the surf, and with the aid of some fishermen, "c. c. was finally sent to sea," which was a joke, as blake remarked. "and now come in with the waves," ordered mr. ringold, who was directing the drama. "hang over the edge of the boat, c. c., and look as if you hadn't had any food or water for a week." "they say an actor never eats, anyhow," murmured mr. hadley, who, with the boys, was ready with the cameras; "so i guess c. c. won't have to pretend much." "come on!" cried mr. ringold. "hang more over the side of the boat." c. c. piper obeyed orders--too literally, in fact. he leaned so far over that, a moment later, when there came a particularly large wave, the craft slewed sideways, got into the trough, and an instant later capsized. "he's overboard!" yelled miss lee. "save him!" cried miss shay. "stop the cameras," came from mr. ringold. "we don't want that in the picture." "man overboard!" bawled the fishermen, who were interestedly watching the scene. "launch the motor boat!" chapter x to san francisco for a moment there was excitement, and then the trained men of the sea got into action. nearby there were several fishing boats, operated by gasoline motors. there were planks at hand, and rollers on which the craft could be launched in the surf, being eased along the slope by releasing a cable rigged to a post some distance away. it did not take long for the fishermen to launch one of these motor boats, and while c. c. piper was struggling in the surf, endeavoring as best he could to climb into his overturned boat, they put out to rescue him. "do you want that in the picture?" asked joe, who was at one of the cameras. "no indeed!" cried mr. ringold. "it won't fit in at all! he must drift ashore. we'll have to do all this over again." "i can see gloomy doing it," murmured blake. at that moment there came a hail from the comedian. "hello!" he cried. "are you going to--gulp--let me--glub--sink out here? can't some of you----" and the rest was lost amid a series of gurgles as the salty water got in c. c.'s mouth. "hold on just a little longer," called one of the fishermen, as he directed the craft toward the struggling actor. "we'll have you out presently." "you'd--better--hurry--up!" panted the comedian, who might well be excused at this moment from taking a gloomy view of life. he managed to cling to one side of the dory until the rescuing motor craft reached him. then he was soon hauled aboard, dripping wet, all but exhausted, and unable to utter a sound save sighs. "well, it was too bad," said mr. ringold, when c. c. was once more ashore. "i guess we'll have to get you a little larger boat." "get _me_ one?" asked the actor, with the accent on the personal pronoun. "certainly. we'll have to do this scene over again. i guess we could use one of the fishing boats, though they're a little large. but we can move the cameras back. take one of those, c. c." "i guess not." "what's that?" "i said i guess not. no more for mine!" "do you mean to say you won't go on with this act? are you going to balk as you did in the indian scene?" "say," began c. c., earnestly, as, dripping wet as he was, he strode up to the theatrical man, "i can't swim, and i don't like the water. i told you that the time you took me up in the country, where we found these boys," and he motioned to blake and joe, who were looking interestedly on, ready to work the cameras as soon as required. "and yet," went on mr. piper, "you insisted that i jump overboard then and rescue miss shay. now you want me to drift in as a shipwrecked sailor. it's too much, i tell you. there is entirely too much water and tank drama in this business. i know i'll get my death of cold, if i don't drown." "oh, can't you look on the bright side?" asked miss shay, who was to come into the drama later. "why, it's so warm i should think you'd like to get into the surf." "not for mine!" exclaimed c. c., firmly, and it took some persuasion on the part of the theatrical manager, accompanied by a promise of an increase of salary every time he had to go into the water, to induce c. c. to try the shipwreck scene over again. this time a larger boat was used, and, though it came near to capsizing, it did not quite go over, though considerable water was shipped. c. c. managed to stay aboard, and the cameras, rapidly clicking, registered each movement of the actor and those who later took part in the drama. then some shore scenes were photographed, the supposed shipwrecked persons building a fire, pretending to catch fish from the ocean, and cooking them. all this the moving picture boys, or mr. hadley, faithfully registered on the films, to be later thrown on the screen for the delight of the public. "i wonder if the folks who look at moving pictures realize how they are made?" said joe, as they stopped work for the day. "i don't believe so," answered blake. "there are tricks in all trades, it's said; but i guess the moving picture business is as full of them as any." the next two days were busy ones, as a number of elaborate acts had to be filmed, and the boys were kept on the jump from morning to night. mr. hadley, also, had all he could do with the camera. there were fishing views to get, scenes on the beach, where a number of children were induced to play at games in the sand, building castles and tunnels, boating incidents and the like. c. c. did not fall overboard again, though he often was sent out to do some funny stunt that was to be used in the play. "i wonder when we can go to san francisco?" queried joe one afternoon, following a particularly hard day. "i want to see that shipping agent, and ask him if he can give me any clue to my father." "maybe we'd better speak to mr. ringold," suggested blake, and they did, with the result that the theatrical man informed them that the end of the week would be free, as he had to wait for some costumes to arrive before he could produce any more dramas. "i want to get a good wreck scene," he said, "and that is going to be rather hard." "will it be a real wreck scene?" asked joe. "yes, as real as we can make it. i'm negotiating now for an old schooner that i can scuttle out at sea. all the company will be aboard, and they'll drift about for a long time without food and water." "am i supposed to be in on that?" asked c. c., suspiciously. "of course," was the theatrical man's answer. "this is a circus company returning from abroad that is wrecked, and you are the clown. be as funny as you can." "wrecked?" queried c. c. "that's it." "and i'm to be funny?" "certainly." "without food and water for days, and i'm expected to be funny!" exclaimed the comedian, with a groan. "oh, why did i ever get into this business? i'll not do it!" "oh you're only _supposed_ to be starving and thirsty," explained mr. ringold. "if you want, you can take some sandwiches and cold coffee with you, and have lunch--but don't do it when the cameras are working. it wouldn't look well in the moving pictures to have a note on the screen saying that the shipwrecked persons were starving, and then show you chewing away; would it, now?" "no, i suppose not," admitted c. c., with a sigh. "oh, but this is a miserable business, though! i'm sure i'll be drowned before we get through with it!" "oh, cheer up!" called miss lee, but there seemed to be no need for the advice, for a moment later c. c. broke forth into a comic song. while the preparations for producing the wreck scene were under way, there was small need for the services of the boys, and they made ready to go to san francisco. "even if he has gone away somewhere," suggested blake, "he may have left some address where you can reach him." "do you think he'll be gone?" asked joe. "well, if he left the lighthouse in a hurry, intending to call on a shipping agent, naturally he wouldn't stay in port long," said blake. "besides----" he stopped suddenly, being on the verge of saying something that would give joe a hint of the truth. "what is it?" asked his chum, quickly. "what were you going to say, blake?" "nothing." "yes, you were, i'm sure of it. blake, is there anything you're holding back from me?" joe looked earnestly at his chum. "i--er--" began blake--when there came a knock on the door. "what is it?" called blake, glad of the interruption. "mr. ringold wants you to get ready to take some scenes to-night," said the voice of macaroni. "scenes at night?" inquired joe, opening the door, and forgetting the question he had put to his chum. "yes," went on their young helper. "flashlight scenes. he wants you at once." the boys reported to their superiors, and learned that a smuggling scene, to fit in one of the sea dramas, was to be attempted. by means of powerful flash and electric lights, the current coming over cables from san diego, it was planned to make views at night. as this was an unexpected turn to affairs, they had to postpone their trip to san francisco for a few days. the night pictures came out well, however, and the first of the following week saw joe and blake start on their way to the city of the golden gate. chapter xi a strange charge "are you going to take a camera with you, boys?" asked mr. ringold, as joe and blake were saying good-bye to their friend, preparatory to making a brief stay in san francisco. "a camera? no. why?" inquired blake. "well, i happen to need some san francisco street scenes for one of the dramas," went on the theatrical man; "and it occurred to me that you could get them when you weren't busy." "of course we could," answered joe. "we can take the automatic, and set it up wherever you say, and go looking for that shipping agent. when we come back we'll have all the pictures we need." "good!" exclaimed mr. ringold. "try that, if you don't mind. get some scenes down in the financial district, and others in the residential section. then, as long as you have to go to the shipping offices, get some there." the boys promised they would, and added the small but compact automatic camera to their luggage as they started off. this camera worked by compressed air. there was a small motor inside, operated by a cylinder of air that could be filled by an ordinary bicycle pump. otherwise it was just like the other moving picture cameras. there was the upper box, in which was wound the unexposed reel of film. from this it went over a roller, and the cog wheel, which engaged in the perforations, thence down by means of the "gate," behind the lens and shutter. there two claws reached up and grasped the film as the motor operated, pulling down three-quarters of an inch each time, to be exposed as the shutter was automatically opened in front of the lens. each one of the thousands of moving pictures, as i have explained in previous books, is three-quarters of an inch deep, though, of course, on the screen it is enormously enlarged. after the film has been exposed, three-quarters of an inch at a time, it goes below into another light-tight box of the camera, whence it is removed to be developed and printed. the movement of the film, the operation of the claws and the opening and closing of the shutter, making it possible to take sixteen pictures a second, was, in this camera, all controlled by the air motor. joe and blake found much to amuse them in san francisco, which they had never before visited. they were a bit "green," but after their experiences in new york they had no trouble in finding their way around. "we'd better go to some hotel, or boarding house," suggested joe, after their arrival. "pick out one where we can leave the camera working while we're gone." they did this, being fortunate enough to secure rooms in a good, though not expensive, hotel near the financial district. one of their windows looked directly out on a busy scene. "that'll be just the place, and the sort of scene mr. ringold wants," declared blake. "let's set the camera there on the sill and see what it gets. the light is good to-day." it was, the sun shining brightly, and being directly back of the camera, which would insure the proper illumination. they adjusted the machine, and set the mechanism to go off about an hour after they had left the room. then they went to find the shipping agent, to see if they could get any news of joe's father. but, to their disappointment, he was out, and none of the clerks could tell them what they wanted to know. they were directed to return the next day. "more disappointment!" exclaimed joe. "it does seem as if i was up against it, blake." "oh, don't worry. to-morrow will do just as well as to-day. and you don't want to get in c. c.'s habit, you know." "no, that's right. well, what shall we do?" "let's look around a bit, and then go see how the camera is working." they found so much to interest them in the streets of san francisco that they did not go back to the hotel as soon as they had intended. when they did reach the street on which it stood they saw a crowd gathered. "look at that!" cried blake. "yes! maybe it's a fire!" exclaimed joe. "our camera----" "there's no fire, or else we'd see some smoke," answered his chum. "but we'll see what it is. there's been some sort of an accident, that's sure." they broke into a run, pushing their way through the throng about the front doors of the hotel. as they entered the lobby, they were surprised to see the clerk point his finger at them, and exclaim: "there are the two lads now!" everyone turned to look at joe and blake, and a man, dressed in some sort of uniform, approached them. "are you the lads that have rooms sixty-six and sixty-seven?" he asked, sharply. "yes," replied blake. "why, has anything happened there?" asked joe. "well, yes, there has, and we thought perhaps you could explain." "have we been robbed?" burst out blake. "robbed? no," answered the clerk. "but----" "perhaps i had better explain," put in the uniformed man. "i think i shall have to ask you boys to come with me," he went on. "come where?" joe wanted to know. "to police headquarters." "what for?" burst out blake. "we haven't done anything! we only came here to----" "be careful," warned the man in uniform. "whatever you say may be used against you." "why--why?" stammered joe. "what's it all about?" "an infernal machine!" exclaimed the hotel clerk. "how dare you poke one out of the window, right toward one of our largest banks, and go out, leaving the mechanism clicking? how dare you?" joe and blake staggered back, half amused and half alarmed at the strange charge. chapter xii on a long voyage "this is a serious charge," went on the man in uniform, who was evidently from the police department. "we have had some dynamiting outrages here, and we don't want any more." "dynamite!" exclaimed the hotel clerk; "do you think it could be that, officer?" "that's what it seems like to me," said the other. "i have investigated a number of infernal machines, and they all make the same sort of sound before they go off." "go off!" cried the clerk, while joe and blake were vainly endeavoring to get in a word that would explain matters. "if it's dynamite, and goes off here, it will blow up the hotel. get it away! porter, go up and get that infernal machine, and dump it in a pail of water." "'scuse me!" exclaimed the colored porter, as he made a break for the door. "i--i guess as how it's time fo' me to sweep off de sidewalk. it hain't been swept dish yeah day, as yit. i'se gwine outside." "but we've got to get rid of that infernal machine!" insisted the clerk. "it's been clicking away now for some time, and there's no telling when it may go off. get it, somebody--throw it out of the window." "no! don't do that!" cried the officer. "that will only make it go off the sooner. i'll get some one from the bureau of combustibles and----" "say, you're giving yourselves a needless lot of alarm!" interrupted blake. "that's no infernal machine!" "no more than that ink bottle is!" added joe, pointing to one on the clerk's desk. "but it clicks," insisted the clerk. "it sounds just like a clock ticking inside that box." "and it's pointing right at the bank," went on the officer. "that bank was once partly wrecked because it was built by non-union labor, and we don't want it to happen again." "there's no danger--not the slightest," cried blake, while the crowd in the hotel lobby pressed around him. "that's only an automatic moving picture camera, that we set this morning, and pointed out of the window to take street scenes. it works by compressed air, and the clicking you hear is the motor. come, i'll show you," and he started toward his room, followed by joe. "is--is that right?" asked the hotel clerk, doubtfully. "are you sure it isn't dynamite?" inquired the officer. "well, if _we're_ not afraid to take a chance in going in the same room with what you call an infernal machine, _you_ ought not to be," said joe, with a smile. this was logic that could not be refuted, and they followed the boys to the room. there, just where they had left it, was the camera, the motor clicking away industriously. it worked intermittently, running for five minutes, and then ceasing for half an hour, so as not to use up the reel of film too quickly. also, it made a diversity of street scenes, an automatic arrangement swinging the lens slightly after each series of views, so as to get the new ones at a different angle. "now we'll show you," said blake, as, having noted that all the film was run out, and was in the light-tight exposed box, he opened the camera and showed the harmless mechanism. several of the hotel employees crowded into the room, once they learned there was no danger. the boys explained the working of the apparatus, and this seemed to satisfy the officer. "but we were surely suspicious of you at first," he said, with a smile. "yes," said the clerk. "a chambermaid called my attention to the clicking sound when she was making up the room. i investigated, and when i heard it, and saw the queer box, and remembered that we had had dynamiting here, i sent for the police." "we're sorry to have given you a scare," said blake, and then the incident was over, and the crowd in the street dispersed on learning there was to be no sensation. "say, i think there's some sort of hoodoo about us," remarked joe, as he and blake sat in their room. "why, you're not going to come any of that gloomy c. c. business on me; are you?" asked blake. "not at all," went on his chum. "but what i mean by a hoodoo is that something always seems to happen when we start out anywhere. we've been on the jump, you might say, ever since we lost our places on the farms and got into this moving picture business." "that's so. and the latest is being taken for dynamiters." "yes. but if things are going to keep on happening to us i wish they'd take a turn and help me find my father," went on joe. "you don't know how it feels, blake, to know you've got a parent somewhere and not be able to locate him. it's--why, it's almost as bad as if--as if he were dead," and joe spoke the words with an obvious effort. "that's right," agreed blake, and then there came to him the memory of what the lighthouse keeper had said about mr. duncan being implicated in the wrecking. if this was true, it might be better for joe not to find his father. "but he may not be guilty," thought blake, and he mused on this possibility, while joe looked curiously at his chum. "say, blake," suddenly asked joe. "what's the matter?" "matter? why, what do you mean?" asked blake, with a start. "oh, i don't know, but something seems to be the matter with you. you've acted strangely of late, ever since--yes, ever since we were at the lighthouse. is anything troubling you?" "no--no--not at all; that is, not exactly." "you don't speak as if you meant it." "but i do, joe. there's nothing the matter with me--really there isn't." "well, i'm glad of it. if there is, and you need help, don't forget to come to me. remember we're pards, and chums, not only in the moving picture business, but in everything else, blake. anything i've got is yours for the asking." "that's good of you, joe, and if you can help me i'll let you know. i didn't realize that i was acting any way strange. i must brighten up a bit. i guess we've both been working too hard. we need some amusement. let's go to a moving picture show to-night, and see how they run things here, and what sort of films they have. we may even see one of our own." "all right. i'll go you. we can't see that shipping agent until to-morrow. a moving picture show for ours to-night, then. though, being in the business, as we are, it's rather like a fireman going around to the engine-house on his day off, and staying there--a queer sort of a day's vacation." but, nevertheless, they thoroughly enjoyed the moving picture play, interspersed, as it was, with vaudeville acts. among the films were several that mr. ringold's company had posed for, and several that the boys themselves had taken. the reels were good ones, too, the pictures standing out clear and bright as evidence of good work on the part of the boys and mr. hadley. "had enough?" asked joe, after about an hour spent in the theatre. "yes, let's go out and take a walk." "feel any brighter?" went on joe. "yes, i think i do," and blake linked his arm in that of joe, wondering the while, as they tramped on, how he should ever break the news to his chum, in case joe himself did not find it out. "the only hope is that he isn't guilty," mused blake, "and yet running away just before the accusation was made public looks bad, just as mr. stanton said. however, i'm not going to think about it." as long as it had gone thus far without any outsider giving away the secret to joe, his chum began to feel that there was little danger. "well, you haven't any more infernal machines; have you, boys?" the hotel clerk asked them when they came in to get their keys. "because, if you have, just keep quiet about 'em. i don't want to be awakened in the middle of the night with some one from the bureau of combustibles coming down here," and he laughed. "no, we're all out of dynamite," responded blake, in the same spirit. he and joe were early at the office of the sailing master, who made a specialty of fitting out vessels with crews. with a rather trembling voice joe asked for information about mr. duncan. "duncan--duncan," mused the agent, as he looked over his books. "seems to me i remember the name. was he the duncan from somewhere down the coast?" "the rockypoint light," supplied joe. "oh, yes, now i know. but why are you asking?" and the agent turned a rather suspicious look on joe. "is there anything wrong--is mr. duncan wanted for anything? i always try to protect my clients, you know, and i must find out why you are asking. has he committed any crime, or is he wanted by anyone?" blake started at the coincidence of the words. "yes," answered joe; "he is wanted by me--i'm his son, and i'd like very much to find him. we found some of his letters, and there was one from you about a berth you might have vacant." "that's right, my boy, and i'm glad to learn that is why you want nate duncan, for he and i are friends in a way." "but has he shipped?" asked joe, eagerly. "he has," answered the agent. "he signed for a trip to china, and it will be a good while before he gets back here, i'm afraid. it's a long voyage." "to china!" cried joe. "oh, if he had only received my letter he would be here now with me. poor dad!" chapter xiii a mimic fire "sorry i can't do any more for you," went on the agent, after a pause, during which he gazed sympathetically at joe. "i can give you the name of the vessel your father is on, and you can write to hong kong, but it will be some time before she arrives. she's a sailing ship, you know, one of the few left in the trade." "i didn't know my father was a regular sailor," said joe. "you didn't know he was a sailor? say, don't you know your father's business?" "it's been a good many years since i've seen him," spoke joe. "in fact, i can't remember him," and he told something of how he came to be on the strange quest. "well, this is certainly odd," remarked the agent. "i've known nate some years, more or less, and i've often heard him speak of a son he had lost track of. of late he had given up hope." "and just when i was on the verge of finding him," added joe. "his daughter, too," continued the agent. "he said he felt sure he'd never locate her, though he'd spent lots of money in hunting. and he felt pretty bad, too, over the thought that he might never see his children again." "and have i really a sister?" asked joe, eagerly. "i can't rightly say," spoke the shipping master. "you had one, but whether she's alive now or not no one seems to know. there's one satisfaction, though, you can find your father in time, and as soon as he hears from you, when his ship reaches hong kong, he won't lose any time taking the fastest steamer back. i know nate duncan well enough for that." "will he, though?" thought blake. "will he come back when he knows of the wrecking charge that may be made against him? even the prospect of seeing joe may not overbalance that. yet, i suppose he could send for joe. they couldn't make any charge against him over in china. but it's a bad business." joe talked a little longer with the agent, who gave him the name of the ship on which mr. duncan had sailed, and also directions how to address the letter. "well, there's no use staying in 'frisco much longer," said joe, as they finished their business. "we'll get what other moving pictures of street scenes we want, and as i can't find dad here, we'll leave. we'll get back to san diego, and out to the beach colony to film some more dramas." a return trip to their hotel, a visit to various localities for films, then to pack their belongings--and the automatic camera did not take them long--and they were soon journeying down the coast again. they were welcomed warmly by the members of the theatrical colony. as i have said, for the purpose of being unhampered in their work of taking films, mr. ringold had moved his company from san diego proper to a small fishing settlement, directly on the beach. this place was called chester, after the man who owned the fishery there. he had a fleet, consisting of several motor boats, in which the fishermen went out twice each day to pull up the nets that were fast to long poles, sunk into the sand of the ocean bed in water about forty feet deep. the fish were brought to the main building, and packed in ice for transportation. numbers of local dealers called each day with wagons to get a load to peddle about. there were only a few houses in the place, and a store or two. once some millionaire had built an elaborate cottage on the beach, but gave it up for some whim. it was in this cottage, which in size was almost a mansion, that the moving picture boys and their friends had their abode. a boarding mistress was installed, and thus the actors and actresses lived right at the scene of their work, with almost as much comfort as they would have had in a hotel. the place was not far from san diego, and it had the advantage of a heavy surf on the beach, the big waves making just the background mr. ringold wanted. of course, not all the scenes were on the water-front, some taking place in front of, or within, some of the cottages, which were hired for the short time needed. the fishermen could not seem to understand why a man should pay them good money for the use of their humble dwellings for a short time. "it just seems plumb foolishness," declared one grizzled salt. "i don't see why folks want to make so many pictures of men and women walkin' in and out of my cottage and sayin' such outlandish things like: 'gal, you shall give me them papers!' or, 'meet me on yonder cliff at midnight!' i give up!" "it does seem out of reason, pete," agreed another. "but as long as they pay me for it, and don't go to bustin' up things, i'm willin'." "oh, so'm i. keep it up, i says," and mr. ringold did, using different cottages in turn to get a diversity of views. sympathy was expressed for joe on the failure of his mission to find his father. "but don't you give up!" exclaimed mr. hadley. "china is far off, but it isn't out of the world. don't give up, joe." "i'll not. i'm going to write to him to-day," and he did, dispatching the letter to far-off hong kong. there was plenty of work waiting for the boys, some new manuscripts of sea dramas having come in. mr. ringold decided to film several of them, and rehearsals were already under way. "i'm going to have a novelty in one of the plays," said the manager. "it's going to be a fire scene. we'll buy one of these cottages, or else have one built that will do well enough for picture purposes, and set it ablaze. then, when c. c. comes running out, carrying miss shay--or maybe miss lee, for she's lighter--we'll----" "hold on there!" called the comedian. "did i understand you to say i had to rush out of a burning building?" "that's it, c. c." "but to rush out i've got to go in; haven't i?" "why, naturally, c. c." "then i serve notice here and now that i resign. i'm tired of being an actor. i'm going into the coal business," and he stopped making odd faces in the glass, practicing some facial contortions for a new clown act, and began to dress as though to go out. "hold on, c. c.; what's the matter?" asked mr. ringold. "plenty! if you think i'm going to run the risk of being burned to death you've got another guess coming. i'm through." "why, c. c.," spoke the theatrical manager, with a laugh; "there's no danger." "not in going into a burning building, even if it is only a fisherman's shanty! no danger!" "no. listen. you go in before the building is afire. the blaze is started from the outside by your enemy, and with some red fire, which makes a lot of smoke, we can show on the screen some pictures that will look like a real fire. then out you rush, before the flames have had a chance to spread, and after you and the lady are safe, the fire gains great headway, and the cottage burns to the ground. but the pictures are being taken all the while, and it will show up great! there's not a bit of danger." "not that way," said miss lee. "i'm willing to do my part, mr. ringold." "well, i suppose i'll have to also," spoke c. c., with a sigh. "but i know something will happen. some sparks will fall on me and scorch me, anyhow, i'm sure." "oh, gloomy!" reproachfully exclaimed miss shay. "do look on the bright side for once." "there isn't any," asserted the comedian, as he resumed his practice of making strange faces. mr. ringold succeeded in purchasing, for a moderate sum, one of the older cottages, and it was put in shape for its share in the moving picture story, some changes being necessary. the fisherman and his family moved out, glad of the chance to better themselves. "we won't say anything about planning to fire the shack," declared mr. ringold to the boys and the members of his company. "if we do it will attract a crowd, and that's just what we don't want. the fewer the better. now we'll go over to the shack, and have a rehearsal." "a dress one?" asked mr. piper, meaning that everything would be done just as if the pictures were being taken. "you're not going to have the real fire now; are you?" "no, indeed," said the manager. "we can only burn the cottage down once." the rehearsal went off well, and blake and joe, who were to make the films, watched the work with interest. they were anxious for the time to come to set the fire. "well, i guess that will do," decided mr. ringold, after a day or two spent in getting the actors and actresses familiar with their parts. "we'll do the business to-morrow morning." accordingly, they all assembled at the shack, and went through the various acts leading up to the fire scene. the boys ground away industriously at the handles of the moving picture cameras. all went well until it came time to set the fire. then, whether the building was older and more tinder-like than was supposed, or whether mr. levinberg, the "villain" who fired the shack, used too much red fire and kerosene, was not explained. at any rate, the little building was more quickly wrapped in flame and smoke than was expected, and mr. ringold yelled excitedly: "come on out, c. c.! don't wait any longer. never mind if it isn't time! rush out with the girl before it's too late!" "that's what i'll do!" cried the comedian, appearing in the doorway, carrying miss lee. there was little danger now, as long as he was in the open, unless some tongue of fire should catch the girl's dress. "hurry!" cried the manager, and c. c. sprinted out of the reach of the fire. and then something entirely unexpected, and not down on the bill, happened. a number of fishermen, who had seen the blaze from down the beach, came running up, all excited, thinking the fire was an accident. "get that old pumping engine!" shouted one grizzled salt. "we'll have that blaze out in no time!" "form a bucket brigade!" suggested another. "no! no! let it burn!" cried mr. ringold. "we want it to burn!" "want it to burn?" was shouted at him, by the fisherman who had proposed the pump. "be you plumb crazy? come on, boys, form that bucket brigade. some of you run that hand-pump over here where we can pour water in the tank. stretch the hose!" "they'll spoil the picture!" cried mr. ringold, rushing about, and trying to keep the fishermen away. joe and blake, not having orders to the contrary, and not knowing but what this was all part of the play, continued to grind away at their cameras, two reels of this play being taken, as an additional one was needed. "here she comes!" cried the fisherman, as some of his companions came rushing from a shed with an ancient style of hand fire-engine, consisting of a tank, on wheels, with a force-pump arrangement, worked by long handles. water was poured in the tank by means of buckets, and forced out on the blaze through a hose. "bring her up as clost as ye kin!" directed the self-appointed chief of the amateur fire department; "'cause our hose ain't very long. form lines now, and dip water up from the ocean. salt water is good for fires!" chapter xiv attacked by a swordfish "don't do it!" cried mr. ringold. "let that fire burn!" but there were now so many fishermen rushing about here and there that they paid no attention to the excited theatrical man, who issued orders right and left. "what shall we do?" demanded c. c., who had gotten off to one side with the girl he was supposed to have "rescued" from the burning cabin. "i don't know!" cried mr. ringold. "the whole play is spoiled by those fellows butting in. hi, there!" he called to blake and joe, as he saw them operating the cameras. "stop the reel! we don't want any of this!" the clicking machines grew silent, and then the boys knew that something was wrong. meanwhile, the hand engine was placed in position. it was learned, later, that the fish concern kept it for use in cases of emergency. there had been some small blazes, in which the old engine had proved its worth. the fishermen knew how to operate it to advantage, too, and soon a double line of them, extending from the surf to the tank, began passing the filled buckets up one side and the empty ones down the other. as the tank filled, other men worked the handles and a stream of water was soon spurting on the fire. "quit it! oh, quit it!" begged mr. ringold. "i want that shack to burn!" "he's crazy--don't mind him!" shouted the self-appointed chief. "we'll soon have it out now." "i'll see if i can stop them," said c. c., for the water had about quenched the blaze, and it was useless to try to go on with the play. "they'll listen to me," the comedian declared. he rushed forward, but at that moment the hose got from the control of the two men holding it. the nozzle swung around, and the stream came full force over christopher cutler piper, drenching him in an instant. "i say there--hold on--shut that water off! i--i'm being drowned!" he spluttered. and then, as the men again got the nozzle under control, the comedian, dripping water at every point, walked away, saying: "there, i told you something would happen!" "i should say it has!" declared mr. ringold, for once agreeing with the gloomy actor. a few more strokes of the pump handles, a few more gallons of water, and the fire, which had quickly attacked all parts of the cottage at once, died out. "there!" cried abe haskill, the old fisherman-chief. "we saved your building for ye, mr. ringold. ain't no use in buyin' a shack an' then havin' it burn down--no matter if it ain't wuth much. we saved her for you, though at one time it looked pretty dubious. this is the first fire we've had in some time, an' i reckon we got a bit rusty. "i might add," he went on, "that it's customary, in cases where a volunteer department saves a buildin' from destruction--it's customary, i say, for the owner to donate a leetle suthin' to the department. in this case, seein' as how jim belton sold his shack to you--why, you're the owner. and, as i say, we saved her for you!" he concluded, proudly. "yes, i see you did," remarked mr. ringold, dubiously. "now i've got to buy another, and burn that down, for this play is spoiled." "what! did you _want_ her to burn?" asked mr. haskill, in accents of horror. "did you want the devourin' element to consume that buildin'?" "i did," replied the theatrical man. "well--i vum!" declared the volunteer chief. "boys, we made a mistake." "the next time i'll tell the inhabitants here what my plans are," went on mr. ringold, grimly. "i told you i wanted it to burn." "i know you did," admitted the chief; "but i thought you was so excited you didn't know what you was sayin'." "so did i," admitted several of the volunteer fire-fighters. "it's too bad!" "well, you meant all right, anyhow," went on mr. ringold, with cheerful philosophy; "and i'll make the department a donation. but next time, please don't interfere. i'll set another shack on fire as soon as i can arrange to buy one," he said to his company. "meanwhile we'll go on with another drama. save whatever you can of the films," he added to blake and joe. "up to the time the firemen broke in they'll be all right. next time i'll be more explicit." "i knew something would happen," declared c. c., gloomily, as he tried to wring some of the water from his clothes. "i didn't burn, but i nearly drowned." there was nothing to do but return to their boarding place and arrange for another drama, rehearsals for which would take place in a day or so. "meanwhile," said mr. ringold to joe and blake, "you may have a little time off. i tell you what you might do. we could use a fishing scene, i believe. suppose you go out in one of the small boats here and get a series of views when they lift their nets." "the very thing!" cried blake. "we'll do it; eh, joe?" "sure thing!" "you might, in fact," went on mr. ringold, "show the whole process of fishing, from the launching of the boats until they come back filled with the day's catch." this the boys arranged to do, and that noon, when the power boats were launched, they were on hand to make moving pictures. the craft, as i have explained, were "eased down" the sloping beach, by means of rollers and planks, until the stern was just at the edge of the surf. the motor was then started, the boat being still held fast by a rope. this rope was fastened in a peculiar knot, so that one man, standing near it, could loosen it with one pull when the word was given to "cut loose." the men watched the rollers with practiced eyes, for if the surf was heavy the boat might get into the trough, on being launched, and capsize. often fishermen are drowned in this way, being struck by the heavy boat, or getting under it. with the engine racing, the men got into the boat. one remained on the beach, holding the restraining rope. another took his place at the stern, with a long steering oar that was to be used to get her bow on to the waves. a particularly large wave was seen coming in. "get ready!" ordered the captain. the man at the big oar took his place. the boat was almost afloat now. "cut loose!" came the order. the man at the rope yanked the knot loose. the boat slid into the water and the next instant was being tossed about in the breakers, the man with the oar forcing her head around, aided by the powerful gasoline engine that turned the propeller. the craft came near to capsizing, but kept upright, and a little later was beyond the surf, into deep water, speeding out to the nets two miles away. blake and joe, working by turns, got some fine views of the launching. then, getting into another of the fishing boats with their cameras, and with macaroni to aid them, they prepared to go out to the fishing grounds, where the nets were. "say, this is rough, all right!" exclaimed blake, as they found themselves in the boiling, frothing surf. "that's what!" agreed joe. "let me out! i want to walk!" pleaded macaroni, who was not very fond of the water. "you'll be all right in a minute!" called abe haskill, who was captain of the boat. "soon as you git out beyond the breakers you won't mind it." and they found that they did not, though there was some motion, as there was quite a swell on. they reached the nets safely, and while the meshes were hauled up, bringing a good catch of fish, the moving picture boys took many views. it was interesting as well as instructive. "this would make a good educational reel," suggested blake, as he spread his legs to maintain his balance against the rocking motion of the boat. "indeed it would," observed joe. "look, there's some one overboard!" and he pointed to one of the other boats. a man had indeed slipped into the sea. the moving picture boys were ready, however, and trained one of the cameras on the fisherman, who, laughing at his mishap, soon swam to the boat again, and was pulled in. it took some little time to haul the nets, but at last, with their own boat well filled with flapping fish, as were the others, joe and blake started for shore. "well, we made out all right, i think," said blake, as he looked to see if there was any more film left in his machine. "sure we did," declared his chum. "if we had to take some other views we could." "we'll want some of the landing of the boats, and the carting of the fish up to the sheds," blake reminded him. "that's right, we will. i guess i can----" joe did not finish his sentence. at that moment there came a jar and blake cried: "we've hit something!" "no, something has hit _us_!" corrected one of the fishermen, leaping up, and grabbing a long, iron-shod pole. "what is it?" demanded joe. "a pesky swordfish. he's ramming us, and he may poke a hole in us! if i can get a chance i'll jab him!" and the man leaned over the side. as he did so there came another attack on the craft, so fierce that it heeled over, and the man with the pole, giving a cry, was flung overboard. chapter xv suspicious actions "man overboard!" cried several of the fishermen. "yes, and with a pesky swordfish too close for comfort!" added abe haskill. "stop that motor, bunker; we'll have to pick him up." the fisherman who was called to, pulled out the switch, thus stopping the motor, and the boat drifted about on the slowly rising and falling billows. "can you see him?" asked the captain of the man who acted as mate. "yes, he's right astern, but that fish----" "is he coming after jake?" "full tilt!" "grab that prod, one of you!" yelled the captain. "see if you can harpoon him with it. i'll git out the duck gun, though land knows it ain't much use against a pesky swordfish!" one of the fishermen picked up the iron-shod pole the unfortunate man had dropped as he went overboard, and stood ready to cast it at the big fish, which could be seen swirling along in the water, near the swimmer. "say!" cried blake to joe. "it may seem a heartless thing to do, but why can't we get some moving pictures of this?" "we can," decided his chum. "we can't help any, and we might as well film it." "come on, then. you hold the camera steady and i'll turn the handle." they had a machine all in readiness, its tripod shortened so that the lens could be brought close to the water. "he's dived!" cried one of the men. "who--the fish, or jake?" demanded the captain. "jake. he saw the fish coming at him, and he went under. lucky he did, or he might have been cut in two." "throw that prod; can't you? i'll have this gun ready in a minute." the captain had pulled from a locker an old-fashioned, double-barreled duck gun. "it's loaded with slugs," he called to the boys, who were even now taking moving pictures of the strange scene. "i carry it for sharks, but it'll do as well against a swordfish, though they don't commonly attack men." "here goes for a cast!" cried the man with the prod, which was a sort of boathook without the hook. "i'll see if i can spear him!" leaning forward he threw the weapon with all his force. the other fishermen, some of whom had grasped the spare oars to swing the boat around, looked eagerly to see the result. "missed, by ginger!" exclaimed the captain. "here, let me try. where's jake?" "out there. he's swimming strong," was the answer. "the pesky fish is coming back at him again." "duck, jake, duck!" cried the captain, as he got ready with the gun. "i'm going to shoot. get down out of the way, and hold your breath. we'll have you in another minute!" he could see the swordfish plainly now, rushing directly toward the swimmer. the man heard and followed directions. deep down he dived, and the fish shot directly over him. "say, that's a great picture!" cried blake. "that's what!" yelled joe, and then his voice was drowned in the report of the gun, which was doubly charged. "i got him! by cracky, i got him!" cried the captain. "that's his blood showing." the waves were indeed red with the blood of the big fish, and a moment later its body was floating on the swells. "there's jake!" cried one of the fishermen. "all right!" was the response. "throw him a line. he's in no danger now." a few moments later the man was safe aboard, minus his boots, which he had kicked off in the sea, and some of his heavier clothing. "that's the end of mr. swordfish," murmured the captain, in gratified tones, as he watched the lifeless body sink. "the sharks will get him. are you all right, jake?" "sure. it was hard work, though; and once i thought he had me. i dived just in time." "that's what you did," said blake. "it was a great exhibition, and when it's thrown on the screen it will make a sensation, i'm sure." "say, you don't mean to tell me you snapped what happened?" asked the fisherman, in surprise. "we sure did," declared joe. "we got every move." "plucky lads," murmured the captain; "and right on the job, too. start the motor," he added to the man in charge of it. "we've sprung a leak, captain!" exclaimed a man up in the bow. "water's coming in." "it's where that pesky swordfish rammed us, i reckon. but stuff something in and it will hold until we get to shore. we haven't far to go." the boat was soon under way again, and offers of aid from sister craft that circled around were declined. a bundle of rags served to stop the inrush of most of the water, and a little later the craft, with its load of fish, was hauled up on the beach by means of a tackle and fall, horses being the motive power. joe and blake got pictures of the other boats making a similar landing, theirs being the first in. "well, we got some fine views," said blake, as he and his chum started for their boarding place. "we sure did, and something unexpected, too. i never counted on a swordfish attack." "no, and i guess the fishermen didn't either. but it will make a realistic film, as mr. hadley would say." "it's just our hoodoo luck again," went on joe. "something out of the ordinary seems to be happening all the while to us." "well, it's better than monotony." "i suppose so. but i wonder what it will be next?" the boys were congratulated on their success by mr. hadley and mr. ringold, and the films, when developed and printed a little later, furnished a series of fine views. for the next week the boys had little time to themselves. the drama with the burning shack was enacted over again, this time with success, the volunteer firemen not throwing any water on the blaze. other sea dramas were also made, and then came a period of rest, in which blake and joe had hardly anything to do. "say," exclaimed blake, one afternoon, "let's go for a walk down the beach, by the cliffs. it's a fine day and it will do us good." "all right," agreed joe. "i was thinking of paying another visit to the lighthouse, and asking if there was any news of my father; but, of course, there can't be." "hardly," agreed blake, thinking that the only news his chum would get there would be bad. they strolled along the shore, making excursions here and there as something attracted them. going through a little group of scrub oak, somewhat back from the shore, and climbing a slight elevation to get a view of the pacific, the boys were startled, as they were about to emerge into a little open glade, to hear voices. "some one else besides us out here to-day," spoke joe, in a low voice. "that's right," agreed his chum. "keep still until we see who it is." cautiously they advanced until they stood behind a little screen of trees, and were gazing into the open place. they saw several men at work erecting some sort of tower, or pile of rocks, and on top of it was mounted a large lantern. "there--that ought to show pretty well," remarked one of the men. "yes, and be seen a good distance out to sea," put in another. "it's just in the right place, too; for the rocks extend a good way out, and you can't see 'em even at dead low water." "and anything drawing more than ten feet will be sure to strike on 'em," suggested a third. "that's right, sandy," came the retort. "have you got the lantern fixed so that she'll flash like the other?" "i sure have. all we've got to do is to pull one wire--this way--and the light is shut off. another pull, and she gives a flash, just like a revolving light." "good. we'll give it a trial to-night." "say, what do you think they are?" whispered joe. "i hardly know, and yet----" "maybe they're experimenting with a new kind of light?" suggested the other lad. "experimenting? yes!" spoke blake, in a low, tense voice. "and i can guess what they're experimenting for." "what?" blake was about to answer, when one of the men, looking in the direction where the boys were concealed, uttered an exclamation. "hark!" he cried. "i think i heard something." "it was the wind," declared one. "a bird in the bushes," said another. "i'm going to see!" declared the man. and he came straight toward their hiding place. chapter xvi joe suspects something "what'll we do, blake?" was the whispered question. "stay here, i guess. if we run they'll see us or hear us. besides, we haven't done anything to run for." "i know it, but those men look like ugly customers. i wonder what they can be up to?" "they are--" began blake, and then he pulled joe down beside him in the bushes. "he's turned off to one side," blake went on. "he hasn't seen us, and he doesn't know just where to look. he may pass us by. keep still!" together they crouched down. the man looked around as though to trace the noise which had been made when joe accidentally stepped on a stick, which broke under his weight. "don't breathe," whispered blake, with his lips close to joe's ear. "i think he's going to pass us by." the man paused, seemed as if about to come directly for them again, and then dashed off to one side. he made a leap into the bushes, only to discover nothing, as his chagrined exclamation showed. "i told you so!" growled one of his companions. "it was only the wind." "the wind doesn't break sticks," was the snappish reply. "then it was a bird--maybe a fishhawk." "maybe," assented the man who had started to make the search. "but i thought some one was spying on us, and if they were----" he did not finish, but glared angrily around. he was so close to the boys that they could hear his rapid breathing, but the leafy screen effectively hid them from view. "if i catch any one," he went on, "he'll wish he never ran across hemp danforth!" and he shook a big fist. "oh, come on!" called some of his companions. "there's lots to be done yet before we get this lantern finished. and if we want any rich pickings we'll have to hustle for 'em. the weather looks like it was going to break, and that will be just what we want. come on, hemp." "all right, i will, only don't talk so bold and free." "why not?" "because some one might be spying and listening to us." "he's got that on his mind yet," laughed one of the men. "there's no one around here." "and if they were, what could they pick up?" demanded another. "that's all right--it's best to be careful," said the one called hemp danforth. "i'm taking no chances. some of us might--well, no telling what might happen to us if we was to be found out." "don't talk that way," spoke a tall, thin man. "it isn't altogether cheerful--especially with what work we have on hand. come on, now; let's make this pillar a little higher, and the light will show better." "say, what do you imagine they are doing?" whispered joe. "it's a queer game, blake." "it sure is. i've about made up my mind what they are up to, and yet i may be wrong. let's wait here a while longer, and maybe we can pick up some information that will give us a better clue." the men were now engaged in heaping more stones on the pile where the lantern had set, and were making so much noise at it that the whispering of the boys could not be heard. "any special vessels in view?" asked one of the men, after they had worked away for some time in silence. "no, but there'll sure be one along before long. we can count on that. of course, we'll have to keep the light going several nights, maybe, but it'll be worth while." "it ought to fool 'em, all right," went on hemp danforth. "if it hadn't been that nate duncan tripped us up, and didn't come across with that information we wanted, we wouldn't have all this trouble." for a moment joe seemed to stiffen as he heard the name, and then, in a hoarse whisper, he turned to blake and said: "did you hear that? these men know my father. they used his name." "yes, but keep quiet!" urged blake, for joe had raised his voice. "we don't want them to know we're here." "but they know my father, blake," went on joe, using more caution, however, in his tones. "i must speak to them. maybe they were associated with him in lighthouse work, and this may be some new patent lantern they're trying. maybe my father hasn't gone to china at all, and these men can tell where he is." joe made a move as though to leave the screened hiding place and approach the men. "no--don't go!" whispered blake, hoarsely, holding his chum back. "stay here, joe. don't speak to those men!" "but they have something to do with my father." "no matter; do as i say, please! believe me, joe, i can't explain now, for i promised i would not. but you'll understand--later. don't approach those men!" "why not?" "because--well, i can't tell you!" "then i'm going!" declared joe, half fiercely. "blake, i'm sure you're keeping something from me. i've suspected it for some time, for you've looked at me in a queer fashion when i spoke of my father. now what is it?" "really, joe, it's nothing--that is----" "yes, it is something. if you don't tell me i'll go out there and take the consequences!" joe broke from blake's restraining grasp as he whispered this, and was about to dash for the bushes, when hemp danforth, dashing down a stone he was raising, cried out: "boys, you can't fool me! there is some one here, and they're spying on us. i'll make 'em sorry for it! i hear whispering, and i've felt right along as though unseen eyes were looking at me. now i'm going to find out who it is!" once more he started for the place where blake and joe were concealed. this time it could be seen that he would not be swerved from his quest. "come on, joe. we've got to run for it!" exclaimed blake, and, not caring now how much noise they made--being under the necessity of betraying their presence--they dashed back in the direction they had come. "here they are!" yelled hemp, as he ran after them, tearing through the underbrush. "i knew we were being spied on! come along, men!" he yelled. blake and joe looked back as they got to the path that led along the cliff, below which was the rolling ocean. they had a glimpse of the big man racing after them, several others in his wake. "stop!" commanded hemp danforth. "hold on, you spies!" "don't answer," advised blake. "save your breath for running, joe." "um!" grunted his chum. they were fleet of foot, and had a start. they were also lighter in weight than was their pursuer. in a short time they were well ahead. "but he's still coming on!" declared blake. "we've got to give him the slip," declared joe. "can't you see some side path we can take?" "yes, here's one," was the panting answer, and at that moment blake parted some low bushes and jumped into a sort of cross path, almost concealed from view. "come on, joe!" his chum lost no time in following, and for a few moments, at least, they were comparatively safe. "now, blake," said joe, when they felt that they could slacken their pace to get their breath, "i want you to tell me that secret!" chapter xvii after the wreckers blake stewart was at a loss. he did not know what to do, and, though he had been expecting to hear this request at almost any time, he was no more prepared for it now than he would have been had it been made directly after blake learned of mr. duncan's flight. "well?" asked joe, suggestively, when his chum did not answer. "aren't you going to tell me?" "what makes you think i have a secret, joe?" thus blake tried to temporize, so that he might think what was best to do. "oh, i'm sure you have," declared joe, "and you might as well tell me now as any time, for i'm bound to find it out. i don't believe there's any more danger now," and he paused to look back along the almost hidden path they had followed. "i can't see anything of that man," he added. "we gave him the slip, all right. "now go ahead, blake, and end my suspense. i've seen for some time that you've been keeping something back from me. i don't know what it is, but it's something about my father. and i appreciate why you're doing it. you want to spare my feelings." "that's it!" cried blake, eagerly, glad of any chance to put off what he regarded as a most unpleasant duty. "it is for your sake, joe, that i have been keeping silent, and i wish you would go on letting me do so. believe me, if i thought it well for you to know i'd tell you." "is it--is it that he isn't my father, after all?" faltered the lad, following a silence in which all sound of pursuit had died away. the boys felt that they were safe now. "do you mean to say, blake, that this man whom i've traced after such hard work, isn't any relation to me--haven't i any folks, after all?" "no, joe, it isn't that at all. he's your father, as far as i know, and i will admit there is some secret about him. but i'd rather not tell you." "i want to know it," insisted joe, firmly. "if you'll only wait," went on his chum, "it may all be explained when--when he comes back. then there won't be any need of a secret. better wait, joe." "no, i've got to hear it right away. if it's any disgrace--and it must be, or you'd be willing to tell me--if it's any disgrace, it's my duty to stand up for my father when he isn't here. i'm his son, and i have a right to know about it, and protect his name as much as i can. tell me, blake." the other hesitated a moment. if he told, it would be, he felt, breaking his promise made to the lighthouse keeper, but then the promise was not so sacred that it could not be broken. it was given under a sort of discretion, and blake knew that he would be allowed to reveal what had been said if he felt that it was best to do so. the time now seemed to have come to do this. he took a sudden resolve. "all right, joe," he said, "i'll tell you. there is a secret about your father. i suppose you know what sort of men those were that we just got away from?" and he nodded in the direction of the hill down which they had raced. "i've been puzzling my head about them, blake," came the answer, "and all i can say is that they must be either men who are experimenting with a new kind of light, or else they are--wreckers!" "that's it, joe. they are wreckers, and they're plotting to lure some vessel on the rocks by means of false lights." "the scoundrels!" burst out joe. "we've got to spoil their wicked game." "that's what we have. we'll tell the police, or some one in authority." "but before we do," broke in joe, "tell me about my father, though i begin to suspect now," and there was a look of sadness on his face. "i presume you pretty well know what is coming," said blake, slowly, "now you have heard what those men said. the whole amount of it is, joe, that your father is suspected of having been in league with those wreckers--that he helped to lure vessels on these same rocks." "my father a wrecker!" cried joe. "it can't be--i won't believe it!" "i didn't want to either, when i heard it," said blake, "and maybe, now that i've told you, we can work together and find some way of proving him innocent." "that's it!" cried the son. "oh, if he were only here to help us! i wonder why he went away?" "the lighthouse keeper said," began blake, "that your father left because he feared to be arrested. and the day after he went away an officer did come for him," and he proceeded to relate what mr. stanton had said. "i don't believe it!" cried joe, when the account was finished. "of course, i don't remember my father, and, naturally, i don't know what sort of a man he was, but i don't believe he was a wrecker!" "and i don't either!" added blake. "here's my hand on it, joe, and we'll do our best to find out the truth of this thing," and the two chums clasped hands warmly. "but it's mighty strange what those men said about him," went on joe. "to think that we would stumble on the wreckers right at work. we can lead the police to the very place where they have set up their false light." "maybe we can do better than that, joe." "how?" "why, we may be able to help the police catch these same fellows." "that's so. have you a plan, blake?" asked his chum, eagerly, as they walked on along the path. "not yet, but we'll make one up. but, joe, did you notice just what it was that big wrecker said?" "not exactly; i was too excited when i heard them mention my father's name." "well, they as much as said that your father had refused to give them the information they wanted, and this spoiled their scheme. that might go to show that they made offers to him to have him help them in their wicked plans, and he refused. that made them turn against him, and----" "i see, blake! you mean that, maybe, after all, he left because he was afraid of the wreckers, and not because he had done anything wrong?" "that's it, joe. of course, it's all guess work on our part, so far, and i think the best thing we can do is to go to the lighthouse and tell mr. stanton all we've seen and heard. he may be able to advise us, even if he is an old man. at any rate, he'll know what police or government officers to go to, so we can catch these wreckers." "that's right, blake. come on. i guess we can go down on the beach now. those fellows won't venture out into the open after us, i don't believe." "no, they seem to have given up the chase," replied blake, and the two lads were soon down on the shore. a look around showed no signs of the supposed wreckers, and a little later the two lads were in the lighthouse telling their story to the wondering and amazed keeper. "so that's how the scoundrels are planning to work; are they?" cried the old man. "going to duplicate my light, and fool the poor sailors! but we'll put a spoke in their wheel, boys. we'll spike their guns for 'em, and have 'em behind the bars, if there's any law in this land. "putting up a false light right opposite those rocks--the most dangerous on the coast! no punishment would be too bad for 'em. did you happen to hear, boys, when they expected to play that wicked game?" "they didn't mention any special night," replied blake; "it seemed that they counted on getting some information which failed them--joe's father," he added, thinking it well to let mr. stanton know that joe had been informed of the secret. "joe's father; eh?" said the old man, musingly. "boy, i'm mighty sorry for you," he said, softly; "for i know the disgrace is trying, and if it had been possible to keep this from you----" "i'm glad i know!" burst out joe. "there isn't going to be any disgrace. my father is innocent, i'm sure of it; and i believe we can prove it, once we have these wreckers arrested." "that's the way to talk!" cried the old man. "boys, i'll help you. we'll get right after these miscreants. maybe i was wrong, after all, in thinking nate duncan guilty. he was a good man, and it made me feel bad even to suspect him." "what do you think is the best thing to do?" asked blake. "we ought to act quickly, or they may leave this part of the country, to try their scheme farther down the coast. it might succeed, then." "that's right," declared mr. stanton. "we must act at once. my assistant is here now, and i'll have him go with you. i'm a little too old for such work. besides, one of us will have to stay here to guard the light. no telling but what the scoundrels might try to wreck it. but if they come, i'll be ready for 'em!" he cried, as he took down an old-fashioned musket from the wall. "i'll stand by to repel boarders!" he exclaimed, holding the weapon above his head, and then sighting it at an imaginary enemy. "i'll call my assistant," he went on. "tom cardiff is as sturdy a lad as you'd wish to see. he can get one of the men from the life saving station, and with a couple of the government secret service officers you ought to be able to get those wreckers, don't you think?" "sure!" cried joe. "did you mean for us to help catch 'em?" asked blake. "i certainly did," went on the keeper. "that is, unless you're----" "afraid? not a bit of it!" cried blake, vigorously. "besides, you know just where they were located," continued mr. stanton. "though they may have taken the alarm and left," suggested joe. "then we'll trace 'em!" cried his chum. "where is your helper, mr. stanton?" "i'll call him. i say tom--tom cardiff!" he shouted up the lantern tower. "i'll finish cleaning the lens. i've got other work for you. come down!" "coming!" was the answer, and a little later a well built young fellow, muscular and of fine appearance, greeted the boys. the introduction was soon made, and the story of the lads told. "wreckers; eh?" exclaimed tom cardiff. "i'd just like to get hold of some of the wretches," and he stretched out his vigorous arms. "well, get after 'em, then!" exclaimed the old man. "you don't want to lose any time. telephone for the officers." the wire was soon busy, and arrangements made for the secret service men to come to the lighthouse. one of the life saving squad, from a station a little farther down the coast, was also engaged. "now you boys had better go back to your place," said mr. stanton; "and arrange to come back to-night. that's the only time to get after these fellows. they probably have finished their work, from what you told me, and they'll lay low until it's dark. then we'll get after 'em!" chapter xviii failure "boys, if you could only get moving pictures of the capture of the wreckers!" thus exclaimed mr. ringold when his two young employees told of the plans afoot and asked to be excused from work a little longer. "it would be great," admitted joe. "but we'd need a powerful light," said blake, "and if we had that it would warn the men we're after." "that's so," spoke the theatrical man. "i guess it's out of the question. but you have done such wonderful work so far, that i'd like you to keep it up. a film of the capture of wreckers would make an audience sit up and take notice." "i guess i'll have to invent some sort of a light that would make it possible," put in mr. hadley; "but i'm afraid i can't have it ready to-night." "then you don't mind if we go?" asked blake. "no, indeed!" exclaimed mr. ringold, "and i wish you all success." "it's going to be a dark night," remarked blake, a little later, as he and joe were on their way to the lighthouse. it was early evening, but the sky was clouding over and a wind was coming up that sent the big billows bounding up on the sand with a booming noise like the discharge of distant cannon. "yes, we'll have to sort of feel our way along," said joe. "but i guess we can find the place, all right." "i hope so. but i wonder if the men will come back after the alarm we gave 'em?" "that's hard to tell, blake. and yet they might; for, though they saw us, they may think we were only a couple of lads out for a stroll, who accidentally stumbled on their hiding place. in that case they wouldn't think we'd give any alarm, and they'd go on with their plans." "that's so. well, we'll see what happens. i hope there aren't too many of them, so that our men can handle them." "that tom cardiff can get away with a couple on his own account, and with the life saver, and the secret service men, not to mention ourselves, blake, i guess we'll make out all right." "i reckon you and i together, joe, can account for at least one," and blake looked quizzically at his chum. "i feel almost as if i could handle one alone, when i think of how they got my father into trouble," replied the other. "i'm going to give a good account of myself, if i get the chance." "same here. well, there's the lighthouse just ahead, and two or three men waiting for us. i guess they're the ones we are to go with." this proved to be the case, and a little later the boys were repeating to the life saver, and two secret service men, such parts of their story as mr. stanton and tom cardiff had omitted or forgotten. "well, if we're all ready, we may as well start," proposed sam wilton, one of the government agents. the other was jerry boundley, while the name of the life saver was frank hale. "yes, it's quite a tramp," said tom cardiff, "and the wreckers may be there now. several small trading vessels are expected up the coast this week, and some may be due to-night. though seeing that a storm is coming up, they may keep so far out from shore that they won't see the false lights, in case the wreckers try to work them. "this is about as wicked a piece of work as could well be done, trying to wreck vessels this way. a sailor has to depend absolutely on the lights, under certain conditions, and if they're wrong, it's like leading a blind man into danger. so let's get after 'em and stop their work!" the men well knew the way nearly to the place where the boys had discovered the wreckers at work, and so they would not have to rely on joe and blake to guide them until they were almost there. "when you see that you are close to the place," said tom cardiff, "you boys go ahead, and we'll trail along after you. and keep mighty quiet, too. if we can catch these fellows actually in the act of showing a false light, so much better for the chances of convicting them." they went on in the darkness. back of them, as they mounted the hill which ended in the high cliff, could be seen the flashing light tended by aged mr. stanton. "he's right on the job," remarked tom cardiff. "even if he's an old man he'll stay up all night to attend to that light, to see that it's trimmed properly, that the machinery is working, that there's oil in the reservoir, and that the lenses are clean. that light is just like a son or daughter to him. he can't bear to have anything happen to it and the very idea of any scoundrels trying to wreck vessels by means of a false beacon riles him up considerable." "i should think it would," agreed mr. wilton. "well, if we can catch these fellows we'll put 'em where they can't do any more harm. and i hope we'll get back in time, so mr. stanton won't have to stay up all night." "i hope so, too," put in tom cardiff. "he isn't equal to the task." "we're getting close to the place now," said blake, in a low voice a little later. "then you boys come up here," ordered tom cardiff, who, in a measure, was a sort of leader. "and everybody keep quiet. don't talk, except in whispers, and make as little noise as you can." cautiously they advanced, the boys in the lead. the lads recognized, even in the darkness, some of the larger landmarks they had passed in their flight that afternoon. "hold on a minute, and listen," suggested the life saver. "maybe we can hear them talking." they paused, but the only sound that came was the booming of the surf on the rocks below. "can you see anything of a light?" asked mr. boundley. "not a thing," replied joe, glancing all about him. "look up," directed tom cardiff. "that's the best way to locate a light that you can't see directly. you may catch its reflection on the night mist." but the night was black all around them. not a gleam could they make out. once more they advanced until joe and blake recognized the place where they had been hiding, and whence they had looked into the open place where the wreckers had been putting up their false light. "it's here!" whispered blake. "just ahead there," added joe. "get ready, men!" exclaimed tom cardiff, in a tense whisper. "we'll rush 'em before they know it--if they're here." stout clubs had been brought along in anticipation of a hand-to-hand struggle, it being decided that these weapons were best, safest and most effective at close quarters. "all ready?" asked the leader. "yes--yes!" came the answers. blake leaned forward, cautiously parted the bushes and looked toward the open space. he had heard nothing, and seen nothing, and yet he knew that the men might be hidden about, and that the lantern might not yet be lighted. "come on!" cried tom cardiff, and together they leaped from their place of concealment. there was a moment of silence, and then a disappointed exclamation burst from the lips of the assistant lighthouse keeper. "they're not here!" he declared. that was evident, for there had been no response as the searchers burst out. "are you sure this is the place?" asked mr. wilton, turning to the boys. "positive," answered joe. "here's the pile of rocks on which the lantern was set," added blake. "but there's no lantern here now," said tom cardiff. "then they've skipped!" declared the life saver. "they got suspicious and left, taking the lantern with 'em!" chapter xix on the trail there was no doubt about it, the wreckers were not there, and the indications were that they had betaken themselves to some other location. when the men flashed the pocket electric lamps they had brought with them, the little opening at the top of the cliff was well illuminated. "nothing doing!" exclaimed joe, regretfully. "they must have skipped out right after they chased us," decided blake. "and they went in a hurry, too," declared tom cardiff. "what makes you think so?" asked one of the government officers. "look at how this stone pile, which they intended to use as a base for their lantern, is disturbed, and pulled apart," went on the assistant lighthouse keeper, as he flashed his torch on it. "i'll wager, boys, that when you saw it, with that contrivance atop by which they hoped to fool some vessels, this stone pile was well built up; wasn't it?" "yes," said blake, "it was." "because," went on tom cardiff, "it would have to be so to make their light steady, to give the impression that it was one of the regular government lights. they were going to work a shutter, you boys say, to give the impression of a revolving light, and that would make it necessary to have a firm foundation. "and yet now the whole top of this stone pile is torn apart, showing that they must have ripped out whatever they had here to hold the lantern. they got away in a hurry, is my opinion." "and i guess we'll all have to agree," put in the life saver. "the question is--where did they go?" "and that's a question we've got to answer," added tom cardiff. "we've got to get on the trail." "why so?" asked the life saver. "if you've driven 'em off, so they can't try any of their dastardly tricks to lure vessels ashore, isn't that all you want? you've spoiled their game." "yes!" cried tom cardiff, "we've spoiled it for this one place, but they'll be at it somewhere else." "what do you mean?" asked joe. "i mean that they've gone somewhere else!" exclaimed the assistant keeper. "they've made tracks away from here, but they've gone to some other place to set up their light, and try the same thing they were going to try here. it's our duty to keep after 'em, and break up the gang!" "that's right!" cried mr. wilton. "there's no telling what damage they might do, if left alone. why, they might even get to some place where large passenger steamers pass, and wreck one of them, though mostly they aim to pick out a spot where small cargo boats would be lured on the rocks. we've got to keep after 'em!" "then come on!" cried joe. he was fired with enthusiasm, not only to capture the wreckers for the purpose of protecting human life and property, but he was also eager to have the scoundrels safe in confinement so that he might question them, and learn the source of the suspicion against his father. "on the trail!" cried blake. "maybe we can easily find the wreckers." "no, not to-night," advised mr. boundley. "it wouldn't be practical, in the first place; and if it was, it wouldn't be safe. we don't know this locality very well. there may be hidden dangers and pitfalls that would injure some of us. then, too, we don't want to stumble on a nest of wreckers without knowing something of the lay of the ground." "what's best to be done?" asked tom cardiff. "do nothing to-night," advised the government man. "to-morrow we can take up the trail, and by daylight we may be able to pick up something that will give us a clue. i think they won't try any of their tricks to-night, so it will be safe for us to go back." the others agreed with this view, and, after looking about the place a little more, and trying, but unsuccessfully, to find clues in the darkness, partly illuminated by the electric torches, they gave it up and started back to the lighthouse. "well, what do you think?" asked blake of joe, as the two lads reached their boarding house in the little theatrical colony. it was quite late. "think of it?" echoed joe. "i'm terribly disappointed, that's what. i hoped i'd be able to get a start on disproving this accusation against my father." "yes, it was a disappointment," agreed blake. "and now there's no telling when i can." "no, not exactly; but, joe, i have a plan." "what is it?" "what's the matter with getting on the trail after these fellows the first thing in the morning. no use waiting any longer, and we can't tell how prompt those government men may be. of course they're interested, in a general way, in making the capture; but aside from that, you and i have a personal motive; for i'll admit i'm as interested as you are in proving that your father is innocent. "so what's the matter with getting back up on the cliff as soon as we can, and seeing if we can trace those fellows. you know we've had some experience after taking films of those indians, and can follow signs pretty well." "i'm with you, blake!" cried joe. "we'll do it. i guess mr. ringold will let us off when he knows how important it is." they spoke of the matter to the theatrical man early the next morning, and he readily agreed to let them continue the work of trying to capture the wreckers. "go ahead, boys," he said. "mr. hadley and your lad, macaroni, can take what films we want to-day. and i would like to see you get those wreckers. there's no meaner criminal alive. all we'll do for the next couple of days is to get ready for our big drama--i've planned a new one--and i sure will want you boys to help film it for me." "what's it going to be about?" asked blake. "it's a sea story, and a wreck figures in it." "a real wreck?" asked joe, in some surprise. "that will be hard to do; won't it?" "it sure will, and i don't just know how to manage it. i could buy some old tub, and wreck it, i suppose, but i want it to look natural. while i don't wish anyone bad luck, i do wish, if a wreck had to happen, that it would come about here, so we could get moving pictures of it. but i don't suppose i'll have any such good luck. "however, i'll have to think about this. now you boys can have a couple of days off, if you like, and i hope you'll find those miscreants." "i wish we could get you some moving pictures of them," spoke blake; "but i'm afraid it's out of the question." the boys were soon at the scene of the disappointment the night before. daylight revealed more clearly the haste with which the wreckers had removed their false lantern. stones were scattered about, as were bits of broken wood, wire, rope and other accessories. "now," said joe, after they had looked about, "the thing to do is to trail them." "and the first thing is to get a clue," added blake. they looked about, using the knowledge they had gained from being with the cowboy the time they filmed the pictures of the moqui indians. for some time their efforts were without success. they cast about in all directions, looking for some lead that would tell them in which direction the wreckers had gone. "i should think they'd go farther down the coast," suggested joe. "they certainly wouldn't come toward the lighthouse, and they wouldn't go inland, for to work their plan they need to be near the shore." "that's right, to an extent," decided blake; "but, at the same time, they may have wanted to give a false clue. so we mustn't let that fool us. keep on looking." narrowly they scanned the ground. it was covered with marks, not only of the footsteps of the wreckers, but of the men and boys themselves who had made the unsuccessful raid the night before. "hello!" cried blake, suddenly, as he dived into a clump of bushes. "here's something!" "what is it?" asked joe. "a piece of cloth, evidently torn from a man's clothing. and, joe, now that i recall it, it's the same color as the suit worn by hemp danforth when he chased us. we're on the trail at last, joe!" chapter xx the discovery joe duncan leaped to his chum's side. eagerly he looked at the bit of cloth which, caught on a thorn bush, had ripped from some man's garment. the cloth was not weather-beaten, which, to the boys, showed that it had not long been hanging there. "blake, i believe you're right," assented his chum. "they went this way, and they must have done it for a blind, or else to get to some path that goes farther down the beach a different way," for the cloth was caught on a bush toward the landward side of the little clearing. "we'll follow this," said blake. "of course," agreed his chum. they pushed into the bushes. there was no semblance of a path, but this did not discourage the boys. they realized that the wreckers would want to cover up their trail, and would take a way that would not seem to lead anywhere. "this will branch off pretty soon," was blake's opinion. "this is just a blind, to make us believe they have given up, and gone inland. come on, joe, and keep a sharp lookout for any other signs." they found none for some time, and then they came to a little open place where the soft ground held several footprints. "we're getting warmer!" exclaimed joe. "hush!" cautioned his chum. "they may hear us." "why, you don't think they're around here; do you?" "there's no telling. it's best to be on the safe side. keep quiet. hello! here's something else!" and blake, moving cautiously, so as not to make any more noise than possible, picked up a bit of metal. "what is it?" asked joe. "part of their lantern," answered his chum. "it was made of black sheet iron, you remember. this piece may have fallen off when they dragged it through the bushes. we're on the right trail, all right." "i believe you. but i wish it would turn on to a better path. it's no fun forcing your way through these bushes." "it'll turn soon now," predicted blake. "they only took this lead long enough to discourage pursuit. they didn't like it any better than we do." his surmise proved correct and about five minutes later, having found other evidences of the passage of the wreckers, they came out on an open trail. it was a narrow path, leading along in both directions from where they came out on it, and following the coast line, but some distance inland. there were evidences that men had passed in both directions, and that at no distant time, for footprints turned to both the left and right, as the boys emerged from the blind trail in the brush. "well, what about this?" questioned joe, as he looked in silence at the tell-tale marks. "which way shall we go, blake?" "to the right!" came the answer, almost immediately. "what makes you say that?" asked his chum. "i don't see anything to show that they went to the right, any more than that they went to the left." "don't you?" asked blake. "look here, and remember some of the things our cowboy guide told us when we were after the indians. now you see footprints going off to the left and right from this point; don't you?" "sure." "well, do you happen to notice that on the left there are footprints coming back as well as going." "yes, i see that. but what does it mean?" "and on the right side, counting from this dividing point, there are only footprints in one direction." "that's so, blake. but----" "now what's the answer? why the men got here, and, thinking they might be followed, tried a simple trick. they doubled their trail." "what's that?" "why, some of them went off to the left, walked on a little way, doubled, or turned, and came back, joining the others, who had turned to the right and kept on." "why was that?" "because they wanted to fool us. naturally a person, not looking carefully, would see both lines of footprints, and would reason that the men might have divided, or that there might have been two separate parties. he wouldn't know which trail to take. he might pick out the right one, and, again, he might select the wrong one." "and you say the right one is----" "to the right. we'll follow that. if they think to fool us, or make us divide our forces, they're going to be disappointed. another thing." "what's that, blake?" asked joe, as he noticed his chum leaning over and carefully examining the marks in the dirt. "why, naturally they wouldn't go to the left, as that eventually leads to the lighthouse. they want to keep some distance from that. of course they'd go to the right. and here's where we go after 'em. come on!" there was no hesitation now. joe was as sure as his chum that the wreckers had gone farther down the coast, perhaps to some other high cliff where they could set up their lantern. they followed the path. the trail was plain now, showing that a number of men had passed along. footprints were the only clues, however, a number overlapping one another. "what shall we do if we find them?" asked joe. "i--i don't know," answered blake. this was when they had been following the new trail for about an hour. "we can't tackle 'em alone, that's sure," went on joe. "no, but we can--hark! what's that?" whispered blake, suddenly. they listened intently. far off they could hear the roar of the surf on the beach; but, closer at hand, was another sound. it was the clink of metal. and then came the distant murmur of men's voices. "joe, i think we've found them," whispered blake. "come on, but don't make any noise." cautiously they crept forward, the sounds becoming more and more plain. suddenly they heard a loud voice exclaim: "there! i guess that will do the business! and those fellows won't find us here!" "that's them!" whispered blake in joe's ear. "i know the voice of hemp danforth. we've found 'em, joe!" chapter xxi the capture impulsively the boys clasped hands as they realized what the discovery meant. they had come upon the new hiding place of the wreckers, and the chances were good for capture if no alarm was given. joe, perhaps, felt more elated than did blake, though the latter was glad that his theory in regard to the direction taken by the men had proved correct. but joe felt that now he had a better chance to prove his father innocent of the charge made against him--that he was involved with the wreckers. "we've got 'em!" he whispered. "yes--we've got 'em--to get!" agreed blake. "no slip-up this time." in whispers they consulted, and decided to creep forward a short distance to make sure of their first surmise that the men, whose voices they heard, were really the wreckers. "we want to be certain about it," warned blake, in a cautious whisper. "that's right," agreed his chum. "go ahead, and i'll come after you." cautiously they advanced until they were in a position to look forward and make out a number of men working on a sort of mound of rock that rose from the surface of the cliff. "this is a better place, from their standpoint, than the other," whispered blake. "a light can be seen farther." "yes, and they're putting up the same lantern on a rock pile," remarked joe. both lads recognized the apparatus they had seen before. the men were busily engaged in setting it in place, evidently working fast to make up for lost time. "it's the same gang," observed blake; "and they must know of some vessel that is to pass here soon, or they wouldn't be in such a hurry. probably they count on the steersman mistaking this light for the one at rockypoint, and standing in close here. up at rockypoint there is deep water close in shore, but it shoals very fast both ways, up or down the beach. so if a vessel saw a false light, and stood close in to get her bearings, she'd be on the rocks in no time." "that's right," agreed joe. "she'd be wrecked and these fellows would get what they could out of her, caring nothing for the lives lost. blake, we've got to stop 'em!" "we sure have." "not only to clear my father, but to save others," went on joe. "what's best to be done?" "well, we can't capture 'em by ourselves; that's sure," went on blake, each lad speaking in a cautious whisper. "the best thing for us to do is to go back, i think, and tell tom cardiff. he'll know what to do." "maybe one of us had better stay here to keep watch. they may skip out." "no danger. they don't know that we have followed 'em, or that we are here." "then we'll go back together." "sure, and give the alarm. then to make the capture, if we can." for a few minutes longer the eager boys looked on, unseen by the men whom they had trailed. the wreckers were busy putting up their lantern, and were making as much noise, talking and hammering on the apparatus, as though they were far removed from possible discovery. "well, we'd better be going," suggested blake, after a bit; and they made their departure without causing any suspicious sounds, so that the wreckers had no idea, as far as our heroes could ascertain, that they were being spied upon. in order to save time, as soon as they got to the nearest small settlement, joe and blake hired a carriage, and drove to the lighthouse. as may well be imagined their report caused considerable excitement. "we'll get right after 'em!" cried tom cardiff. "i just got a telephone message from the secret service men that they are on their way here. they'll arrive in about an hour. we were counting on getting on the trail ourselves to-day, but you boys got ahead of us. so in about an hour we'll start. i guess they'll be there then; won't they, lads." "i should judge so," was blake's answer. "they've got quite a good deal yet to do to get that fake lantern in shape, and they don't seem suspicious." "we can't have our life saving friend with us now," went on the assistant keeper, "as he is on duty, but i guess the five of us will be enough." "say!" cried blake, with sudden thought, "if it's going to be an hour before we start we've got time to get our automatic moving picture camera, joe." "what for?" "to get some views of this capture. it ought to make a dandy film, and we can set the machine in place, start the motor and then you and i can jump in and help catch these wreckers!" "the very thing!" cried his chum. "i wonder i didn't think of it myself. come on!" "don't be late!" advised tom cardiff, as they ran toward the ancient carriage they had hired. "we don't want any slip-up this time. i'm glad we're going to try for the capture by daylight, though, instead of darkness; it gives us a better chance." mr. ringold and mr. hadley were surprised and delighted at the news the boys brought, but they voted against the automatic camera. "this is a rare chance to get a film," said mr. hadley, "and we don't want to miss it. i'll go along with you, taking a regular moving picture camera, and while you capture the wreckers i'll make a film of it." this suited the boys as well, and a little later, with the chief photographer, they started back for the lighthouse. they found the secret service men and tom cardiff waiting for them, and, well armed, in addition to the clubs they carried, and with ropes to bind the wreckers, they started off. "we're almost there now," said blake, in a whisper, when they neared the second hiding place of the desperate men. "go easy, now." "let me get a chance to go ahead and place the camera," suggested mr. hadley, who had the apparatus fully adjusted. "that's a great idea," declared one of the government men. "taking their photographs in moving pictures! there'll be no chance for them to deny they were present when they were captured," and he chuckled grimly. mr. hadley was given an opportunity to move forward alone. he found an advantageous spot and almost at once beckoned to the others to hasten. "they're getting ready to leave!" he whispered, as they reached his side. "come on, then!" cried tom cardiff. "jump in on 'em, boys. lively now!" as he spoke he leaped forward, followed by the others. "surrender! we've got you surrounded!" yelled the assistant keeper. "it's all over but the shouting!" and as he made a grab for one of the men the moving picture machine began clicking. "hands up!" ordered mr. wilton. "at 'em, boys!" called the other government man, as he and blake and joe leaped to the attack together. for a moment the wreckers stood as if paralyzed about the stone pedestal on which the false lantern was being built. then, with one accord, the desperate men made a dash for the bush. "stop 'em!" cried tom cardiff. "don't let 'em get away!" "come on!" yelled blake to his chum. "we've got to get in this fracas!" and as they dashed after the wreckers the moving picture camera in the hands of mr. hadley recorded view after view of the exciting scene. chapter xxii a life guard's alarm fortune played into the hands of our friends in two ways as they sought to capture the wreckers. otherwise the desperate men might have gotten away, so quickly did they dash out of the clearing at the first alarm. but, as he ran along, big hemp danforth, the leader of the criminals, stumbled and fell. right behind him was sturdy tom cardiff, and the assistant lighthouse keeper was quick to take advantage of the chance thus put in his way. "i've got you!" he yelled, as he fairly threw himself on the prostrate wrecker. "i've got you! give up, you varmint!" there was a struggle, none the less desperate because the wrecker was underneath. the two rolled on the ground until tom got a grip on his opponent. then, by putting forth his enormous strength, tom quickly subdued the man. "give up, i tell you!" panted tom, breathing hard. "i'll teach you to wreck ships. give up!" "i give up!" was the sullen response. with a quick turn of the ropes he had brought, tom had the wrecker trussed up. meanwhile the others had been busy. the secret service men had each tackled a man, and had him secure by now, while joe and blake, by mutual agreement picking out another member of the party had, after a struggle, succeeded in tying him, too. but the wreckers outnumbered our friends two to one, and some, if not all, of the desperate characters might have escaped had not reinforcements appeared. these were in the shape of four sturdy fishermen from the little colony where the moving picture boys lived. "oh, if we could only capture the others!" cried tom cardiff, when he had finished with his man, and saw some of the wreckers struggling to make their way through the thick bush. "come on, boys!" he yelled to his friends. "when you finish with those fellows keep after the rest of the gang, though i'm afraid they'll give us the slip." "no, they won't!" cried a new voice, and then appeared the husky toilers of the sea, armed with stout clubs. at the sight of them the wreckers not yet captured gave up in despair. counting those tied up, the forces were now equal, and as mr. hadley had taken all the moving pictures possible, owing to the struggle taking place out of range of his camera, he left the apparatus, and joined his friends. "well, we got 'em!" cried tom cardiff, as he surveyed the line of prisoners, fastened together with ropes. "every one of 'em, i guess. you're a nice crowd!" he sneered at big hemp danforth. "a nice lot of men to be let loose!" "a little later and you wouldn't have had us!" snarled the leader of the wreckers. "you were too many for us." "that's so," spoke tom. "how did you happen to come to help us?" he asked of abe haskill, who was one of the reinforcing fishermen. "who sent you?" "old stanton telephoned over from the lighthouse," was the answer. "he said you were on your way here, and that the gang might be too much for you. so i got a couple of my friends, and over we came--just in time, too, i take it." "that's right!" exclaimed blake, trying to staunch the flow of blood from a cut on his face, received in the fight he and joe had with their prisoner. joe himself was somewhat bruised. "a little later and we'd had only half of 'em," went on blake. "it looks as if the lantern was nearly finished, too," went on joe. "um!" sneered the chief wrecker. "you may think you have us, but it's a long way from proving anything against us. what have we done that's wrong?" and he looked defiantly at tom cardiff. "wrong!" cried the lighthouse man. "don't you call it wrong to set up a false light to lure unsuspecting captains on the rocks, so you can get your pickings? wrong!" "huh! how do you know but what this light was put here as a range finder for us fishermen?" asked the other. "fishermen! why, you men never did an honest day's fishing in your lives!" cried abe haskill. "fishing! when you haven't been smuggling you've been wrecking, or robbing other honest men's nets. you're a bunch of scoundrels, and it's the best day's work we've done in many a year to get you!" "that's all right," retorted hemp, easily. "words don't prove anything." "they don't; eh?" cried tom cardiff. "you'll see what they do. we'll convict you by your own words!" "our own words?" asked hemp danforth, uneasily. "yes, overheard by these two lads, whom you chased but couldn't catch. i guess when blake stewart and joe duncan go into court, and testify about hearing you talk of wrecking vessels by your false lantern, the jury'll convict you, all right!" hemp seemed less concerned with what tom said than with the name joe duncan. as this was uttered the wrecker looked at the two lads. "did i understand him to say that one of you is a duncan?" asked hemp, curiously. "i am," replied joe. "are you nate duncan's son?" "i hope so--yes, i'm sure i am." "ha! ha!" laughed the wrecker. "what's the joke?" inquired tom cardiff. "this, and it's a good one, too. you think to convict us on the testimony of nate duncan's son. why, nate is one of us! his son's evidence wouldn't be any good. besides, a son wouldn't help to convict his father. that's a good one. nate duncan is one of us!" "that's not so!" burst out joe, jumping toward the big wrecker, as though to strike him. "it isn't true. my father never was a wrecker." "he wasn't; eh?" sneered hemp. "well, i'm not saying we are, either; but if your father isn't a wrecker why did he run away before the officers came for him? answer me that--if you can!" "i--i--" began joe, when blake stepped to his chum's side. "don't answer him," counseled blake. "it will only make matters worse. it will all come out right." "i'm sure of it," said joe. "poor dad, i wish he were here to defend himself; but, as he isn't, i'll stick up for him." "well, if you're through talking i guess we'll move along," suggested tom at this point. "there are a few empty cells in the jail at san diego, i understand, and they'll just about accommodate you chaps." "are--are you going to put us in jail?" faltered one of the prisoners, a young man. "that's what we are," answered tom. "oh, don't. i'll tell--i'll----" "you'll keep still--that's what you'll do!" snapped hemp. "i'll fix you if you don't!" and he glared at the youth in such a way that the latter said no more. "i'll manage this thing," went on hemp. "you keep still and they can't do a thing to us. now go ahead; take us to jail if you want to." "that's what we will," declared tom, and a little later the prisoners were on their way to san diego, where they were locked up. some suspected wreckers had been taken into custody when mr. duncan was accused, but nothing had been proved against them. "well, that was a good day's work!" declared mr. hadley late that afternoon, when he and the moving picture boys were back at their quarters. "we not only got the wreckers, but a fine film of the capture besides." "and we're in it," said blake. "joe, how will it seem to see yourself on a screen?" "oh, rather odd, i guess," and joe spoke listlessly. "now look here!" exclaimed his chum. "i know what's worrying you. it's what hemp said about your father; isn't it?" "yes, blake, it is." "well then, you just stop thinking about it. before you know it your father may arrive in hong kong, get your letter, and send back an answer. then everything will be cleared up. meanwhile, we've got to get busy; there are a lot of films to make, i understand." "indeed there are," declared mr. ringold. "i have my sea drama all ready for the films now. i don't know what to do about a wreck, though. i'm afraid i can't make it realistic enough. i must make other plans about that scene. but get your cameras in good shape, boys, for there is plenty of work ahead." "we can keep right on the job," said joe, "for i guess we've about cleaned up the wreckers." no members of the gang had escaped, as far as could be learned, and the renewed work of getting evidence to be used at the trial was in the hands of the government men. the false lantern, which had first given the boys the clue, was taken down, and proved to be a most ingenious piece of apparatus. had it been used it would undoubtedly have lured some ships on the rocks. the work of making the preliminary scenes of the sea drama were under way. it took the best part of three weeks to get what was needed, for mr. ringold was very particular, and insisted on many rehearsals, these taking longer than the actual making of the films. joe and blake were kept busy, as was also their young assistant, macaroni, and mr. hadley. "everything is going beautifully," said mr. ringold one day. "if we could only have a storm and wreck to order, now, i would ask nothing better." "yes, everything is nice, except that we're being worked to death," spoke c. c. piper, gloomily. "i've lost ten pounds in the last week." "it will do you good," said miss lee, with a laugh. "you were getting too stout, anyhow." "oh, what a world!" sighed the comedian, as he began whistling the latest comic song. "it looks like a storm," remarked blake, as he and joe came in one evening from a stroll on the beach. "and when it does come," added joe, "it's going to be a bad one, so old abe, the fisherman, says. they're putting storm signals up all along the coast, and all leaves of absence for the life guards have been cancelled for the next week. a storm sometimes lasts that long, abe says." "a storm; eh?" remarked mr. ringold, absentmindedly. "well, that will interfere with our plans for to-morrow. i had intended to have some peaceful scenes on the beach; but i'll postpone them. i wish i could work out this wreck problem," he added, as he pored over the manuscript of the sea drama. one did not need to go outdoors that morning to appreciate the fury of the storm. the gale had come in the night, and the force of the wind had steadily increased until its violence was terrific. there was no rain, as yet, but the sky was obscured by hurrying black clouds. "let's go down to the beach and see the big waves," proposed blake to joe after breakfast. "all right," agreed his chum. "there won't be anything doing in the moving picture line to-day, i guess." "say, that's some surf!" cried joe in his chum's ear, as they got to the sandy stretch. "look at those waves!" "i guess they're what you call 'mountain high,'" answered blake, himself yelling, for their ordinary voices could not be heard above the thunder of the surf and the roar of the gale. they stood for a few minutes watching the big rollers pounding on the sand, and then, looking down the strand, they saw a figure running toward them. "here comes a life guard," remarked joe. "and he acts as if something was up," added blake. nearer came the man, dressed in yellow oilskins, for the spray from the sea flew far inland, almost like rain. joe and blake had on rubber coats. "what is it?" cried blake, as the man came opposite. he held his hands in funnel shape and yelled: "a wreck--a big sailing vessel is coming ashore! her masts are gone, and she can't get off! she'll strike soon. i want all the men i can get to help us with the breeches buoy. we can't launch our boat--too heavy surf!" chapter xxiii the doomed vessel "you say there's a wreck?" cried blake. "yes, we just made her out through the glass. she's driving on the rocks fast. the current is setting inshore and the wind is helping it." "where is she?" asked joe. "right down there," answered the life guard. "but she'll come up farther this way," and he pointed down toward the rocks opposite which the boys had first surprised the wreckers at work. "i've got to give the alarm," went on the life saver. "we need all the help we can get. we're short-handed, anyhow, and two of our men were hurt early this morning trying to launch the surf-boat." "can't you get some of the fishermen from around here?" asked joe. "that's what i came for." "and we'll help, too!" cried blake, bracing himself by leaning against the wind, which seemed to grow stronger every minute. "sure we will," added joe. "can you see the vessel?" he asked, peering eagerly into the spume and spray. "maybe she's drifted far enough up by now," went on the coast guard, as he looked intently in the direction he had pointed. "yes," he cried a moment later, "i can catch glimpses of her at times, when the waves go down a bit. see! there she is now!" looking in the direction the guard pointed, blake and joe caught a glimpse of a distant black object rising and falling at the mercy of the wind and waves. it was the hull of a vessel, and when blake used the glass the guard handed him a moment later, he could see the jagged stumps of broken masts. "she's in a bad way," remarked the lad, gravely. "indeed she is," assented the life saver. "i wonder if my father is in any such storm as this, on his way to china?" mused joe, as he, too, looked through the binoculars. "it's a bad storm--and a big one, too," said the guard. "but i must hurry on and give the alarm to the fishermen. the ship will strike soon, and we want to send a line aboard if we can." "wait!" cried blake, as the man started off. "we'll tell the fishermen. you can go back to the station. we'll come to help as soon as we can, and bring all the men we can find." "good!" shouted the man. "it'll take some time to get the apparatus in shape, and we'll have to drag it up the beach from the station, to about the place where she'll come on the rocks. go ahead, give the alarm, and i'll go back. whew! but this is a fierce storm!" "come on!" cried blake to his chum, and they raced toward the little fishing hamlet. "say!" shouted joe. "i've got an idea!" "what is it?" "the wreck--it'll come close on shore, the guard says; why not make some moving pictures of it? they'll be just what mr. hadley wants." "that's it!" yelled blake. "you've struck it. go on and tell mr. ringold, mr. hadley and the others, and i'll get the fishermen. then we'll go down the beach until we meet the life savers. it's a great chance, joe!" the lads separated, one to arouse the fishermen, most of whom were in their shacks, for it was out of the question to lift the nets in the tremendous seas that were running. "come on!" cried blake, as he saw old abe haskill come out to look at the weather. "wreck--ship coming ashore. the coast guards need help!" "aye, aye, lad. we're with you!" cried the sturdy old man. "i'll get the boys. a wreck; eh? pity the poor sailors that come ashore in such a blow!" having given the alarm, blake turned back to join his chum and the others of the theatrical colony. "we may need all three cameras," he reasoned; "it is such a good chance we don't want to risk it on one film." blake found mr. hadley and his chum, with the theatrical manager and the male members of the company, ready to set out. joe had his own camera, while mr. hadley was getting the largest one in readiness. "let's take the automatic, too," suggested joe. "we can start it going and not have to worry about it." "all right," agreed blake. "say, this is the very chance we wanted!" cried mr. ringold. "think of it! a regular wreck, right at our doors!" "oh, but the poor sailors!" exclaimed miss shay. "i do hope they may be saved!" "of course they can!" cried c. c. piper. "we'll all help. never fear; we'll save them!" his tone and manner, to say nothing of his words, were in such contrast to his usual demeanor that everyone looked at his or her neighbor in surprise. "don't give up!" went on the comedian, cheerfully. "we'll help the life guards--we'll do anything. we'll save those sailors!" "well, get on to gloomy; would you!" exclaimed joe, in a low voice, to his chum. "that is the best ever! it's the first time he hasn't predicted a calamity." "and just when anyone else would," added blake. "for it sure is going to be hard work to save anyone from a vessel that comes ashore in such a storm as this," and he looked toward the tumbling billows in view from the windows. films were threaded into the moving picture cameras, the mechanism was tested, and then the whole company, even to the ladies, set forth. "i hope the wreck gets near enough so we can get some good pictures of it," said mr. ringold. "it'll have to come pretty well in shore, or the breeches buoy rope won't reach," said mr. hadley. "i guess we can get some good pictures." "it's good it doesn't rain," went on the theatrical man; "though i think it's going to, soon. we'll have to get up on some elevation to avoid the spray." down the beach they made their way, to be joined presently by the band of sturdy fishermen. "there she is!" cried old abe, as he pointed out to sea. "there she is, blowing and drifting in fast. and right toward the dolphin rocks, too--the worst place on the beach!" they all gazed toward the doomed vessel, that was now much nearer shore. blake even thought he could descry figures on deck, clinging to the stumps of masts. chapter xxiv out of the wreck "here come the life savers!" cried blake a little later, as through the spray that flew over the beach a party of men, in yellow oilskins, could be seen dragging something over the sand. "yes, and few enough of 'em there are to do the work," said old abe haskill. "the government ought to put more men at the station." "some were hurt, trying to launch the boat this morning," said joe. "very likely," agreed the old fisherman. "the sea can be cruel when it wants to." "and there comes tom cardiff!" added blake, as he pointed to another oncoming figure. "yes, and harry stanton is with him," remarked abe. "they must have left the lighthouse to look after itself, and they're going to help in the rescue." "no danger to the light, now that them pesky wreckers have been caught," remarked one of the fishermen. "boom!" came a dull report over the waste of tumultuous waters. "what's that?" asked blake. "the signal gun!" cried abe. "she must be sinking and they want us to hurry help. but she's too far out yet for a line to reach her." again the signal gun sounded, and hearing it, the life savers hastened their pace, but it was hard work dragging their apparatus through the sand. "let's help 'em!" cried joe. "the ship is drifting up this way. if we make pictures it will have to be from about here. let's help drag the wagon!" "that's right!" echoed blake, and the boys, leaving their cameras in charge of mr. hadley, hastened to relieve the fagged-out life savers. the fishermen and some of the theatrical men joined in also. "right about here," directed the captain of the life saving crew, when the cart containing the gun, "shears" and other parts of the breeches buoy had been dragged farther along. "she'll strike about here, i fancy." the doomed vessel was now much nearer shore, and on her wave-washed decks could be seen the sailors, some of them lashed to the stumps of masts, others to whatever of the standing rigging offered a hold against the grasp of the sea. "get ready, men!" the commander went on. "the wind is bringing her in fast, and it's going to be against us shooting a line over her, but we'll do our best. if she strikes now, so much the better." "why?" asked blake, wonderingly. "because then she'll be stationary, and we can keep our main line taut. if she keeps drifting inshore while we're hauling the buoy back and forth it means that we'll have to keep tightening up all the while." "there, she's struck!" suddenly called one of the life savers. all gazed out to sea, where, amid a smother of foam, the craft could be seen. her change in position was evident. her decks sloped more, and instead of drifting she remained in one position. "the rocks have gripped her," spoke old abe, solemnly. "she'll go to pieces soon now." "then get busy!" cried c. c. piper, who seemed not to have lost his strangely cheerful mood. "save those men!" "that's what we're going to do," said the captain. "all ready now, men." "and that means we'd better get busy, joe," said blake. "we can't do anything to help just now. besides, there are a lot of men here. we must get our cameras in place." "that's right, blake," and the two lads got their apparatus in shape to operate, mr. hadley doing the same. the machines were set up on some sand hills, far enough back to be out of the spray, which was like a fog close to the surface of the water. while some of the life savers and their volunteer assistants were burying in the sand the heavy anchor that was to hold one end of the rope on which the breeches buoy would travel, others were getting ready to fire the gun. in brief, the breeches buoy is operated as follows: a small mortar, or cannon, is used, and an elongated projectile is placed in it. attached to the projectile is a thin and strong line. it is coiled in a box and placed on the sand near the mortar. the coils are laid around pegs in a peculiar manner to prevent tangling. the pegs are then pulled out, and the coils lie one upon the other so that the line may be paid out rapidly. when the projectile is fired toward the ship, the aim is to make it shoot over her deck, carrying the cord with it. this is called "getting a line aboard." once this is done the crew on the vessel can, by means of the small cord, pull aboard a heavy cable. this is made fast to the highest point possible. there is now a cable extending from the shore to the ship, the shore end being made fast to the anchor in the sand. the cable is raised as high as possible on a pair of wooden "shears," to keep it above the waves. running on pulley wheels, on this stout, tight rope, is the "breeches buoy." this is literally a pair of canvas breeches, into which the person to be saved places himself, getting into the apparatus from the deck of the sinking ship. there is a line fast to the buoy, one end being on shore. when the signal is given those on the beach pull, the buoy and the person in it are pulled along the tight rope by means of the pulleys to the beach and saved, though often they are well drenched in the process. those remaining on the ship now pull the empty buoy back, and other persons come ashore until all are saved. sometimes, instead of the canvas breeches, a small enclosed car is used to slide along the rope. in this car more than one person can get, and they are protected from the waves. "all ready?" asked the captain of the life saving crew, after he had inspected what his men and the others helping them had done. "all ready, sir!" came the response. "then fire!" the mortar boomed, through the wind shot the projectile toward the ship, carrying with it the swiftly uncoiling rope. all watched anxiously. "too short!" cried the captain a moment later, lowering the glass through which he had watched the effect of the shot. "use a little more powder this time." the projectile was hauled back through the waves, and attached to another line, coiled in readiness, while some of the life savers busied themselves recoiling the first rope, in case the second shot failed too. it did, again falling short. "try more powder," said the captain, grimly. "we've got to reach her." "and soon," murmured old abe. "she's breaking up fast." once more the mortar was fired, blake and joe, as well as mr. hadley, getting films of every move. "there she goes!" cried the captain, in delight, as he watched the third shot. "over her decks as clean as you'd want! now to get the poor souls ashore!" on board the wrecked ship could be observed a scene of activity. the sailors began hauling on the line, and presently the big cable began paying out from shore. soon it reached the side of the ship, to be hauled up, and made fast to the stump of one of the masts. "lively now, boys!" cried the captain. "pull taut and then run out the buoy. she can't last much longer!" the men made redoubled efforts, and blake and joe, leaving their automatic camera working, while mr. hadley turned the operation of his over to macaroni, the three moving picture experts aided in the work of rescue. soon the breeches buoy was hauled out to the ship for its first passenger, and presently the sagging of the cable told that some one was in it. "pull, boys!" cried the captain of the life savers, and through the dashing waves, that threw their crests over the shipwrecked person, the buoy was hauled ashore. "grab him!" cried the captain, as the first one saved was pulled up high on the beach. "it isn't a him, captain!" cried one of the men. "it's a woman!" "bless my sea boots!" yelled the captain. "a woman! are there any more of you aboard--or any children?" "i--i'm the only one," was the panting answer, for she had swallowed much water. "i'm the captain's wife. can you--can you save the others? they made me come first." "that's right! women and children always first!" shouted the captain. "of course we'll save the others," yelled c. c., who was running excitedly about, helping all he could. "we'll save every one!" he repeated. "gloomy in a new rôle--a happy one!" remarked blake. the buoy was hauled back, and another was saved--one of the sailors, this time. he reported that there were in all twenty-five hands on the ship, exclusive of the captain. "he'll come last, of course," he said, simply. "of course," agreed abe haskill. "the captain allers does that. once more, boys!" again was a rescue effected, the moving picture cameras registering faithfully everything that went on. the work had to be done quickly now, for the vessel was fast breaking up. "two more left!" cried the chief life saver. "jack up that cable, boys; she's sagging. i guess the old ship is working farther in. jack her up!" by means of pulleys attached to the main rope it was made tauter. then came a heavy sag on it. "what's that?" asked one of the life savers. "it's two of 'em--two of 'em, clinging to the buoy!" cried blake, who was watching through a glass. "i guess the ship must be going to pieces too fast to allow for another trip. you've got to save two at once." "and we can do it!" cried the captain. "all together, now, boys! but they're going to get wet!" by reason of the added weight the rope was sagging badly, and the men clinging to the buoy could be seen half in and half out of the water. "lively, men, or they'll drown!" yelled the captain. hardy and intrepid as were the life-savers and the volunteers who had assembled to help them, they paused a moment now. it seemed impossible that the two in the buoy could be pulled ashore in time to be saved. over them broke great seas, the waves hissing and foaming as though angry at being cheated of their prey. the storm-swept waters seemed to seize on the rope, as though to pull it beneath the billows. the anchor that held the rope which passed over the "shears" seemed to be pulling out of the sand packed around it. "come on, men!" cried the captain. "take a brace now, and we'll have 'em ashore in a jiffy!" "but she's slipping!" cried a grizzled seaman. "she can't hold any longer. the whole business is going!" "she can't go until we git 'em ashore!" yelled the captain of the life-savers. "i won't let her! here, jim black, you mosey back there and pile more sand around that anchor. now then, men, pull as though you meant it. what! you're not going to have it said that you let a little cat's paw of wind like this beat you; are you?" something of the captain's courage seemed to infuse itself into his men. they had been half-hearted before, but they were brave now. once more they ranged themselves on the rope that was used to haul the buoy from the ship to shore. it was as though the waves had tried to intimidate them, and had been bidden defiance. the weight of the two persons in the buoy was almost too much. the waves had a doubly large surface against which to break, and well the captain knew that there was a limit to the strain to which the tackle could be subjected. once the main rope leading from the anchor to the ship, on which cable the buoy ran, parted, and nothing could save those last two lives. no wonder the captain wanted haste. "haul away!" he bellowed through the roar of the wind, using his hands as a trumpet. "haul away, men!" his companions braced themselves in the shifting sand. they bent their backs. their arms swelled into bunches of muscles that had been trained in the hard school of the sea. "will the haul-rope stand it?" cried one man. "she's _got_ to stand it!" cried the captain. "she's just _got_ to! pull, men; you're not half hauling!" "if that rope gives," faltered an old, gray-haired man, who seemed too aged for this life, "if that rope gives way----" "don't you talk about it!" snapped the captain. "i'll take all the responsibility of that rope. it'll hold all right. i looked at it the other day. all you've got to do is pull! do you hear me? pull as you never pulled before!" once more the backs of the men bent to the strain. the moving picture boys, watching and waiting; filled with anxiety even as they filmed the wreck, saw that the rise and fall of the waves had a good deal to do with the rescue. "they can pull better when the waves don't wash over those two poor souls in the buoy," observed blake. "yes, there's less resistance," agreed joe. "oh, there comes a big one!" and, as he spoke, an immense comber buried from sight the two whom the life-savers were endeavoring to pull from the grip of the sea. "if they can only hold their breaths long enough, they may come through it," said blake. "but it's a tough proposition." "it sure is," agreed his chum. they had gone back to snap a few pictures, and then, finding that the automatic apparatus was working well, they again joined the group on the sands. "another pull or two and we'll have 'em ashore!" yelled the captain. "lively, men!" as he spoke a grizzled seaman rushed up to him. "that anchor's slippin' ag'in!" he bellowed through the noise of the storm. "i can't put sand on fast enough to hold it!" "then i'll have some one help you!" cried the captain. "here, si watson! you git back there and help jim pile sand on that anchor. it mustn't be allowed to pull out--do you understand? it mustn't pull out if--if you have to--sit on it!" "aye--aye, sir," was the answer, and the two men ran back to where the anchor was buried in the beach, to pile the sand on with the shovels provided for that purpose. "now one more pull, and we'll have 'em safe!" yelled the captain a little later, and with a mighty haul his men bent to their task. "there they come through the last line of surf!" yelled joe, pointing to the buoy containing the two shipwrecked persons. "if only the rope holds," murmured his chum. even as he spoke there came a cry from the two men who had been sent to watch that the anchor in the sand did not drag. "it's coming! it's coming out!" shouted one of them. "sit on it! hold it down!" yelled the captain. "into the water after 'em, boys! come on, ye old seadogs!" there was a snap--the rope had parted, but so near to the beach were the two that the life-savers waded into the foam and spume, and grabbed them, holding them safe. they were hauled to the beach, on which huddled the others who had been saved from the wreck. the lone woman had been taken in charge by the feminine members of the theatrical troupe, who led her toward their boarding house. they said they would soon have hot coffee ready for all the sailors. "get 'em out of the buoy!" cried the captain, as the two last rescued were seen to be well-nigh insensible. they were assisted out, and sank helpless on the sand. "pretty far gone," remarked a life saver. "one must be the captain, i reckon." "and the other," began harry stanton, keeper of the rockypoint light; "the other--why, if it isn't nate duncan, who used to be my assistant! he came out of the wreck--nate duncan!" chapter xxv a new quest from where he was standing by a group of the rescued sailors, joe duncan heard what the lighthouse keeper said. the lad rushed forward. "nate duncan!" he repeated, as he gazed at the two men, who were just beginning to revive under the application of stimulants. "which one of you is mr. duncan?" he asked, eagerly. "i--i am," faltered the younger of the two men. "why, who wants me. oh, it's you, harry stanton," and he looked at the lighthouse keeper standing near him. "i--i can explain everything. i----" "it wasn't i who asked," spoke the lighthouse keeper. "it was this lad here," and he indicated joe. "your son." "my son!" cried the rescued man. "are you sure--can it be true. oh, is it possible? don't disappoint me! are you my son?" and he held out his hands to joe. "i--i think so, father," spoke the boy, softly. "i--i have been looking for you a long time." "and i have, too, joe; yes, you are my boy. i can see it now. oh, the dear lord be praised!" and there was moisture in his eyes that was not the salt from the raging sea. "but--but," went on joe. "i thought you went to china. i wrote to you at hong kong." "i did start for there, joe; but the vessel on which i sailed was wrecked, and this craft, bound back for san francisco, picked us up. so i didn't get very far. oh, but i have found my boy!" the others drew a little aside while father and son, so strangely restored to each other by the fury of the sea, clasped each other close. "now, friends," said mr. ringold, bustling up; "those of you who are wet through had better let us take care of you. we have room for you all, and i'll send word to any of your friends if you'll give me the addresses. your wreck, in a way, has been a great thing for me, for i have obtained some wonderful moving pictures of it and this rescue. it will make a great drama. so i want to help you all i can." by this time the captain of the vessel had been revived and with his wife and crew was taken to the theatrical boarding place, where the women busied themselves getting warm drinks and food, and the men changed into dry garments loaned by the fishermen and the others. soon after the last one came ashore the wreck broke up and sank. "well, of all the wonderful things i ever experienced, this is the most marvelous," declared mr. duncan, as he sat with his son's hand in his. "i am wrecked twice, and come back to the same place i ran away from, to find joe waiting for me." "it is wonderful," agreed joe, wondering how he was going to bring up the subject of the wreckers. "yes, this is the very place i left in such a hurry, a few months ago," went on mr. duncan. "would you mind telling me why you left so suddenly?" asked the lighthouse keeper, solemnly. "of course it's none of my affair; but i might say it concerns you mightily, nate duncan. can you prove your innocence?" "prove my innocence! of what charge?" cried the man. "oh, father, of course we don't believe it!" burst out joe, unable to keep silent longer; "but hemp danforth says you were implicated with him in wrecking boats by means of false lights!" "hemp danforth says that!" cried joe's father. "yes. tell me--tell all of them--that it isn't so!" pleaded the lad. "of course it isn't so, joe." "but why did you leave so suddenly, and why did the officer come for you the next day?" asked the lighthouse keeper. "it looked bad, nate." "i suppose it did," said mr. duncan, slowly. "but it can easily be explained. i was mixed up with those wreckers----" "father!" cried joe. "but not the way you think, son," went on the former lighthouse worker quickly. "hemp danforth and i had a quarrel. it was over some business matters that he and i were mixed up in before i learned that he and his gang were wreckers. "we quarreled, because he tried to defraud me of my rights, and i had to give him a severe beating. perhaps i was wrong, but i acted on impulse. then i heard that hemp, to get even, had accused me of being a wrecker, and he had his men ready to swear to false testimony about me; even that i let the light go out, which i never did. "i knew i could not refute it, especially at that time, and as something came up that made it necessary for me to leave for china at once, i decided to go away. i realize now that it must have looked bad, especially after the charge against me. but now i am ready to stay and face it. i can prove that i had nothing to do with the wrecking, and that as soon as i learned that hemp and his gang were concerned in it i left them. if we can get hold of hemp i can easily make him acknowledge this." "you can easily get hold of him," said blake. "he and his crowd are all in jail. they were caught in the act of setting a false light." "and i don't believe you'll even have to prove your innocence," said mr. ringold. "they'll be convicted, and their evidence will never be accepted. you are already cleared, mr. duncan." "my name cleared--and my son with me--what else could i want?" murmured the happy man. "but, dad," asked joe, his face showing his delight that he could now use that word. "why did you have to leave so suddenly?" "to try and find your sister, joe." "my sister?" "yes, i have a daughter, as well as a son," went on mr. duncan. "i have found one, and now to find the other." "where is she?" cried joe. "what is she like? did i ever see her when we were both little?" "indeed you did, and when your mother died i left you with a family, who later disappeared. you must tell me your story, joe, and how you found me. but now as to your sister. "most unexpectedly, after years of searching, i got word that she had been brought up in a minister's family, and that lately she had gone as a missionary's helper to china. i had long planned to take a sea voyage, and when i got this news i decided to go at once, and bring her back. then i was to renew my search for you. "an agent in san francisco told me of a vessel about to sail for hong kong, and i deserted my post at the lighthouse and sailed. i admit i did wrong in leaving so suddenly, but it seemed to be the best thing to do. i did not want to be arrested as a wrecker even though i was innocent." "i'll forgive you," said mr. stanton, with a smile. "i'm so glad to learn you're not one of them pesky wreckers." and then began a long series of explanations, mr. duncan listening with interest to joe's story, and, in turn, telling how his vessel was wrecked, and how he and the others were picked up, only to be wrecked again, nearer home. joe's father paused a moment and then said: "but, son, tell me something of yourself. i've been doing all the talking, it seems. are you really in this queer business of taking moving pictures?" "that's what i am, dad--blake and i. we've been in it some time, and we're doing well. we hope to be in it some time longer, too. if it hadn't been for these pictures i might never have found you." "that's so, joe. after this i'll never pass a moving picture theatre without thinking what it has done for me. it gave me back my boy!" "now i think you have talked enough, mr. duncan," said one of the women, coming up. "you had a much harder time of it than we did, and you must quiet down. you must have swallowed a lot of salt water." "i guess i did--enough to preserve about a barrel of pickles," he admitted, with a smile. "i would be glad of a little rest. but you won't leave me; will you, joe?" "no indeed, dad. i've had enough trouble finding you to lose you now. but you get a good rest. blake and i have a lot to do yet. i want to get these latest films in shape to send off for development. i hope they came out good." "i don't see how they could--with the weather conditions what they were," remarked c. c. piper, joining the group. "now that isn't a nice thing to say," miss lee reminded him. "why can't you be cheerful?" "why, i'm not at all gloomy. i only said----" "you tried to throw cold water on what the boys did," she reminded him. "water! say, if anybody says water to me again to-day, i don't know what i will do!" exclaimed blake. "shame on you, c. c.! you ought to be more careful." "oh, well, i didn't mean anything. i guess those pictures will be all right--if the salt spray doesn't spoil the celluloid," he added, as he moved off. "you're hopeless," declared miss lee. "i'll never speak to you again." the nonsensical talk served to raise the spirits of those who had been rather plunged in gloom ever since the wreck. mr. duncan was given a room to himself where he could be quiet and recover from the shock of having been so near death. the moving picture boys found plenty to do. in addition to getting off to the developing studio the films they had taken that day, they had to prepare for a hard day's work to follow, for, now that he had the wreck scene, mr. ringold declared that he needed some others to go with it to round out the drama of the sea that he had in mind when coming to the coast. it may seem that it would not pay to go to such big expense to make a single films play, or even one or two, but i assure my readers that it is not uncommon for a concern to spend ten thousand dollars in making a single play, and some elaborate productions, such as shakespearian plays, and historical dramas, will cost over fifty thousand dollars to get ready to be filmed. months are spent in preparation, rehearsals go on day after day, and finally the play itself is given, often not lasting more than an hour or half hour on the screen, yet representing many weary weeks of work, and the expenditure of large sums of money. such is the moving picture business to-day. the boys were kept busy nearly all the rest of that week, and then came a period of calm. joe sought out his father, who had steadily gained in strength after his sensational rescue, and began to question him as to his experiences, for mr. duncan had only given a mere outline of his experiences up to this time. "you must have had some strenuous adventures," said blake, who went with his chum. "i certainly did. but, according to joe, here, they weren't much more than what you boys went through with in new york, and getting those indian films." "that's right; we did have a time," admitted blake. "well, i'm glad i've got my boy, anyhow," went on the former lighthouse worker, with a fond glance at joe. "nothing is worse than to have folks, and not know where to find 'em. i hungered and longed for joe for days and nights, and now i have him. and i'm not going to lose him again, either, if i can help it," and he clasped his son's hand warmly in his palm, while tears dimmed his eyes. joe, too, was much affected. "if you only had your daughter now, you'd be all right," said blake, anxious to turn the subject. "yes, so i would. my poor little girl! we must locate her next, joe." "but what about my sister?" asked joe. "can we find her?" "we'll try, joe, my boy!" exclaimed his father. "you and i together." "count me in!" cried blake. "i sure will," agreed joe. "i wonder what will happen to us." and what did, and how the two lads went on their new quest, will be related in the next volume of this series, to be entitled "the moving picture boys in the jungle; or, stirring times among the wild animals." in it will be told of their adventures and you may learn whether or not they found joe's sister. "well, we got everything we came for," said mr. ringold, a few days later, when the shipwrecked ones had been sent to their homes with the exception of mr. duncan, who remained with joe. "yes, all the dramas, and the storm and wreck as well," agreed mr. hadley. "but we'll never have such good luck again," predicted c. c. piper, with a return of his gloomy manner. "i know something will happen to us on our way back east." "oh, cheer up," urged miss lee; "the sun is shining." "but it will rain to-morrow," declared the comedian, as he did some odd little dance steps. preparations for taking the theatrical company back east were made; but joe, blake and mr. duncan were uncertain about accompanying them. while joe and his father were talking over their plans, blake went to san francisco on a vacation for a week. but it was not much of a rest for him. while there he learned of a prize offered for the best moving picture of the fire department in action, and, though many operators tried, blake's film was regarded as the best. he "scooped" the others easily, and beat some of the most skillful men in the business. but now, for a time, we will take leave of the moving picture boys. the end * * * * * * the famous rover boys series by arthur w. winfield american stories of american boys and girls one million copies already sold of this series mo. cloth. handsomely printed and illustrated. price, cents per volume, postpaid the rover boys in the air or from college campus to the clouds the rover boys down east or the struggle for the stanhope fortune the rover boys at college or the right road and the wrong the rover boys on treasure isle or the strange cruise of the steam yacht the rover boys on the farm or the last days at putnam hall the rover boys in southern waters or the deserted steam yacht the rover boys on the plains or the mystery of red rock ranch the rover boys on the river or the search for the missing houseboat the rover boys in camp or the rivals of pine island the rover boys on land and sea or the crusoes of seven islands the rover boys in the mountains or a hunt for fame and fortune the rover boys on the great lakes or the secret of the island cave the rover boys out west or the search for a lost mine the rover boys in the jungle or stirring adventures in africa the rover boys on the ocean or a chase for a fortune the rover boys at school or the cadets of putnam hall grosset & dunlap - new york * * * * * * the putnam hall series companion stories to the famous rover boys series by arthur m. winfield open-air pastimes have always been popular with boys, and should always be encouraged. these books mingle adventure and fact, and will appeal to every manly boy. mo. handsomely printed and illustrated. price cents per volume, postpaid. the putnam hall mystery or the school chums' strange discovery the particulars of the mystery and the solution of it are very interesting reading. the putnam hall encampment or the secret of the old mill a story full of vim and vigor, telling what the cadets did during the summer encampment, including a visit to a mysterious old mill, said to be haunted. the book has a wealth of fun in it. the putnam hall rebellion or the rival runaways the boys had good reasons for running away during captain putnam's absence. they had plenty of fun, and several queer adventures. the putnam hall champions or bound to win out in this volume the putnam hall cadets show what they can do in various keen rivalries on the athletic field and elsewhere. there is one victory which leads to a most unlooked-for discovery. the putnam hall cadets or good times in school and out the cadets are lively, flesh-and-blood fellows, bound to make friends from the start. there are some keen rivalries, in school and out, and something is told of a remarkable midnight feast and a hazing that had an unlooked-for ending. the putnam hall rivals or fun and sport afloat and ashore it is a lively, rattling, breezy story of school life in this country written by one who knows all about its pleasures and its perplexities, its glorious excitements, and its chilling disappointments. grosset & dunlap - new york the rise in life series by horatio alger, jr. these are copyrighted stories which cannot be obtained elsewhere. they are the stories last written by this famous author. mo. illustrated. bound in cloth, stamped in colored inks. price, cents per volume, postpaid. the young book agent, or frank hardy's road to success a plain but uncommonly interesting tale of everyday life, describing the ups and downs of a boy book-agent. from farm to fortune, or nat nason's strange experience nat was a poor country lad. work on the farm was hard, and after a quarrel with his uncle, with whom he resided, he struck out for himself. out for business, or robert frost's strange career relates the adventures of a country boy who is compelled to leave home and seek his fortune in the great world at large. falling in with fortune, or the experiences of a young secretary this is a companion tale to "out for business," but complete in itself, and tells of the further doings of robert frost as private secretary. young captain jack, or the son of a soldier the scene is laid in the south during the civil war, and the hero is a waif who was cast up by the sea and adopted by a rich southern planter. nelson the newsboy, or afloat in new york mr. alger is always at his best in the portrayal of life in new york city, and this story is among the best he has given our young readers. lost at sea, or robert roscoe's strange cruise a sea story of uncommon interest. the hero falls in with a strange derelict--a ship given over to the wild animals of a menagerie. jerry, the backwoods boy, or the parkhurst treasure depicts life on a farm of new york state. the mystery of the treasure will fascinate every boy. jerry is a character well worth knowing. randy of the river, or the adventures of a young deckhand life on a river steamboat is not so romantic as some young people may imagine, but randy thompson wanted work and took what was offered. joe, the hotel boy, or winning out by pluck. a graphic account of the adventures of a country boy in the city. ben logan's triumph, or the boys of boxwood academy the trials and triumphs of a city newsboy in the country. grosset & dunlap - new york the flag and frontier series by captain ralph bonehill. these bracing stories of american life, exploration and adventure should find a place in every school and home library for the enthusiasm they kindle in american heroism and history. the historical background is absolutely correct. every volume complete in itself. mo. bound in cloth. stamped in colors. price, cents per volume. postpaid. with boone on the frontier, or the pioneer boys of old kentucky. relates the true-to-life adventures of two boys who, in company with their folks, move westward with daniel boone. contains many thrilling scenes among the indians and encounters with wild animals. pioneer boys of the great northwest, or with lewis and clark across the rockies. a splendid story describing in detail the great expedition formed under the leadership of lewis and clark, and telling what was done by the pioneer boys who were first to penetrate the wilderness of the northwest. pioneer boys of the gold fields, or the nugget hunters of ' . giving the particulars of the great rush of the gold seekers to california in . in the party making its way across the continent are three boys who become chums, and share in no end of adventures. with custer in the black hills, or a young scout among the indians. tells of the experiences of a youth who, with his parents, goes to the black hills in search of gold. custer's last battle is well described. boys of the fort, or a young captain's pluck. this story of stirring doings at one of our well-known forts in the wild west is of more than ordinary interest. gives a good insight into army life of to-day. the young bandmaster, or concert, stage and battlefield. the hero is a youth who becomes a cornetist in an orchestra, and works his way up to the leadership of a brass band. he is carried off to sea and is taken to cuba, and while there joins a military band which accompanies our soldiers in the attack on santiago. off for hawaii, or the mystery of a great volcano. several boys start on a tour of the hawaiian islands. they have heard that there is a treasure located in the vicinity of kilauea, the largest active volcano in the world, and go in search of it. a sailor boy with dewey, or afloat in the philippines. the story of dewey's victory in manila bay as it appeared to a real, live american youth who was in the navy at the time. many adventures in manila and in the interior follow. when santiago fell, or the war adventures of two chums. two boys leave new york to join their parents in cuba. the war between spain and the cubans is on, and the boys are detained at santiago, but escape across the bay at night. many adventures follow. grosset & dunlap - new york the enterprise books captivating stories for boys by justly popular writers the episodes are graphic, exciting, realistic--the tendency of the tales is to the formation of an honorable and manly character. they are unusually interesting, and convey lessons of pluck, perseverance and manly independence. mo. illustrated. attractively bound in cloth. price, cents per volume. postpaid. moffat, william d. the crimson banner. a story of college baseball a tale that grips one from start to finish. the students are almost flesh and blood, and the contests become real as we read about them. the best all-around college and baseball tale yet presented. graydon, william murray canoe boys and camp fires. in this book we have the doings of several bright and lively boys, who go on a canoeing trip and meet with many exciting happenings. harkness, peter t. andy, the acrobat. or, with the greatest show on earth andy is as bright as a silver dollar. in the book we can smell the sawdust, hear the flapping of the big white canvas and the roaring of the lions, and listen to the merry "hoop la!" of the clown. foster, w. bert the quest of the silver swan. a tale of ocean adventure a youth's story of the deep blue sea--of the search for a derelict carrying a fortune. brandon tarr is a manly lad, and all lads will be eager to learn whether he failed or succeeded in his mission. white, matthew, jr. two boys and a fortune. or, the tyler will if you had been poor and were suddenly left a half-million dollars, what would you do with it? that was the problem that confronted the pell family, and especially the twin brothers, rex and roy. a strong, helpful story, that should be read by every boy in our land. winfield, arthur m. bob, the photographer. or, a hero in spite of himself relates the experiences of a poor boy who falls in with a "camera fiend," and develops a liking for photography. after a number of stirring adventures bob becomes photographer for a railroad; thwarts the plan of those who would injure the railroad corporation and incidently clears a mystery surrounding his parentage. bonehill, captain ralph lost in the land of ice. or, daring adventures round the south pole an expedition is fitted out by a rich young man and with him goes the hero of the tale, a lad who has some knowledge of a treasure ship said to be cast away in the land of ice. the heroes land among the wild indians of patagonia and have many exciting adventures. grosset & dunlap - new york the young reporter series by howard r. garis the author is a practised journalist, and these stories convey a true picture of the workings of a great newspaper. the incidents are taken from life. mo. bound in cloth. illustrated. price, cents per volume. postpaid. from office boy to reporter or the first step in journalism. larry dexter, the young reporter or strange adventures in a great city. larry dexter's great search or the hunt for a missing millionaire. larry dexter and the bank mystery or a young reporter in wall street. larry dexter and the stolen boy or a young reporter on the lakes. * * * * * * the sea treasure series by roy rockwood no manly boy ever grew tired of sea stories--there is a fascination about them, and they are a recreation to the mind. these books are especially interesting and are full of adventure, clever dialogue and plenty of fun. mo. bound in cloth. illustrated. price, cents per volume. postpaid. adrift on the pacific or the secret of the island cave. the cruise of the treasure ship or the castaways of floating island. the rival ocean divers or the search for a sunken treasure. jack north's treasure hunt or daring adventures in south america. grosset & dunlap - new york the dick hamilton series by howard r. garis a new line of clever tales for boys dick hamilton's fortune or the stirring doings of a millionaire's son dick, the son of a millionaire, has a fortune left to him by his mother. but before he can touch the bulk of this money it is stipulated in his mother's will that he must do certain things, in order to prove that he is worthy of possessing such a fortune. the doings of dick and his chums make the liveliest kind of reading. dick hamilton's cadet days or the handicap of a millionaire's son the hero, a very rich young man, is sent to a military academy to make his way without the use of money. a fine picture of life at an up-to-date military academy is given, with target shooting, broadsword exercise, trick riding, sham battles, and all. dick proves himself a hero in the best sense of the word. dick hamilton's steam yacht or a young millionaire and the kidnappers a series of adventures while yachting in which our hero's wealth plays a part. dick is marooned on an island, recovers his yacht and foils the kidnappers. the wrong young man is spirited away, dick gives chase and there is a surprising rescue at sea. dick hamilton's football team or a young millionaire on the gridiron a very interesting account of how dick succeeded in developing a champion team and of the lively contests with other teams. there is also related a number of thrilling incidents in which dick is the central figure. other volumes in preparation. mo. handsomely printed and illustrated, and bound in cloth, stamped in colors. printed wrappers. price, cents per volume, postpaid grosset & dunlap - new york the tom swift series by victor appleton mo, printed from large type on good paper, each volume with half-tone frontispiece. handsomely bound in cloth. printed wrappers. price, cents per volume, postpaid it is the purpose of these spirited tales to convey in a realistic way the wonderful advances in land and sea locomotion. stories like these impress themselves on the youthful memory and their reading is productive only of good. tom swift and his motor cycle or fun and adventure on the road tom swift and his motor boat or the rivals of lake carlopa tom swift and his airship or the stirring cruise of the red cloud tom swift and his submarine boat or under the ocean for sunken treasure tom swift and his electric runabout or the speediest car on the road tom swift and his electric rifle or daring adventures in elephant land tom swift and his sky racer or the quickest flight on record tom swift in the caves of ice or the wreck of the airship tom swift among the diamond makers or the secret of phantom mountain tom swift and his wireless message or the castaways of earthquake island tom swift in the city of gold or marvellous adventures underground tom swift and his air glider or seeking the platinum treasure tom swift in captivity or a daring escape by airship tom swift and his wizard camera or the perils of moving picture taking tom swift and his great searchlight or on the border for uncle sam grosset & dunlap, publishers, new york +------------------------------------------------------------+ | transcriber's note | | | | obvious typographical errors have been corrected in | | this text. for a complete list, please see the bottom of | | this document. | +------------------------------------------------------------+ how i filmed the war _when i was in france i made arrangements with my friend mr. low warren, at that time editor of the_ kinematograph weekly, _to arrange the manuscript i sent him for publication in book form._ _the manuscript has in no way been altered in any material respect, and is in the form in which i originally wrote it._ _geoffrey h. malins._ [illustration: filming the preliminary bombardment of the big push, july st, . a few minutes after this photograph was taken a shell burst within six yards, smashing down the trench walls and half burying me. note the sandbag on a wire in front of my camera for "camouflage"] how i filmed the war a record of the extraordinary experiences of the man who filmed the great somme battles etc. by lieut. geoffrey h. malins, o.b.e. edited by low warren herbert jenkins limited york street, st. james's london, s.w. mcmxx contents part i chapter i a few words of introduction chapter ii with the belgians at ramscapelle page i reach the first line belgian trenches--and become a belgian soldier for the time being--a night attack--an adventure whilst filming a mitrailleuse outpost--among the ruins of ramscapelle--i leave the company and lose my way in the darkness--a welcome light and a long sleep--how little does the public know of the dangers and difficulties a film operator has to face chapter iii with the goumiers at lombartzyde a morning of surprises--the german positions bombarded from the sea--filming the goumiers in action--how these tenacious fighters prepare for battle--goumier habits and customs--i take the chief's photograph for the first time--and afterwards take food with him--an interesting and fruitful adventure ends satisfactorily chapter iv the battle of the sand-dunes a dangerous adventure and what came of it--a race across the sand-dunes--and a spill in a shell-hole--the fate of a spy--a battle in the dunes--of which i secured some fine films--a collision with an obstructive mule chapter v under heavy shell-fire in a trench coat and cap i again run the gauntlet--a near squeak--looking for trouble--i nearly find it--a rough ride and a mud bath--an affair of outposts--i get used to crawling--hot work at the guns--i am reported dead--but prove very much alive--and then receive a shock--a stern chase chapter vi among the snows of the vosges i start for the vosges--am arrested on the swiss frontier--and released--but arrested again--and then allowed to go my way--filming in the firing zone--a wonderful french charge over the snow-clad hills--i take big risks--and get a magnificent picture part ii chapter i how i came to make official war pictures i am appointed an official war office kinematographer--and start for the front line trenches--filming the german guns in action--with the canadians--picturesque hut settlement among the poplars--"hyde park corner"--shaving by candlelight in six inches of water--filming in full view of the german lines, yards away--a big risk, but a realistic picture chapter ii christmas day at the front leave-taking at charing cross--a fruitless search for food on christmas eve--how tommy welcomed the coming of the festive season--"peace on earth, good will to men" to the boom of the big guns--filming the guards' division--and the prince of wales--coming from a christmas service--this year and next chapter iii i get into a warm corner boxing day--but no pantomime--life in the trenches--a sniper at work--sinking a mine shaft--the cheery influence of an irish padre--a cemetery behind the lines--pathetic inscriptions and mementoes on dead heroes' graves--i get into a pretty warm corner--and have some difficulty in getting out again--but all's well that ends well chapter iv the battlefield of neuve chapelle a visit to the old german trenches--reveals a scene of horror that defies description--dodging the shells--i lose the handle of my camera--and then lose my man--the effect of shell-fire on a novice--in the village of neuve chapelle--a scene of devastation--the figure of the lonely christ chapter v filming the prince of wales how i made a "hide-up"--and secured a fine picture of the prince inspecting some gun-pits--his anxiety to avoid the camera--and his subsequent remarks--how a german block-house was blown to smithereens--and the way i managed to film it under fire chapter vi my first visit to ypres and arras greeted on arrival in the ruined city of ypres by a furious fusillade--i film the cloth hall and cathedral, and have a narrow escape--a once beautiful town now little more than a heap of ruins--arras a city of the dead--its cathedral destroyed--but cross and crucifixes unharmed chapter vii the battle of st. eloi filming within forty-five yards of the german trenches--watching for "minnies"--officers' quarters--"something" begins to happen--an early morning bombardment--develops into the battle of st. eloi--which i film from our first-line trench--and obtain a fine picture chapter viii a night attack--and a narrow escape a very lively experience--choosing a position for the camera under fire--i get a taste of gas--witness a night attack by the germans--surprise an officer by my appearance in the trenches--and have one of the narrowest escapes--but fortunately get out with nothing worse than a couple of bullets through my cap chapter ix fourteen thousand feet above the german lines the first kinematograph film taken of the western front--and how i took it whilst travelling through the air at eighty miles an hour--under shell-fire--over ypres--a thrilling experience--and a narrow escape--a five thousand foot dive through space chapter x filming the earth from the clouds chasing an "enemy" aeroplane at a height of , feet--and what came of it--a dramatic adventure in which the pilot played a big part--i get a nasty shock--but am reassured--a freezing experience--filming the earth as we dived almost perpendicularly--a picture that would defy the most ardent futurist to paint chapter xi preparing for the "big push" the threshold of tremendous happenings--general ----'s speech to his men on the eve of battle--choosing my position for filming the "big push"--under shell-fire--a race of shrieking devils--fritz's way of "making love"--i visit the "white city"--and on the way have another experience of gas shells chapter xii filming under fire the general's speech to the fusiliers before going into action--filming the -inch howitzers--a miniature earthquake--"the day" is postponed--keeping within "the limits"--a surprise meeting in the trenches--a reminder of other days--i get into a tight corner--and have an unpleasantly hot experience--i interview a trench mortar--have a lively quarter of an hour--and then get off chapter xiii the dawn of july first a firework display heralds the arrival of "the day"--how the boys spent their last few hours in the trenches--rats as bedfellows--i make an early start--and get through a mine-shaft into "no man's land"--the great event draws near--anxious moments--the men fix bayonets--and wait the word of command to "go over the top" chapter xiv the day and the hour a mighty convulsion signalises the commencement of operations--then our boys "go over the top"--a fine film obtained whilst shells rained around me--my apparatus is struck--but, thank goodness, the camera is safe--arrival of the wounded--"am i in the picture?" they ask chapter xv roll-call after the fight a glorious band of wounded heroes stagger into line and answer the call--i visit a stricken friend in a dug-out--on the way to la boisselle i get lost in the trenches--and whilst filming unexpectedly come upon the german line--i have a narrow squeak of being crumped--but get away safely--and later commandeer a couple of german prisoners to act as porters chapter xvi editing a battle film the process described in detail--developing the negative--its projection on the screen--cutting--titling--joining--printing the positive--building up the story--it is submitted to the military censors at general headquarters--and after being cut and approved by them--is ready for public exhibition chapter xvii the horrors of trones wood three times i try and fail to reach this stronghold of the dead--which has been described as "hell on earth"--at a dressing station under fire--smoking two cigarettes at a time to keep off the flies--some amusing trench conversations by men who had lost their way--i turn in for the night--and have a dead bosche for company chapter xviii filming at poziÈres and contalmaison looking for "thrills"--and how i got them--i pass through "sausage valley," on the way to pozières--you _may_ and you _might_--what a tommy found in a german dug-out--how fritz got "some of his own" back--taking pictures in what was once pozières--"proofs ready to-morrow" chapter xix along the western front with the king his majesty's arrival at boulogne--at g.h.q.--general burstall's appreciation--the king on the battlefield of fricourt--within range of the enemy's guns--his majesty's joke outside a german dug-out--his memento from a hero's grave--his visit to a casualty clearing station--the king and the puppy--once in disgrace--now a hospital mascot chapter xx king and president meet an historic gathering--in which king and president, joffre and haig take part--his majesty and the little french girl--i am permitted to film the king and his distinguished guests--a visit to the king of the belgians--a cross-channel journey--and home chapter xxi the hush! hush!--a weird and fearful creature something in the wind--an urgent message to report at headquarters--and what came of it--i hear for the first time of the "hush! hush!"--and try to discover what it is--a wonderful night scene--dawn breaks and reveals a marvellous monster--what is it? chapter xxii the juggernaut car of battle a weird-looking object makes its first appearance upon the battlefield--and surprises us almost as much as it surprised fritz--a death-dealing monster that did the most marvellous things--and left the ground strewn with corpses--realism of the tank pictures chapter xxiii where the village of guillemont was an awful specimen of war devastation--preparing for an advance--giving the bosche "jumps"--breakfast under fire--my camera fails me just before the opening of the attack--but i manage to set it right and get some fine pictures--our guns "talk!" like the crack of a thousand thunders--a wonderful doctor chapter xxiv fighting in a sea of mud inspecting a tank that was _hors de combat_--all that was left of mouquet farm--a german underground fortress--a trip in the bowels of the earth--a weird and wonderful experience chapter xxv the eve of great events a choppy cross-channel trip--i indulge in a reverie--and try to peer into the future--at headquarters again--trying to cross the river somme on an improvised raft--in peronne after the german evacuation--a specimen of hunnish "kultur" chapter xxvi an uncanny adventure exploring the unknown--a silence that could be felt--in the village of villers-carbonel--a cat and its kittens in an odd retreat--brooks' penchant for "souvenirs"--the first troops to cross the somme chapter xxvii the germans in retreat the enemy destroy everything as they go--clearing away the débris of the battlefield--and repairing the damage done by the huns--an enormous mine crater--a reception by french peasants--"les anglais! les anglais!"--stuck on the road to bovincourt chapter xxviii the story of an "armoured car" about which i could a tale unfold possibilities--food for famished villagers--meeting the mayoress of bovincourt--who presides at a wonderful impromptu ceremony--a scrap outside vraignes--a church full of refugees--a true pal--a meal with the mayor of bierne chapter xxix before st. quentin the "hindenburg" line--a diabolical piece of vandalism--brigadier h.q. in a cellar--a fight in mid-air--waiting for the taking of st. quentin--_l'envoi_ illustrations filming the preliminary bombardment of the "big push," july st, _frontispiece_ to face page with a group of belgian officers at furnes, belgium, on skis in the vosges mountains just before the french attack, february and march, using my aeroscope in belgium, - how i carried my film in the early days of the war in belgium and the vosges mountains the state of the trenches in which we lived and slept (?) for weeks on end during the first and second winter of war our dug-outs in the front line at picantin in which we lived, fought, and many died during - , before the days of tin hats choosing a position for my camera in the front line trench at picantin. with the guards. winter, - the prince of wales trying to locate my "camouflaged camera" the prince of wales leaving a temporary church at la gorgue, xmas day, on the way to the "menin gate" with an artillery officer to film our guns in action taking scenes in devastated ypres, may, in ypres, with "baby" brooks, the official still photographer, may, with my aeroscope camera after filming the battle of st. eloi in the main street of contalmaison the day of its capture launching a smoke barrage at the battle of st. eloi in the trenches at the famous and deadly "hohenzollern redoubt," after a german attack in a shell-hole in "no man's land" filming our heavy bombardment of the german lines geoffrey h. malins, o.b.e., official kinematographer to the war office bombarding the german trenches at the opening battle of the great somme fight, july st, my official pass to the front line to film the battle of the somme, july st, the plan of attack at beaumont hamel, july st, over the top of beaumont hamel, july st, in the sunken road at beaumont hamel, just before zero hour, july st, in a trench mortar tunnel, during the battle of the somme, at beaumont hamel, july st, the opening of the great battle of the somme, july st, the roll call of the seaforths at "white city," beaumont hamel, july st, fagged out in the "white city" after we retired to our trenches, july st, the germans make a big counter attack at la boisselle and ovillers, july rd and th, men of scotland rushing a mine crater at the deadly "hohenzollern redoubt" filming the king during his visit to france in . he is accompanied by president poincarÉ, sir douglas haig, general joffre and general foch his majesty the king, with president poincarÉ, in france, her majesty, the queen of the belgians, taking a snap of me at work while filming the king the prince of wales speaking with belgian officers at la panne, belgium the first "tank" that went into action, h.m.l.s. "daphne." september th, the battlefield of "ginchy" reserves watching the attack at martinpuich, september th, over the top at martinpuich, sept. th, two minutes to zero hour at martinpuich, sept. th, the highland brigade going over the top at martinpuich, september th, lord kitchener's last visit to france filming our guns in action during the great german retreat to st. quentin, march, the quarry from which i crawled to film the german trenches in front of st. quentin, our outpost line within yards of st. quentin part i how i filmed the war chapter i a few words of introduction fate has not been unkind to me. i have had my chances, particularly during the last two or three years, and--well, i have done my best to make the most of what has come my way. that and nothing more. how i came to be entrusted with the important commission of acting as official war office kinematographer is an interesting story, and the first few chapters of this book recount the sequence of events that led up to my being given the appointment. let me begin by saying that i am not a writer, i am just a "movie man," as they called me out there. my mind is stored full to overflowing with the impressions of all i have seen and heard; recollections of adventures crowd upon me thick and fast. thoughts flash through my mind, and almost tumble over one another as i strive to record them. yet at times, when i take pen in hand to write them down, they seem to elude me for the moment, and make the task more difficult than i had anticipated. in the following chapters i have merely aimed at setting down, in simple language, a record of my impressions, so far as i can recall them, of what i have seen of many and varied phases of the great drama which has now been played to a finish on the other side of the english channel. most of those recollections were penned at odd moments, soon after the events chronicled, when they were still fresh in mind, often within range of the guns. it was my good fortune for two years to be one of the official war office kinematographers. i was privileged to move about on the western front with considerable freedom. my actions were largely untrammelled; i had my instructions to carry out; my superiors to satisfy; my work to do; and i endeavoured to do all that has been required of me to the best of my ability, never thinking of the cost, or consequences, to myself of an adventure so long as i secured a pictorial record of the deeds of our heroic army in france. i have striven to make my pictures worthy of being preserved as a permanent memorial of the greatest drama in history. that is the keynote of this record. as an official kinematographer i have striven to be, and i have tried all the time to realise that i was the eyes of the millions of my fellow-countrymen at home. in my pictures i have endeavoured to catch something of the glamour, as well as the awful horror of it all. i have caught a picture here, a picture there; a scene in this place, a scene in that; and all the time at the back of my mind has always been the thought: "that will give them some idea of things as they are out here." my pictures have never been taken with the idea of merely making pictures, nor with the sole idea, as some people think, of merely providing a "thrill." i regarded my task in a different light to that. to me has been entrusted the task of securing for the enlightenment and education of the people of to-day, and of future generations, such a picture as will stir their imaginations and thrill their hearts with pride. this by way of introduction. now to proceed with my task, the telling of the adventures of a kinematograph camera man in war-time. from my early days i was always interested in photography, and boyish experiments eventually led me along the path to my life's vocation. in time i took up the study of kinematography, and joined the staff of the clarendon film company (of london and croydon), one of the pioneer firms in the industry. there i learned much and made such progress that in time i was entrusted with the filming of great productions, which cost thousands of pounds to make. from there i went to the gaumont company, and i was in the service of this great anglo-french film organisation when war broke out. during the early days of the autumn of i was busily occupied in filming various scenes in connection with the war in different parts of the country. one day when i was at the london office of the company i was sent for by the chief. "we want a man to go out to belgium and get some good 'stuff.' [stuff, let me say, is the technical or slang term for film pictures.] how would you like to go?" "go?" i asked. "i'm ready. when? now?" "as soon as you like." "right, i'm ready," i said, without a moment's hesitation, little thinking of the nature of the adventure upon which i was so eager to embark. and so it came about. provided with the necessary cash, and an aeroscope camera, i started off next day, and the following chapters record a few of my adventures in search of pictorial material for the screen. chapter ii with the belgians at ramscapelle i reach the first line belgian trenches--and become a belgian soldier for the time being--a night attack--an adventure whilst filming a mitrailleuse outpost--among the ruins of ramscapelle--i leave the company and lose my way in the darkness--a welcome light and a long sleep--how little does the public know of the dangers and difficulties a film operator has to face. leaving london, i crossed to france. i arranged, as far as possible, to get through from calais to furnes, and with the greatest of good luck i managed it, arriving at my destination at eleven o'clock at night. as usual, it was raining hard. starting out next day for the front line, i reached the district where a battalion was resting--i was allowed in their quarters. addressing one of the men, i asked if he could speak english. "non, monsieur," and making a sign to me to remain he hurried off. back came the fellow with an officer. "what do you want, monsieur?" said he in fine english. "you speak english well," i replied. "yes, monsieur, i was in england for four years previous to the war." so i explained my position. "i want to accompany you to the trenches to take some kinema films." after exchanging a few words he took me to his superior officer, who extended every courtesy to me. i explained to him what i was desirous of doing. "but it is extraordinary, monsieur, that you should take such risks for pictures. you may in all probability get shot." "possibly, sir," i replied, "but to obtain genuine scenes one must be absolutely in the front line." "ah, you english," he said, "you are _extraordinaire_." suddenly taking me by the arm, he led me to an outhouse. at the door we met his captain. introducing me, he began to explain my wishes. by the looks and the smiles, i knew things were going well for me. calling the interpreter, the captain said, "if you accompany my men to the trenches you may get killed. you must take all risks. i cannot be held responsible, remember!" and with a smile, he turned and entered the house. hardly realising my good fortune, i nearly hugged my new friend, the lieutenant. "monsieur," i said, saluting, "i am un belge soldat _pro tem_." laughingly he told me to get my kit ready, and from a soldier who could speak english i borrowed a water-bottle and two blankets. going round to the back of the farm, i came upon the rest of the men being served out with coffee from a copper. awaiting my turn, i had my water-bottle filled; then the bread rations were served out with tinned herrings. obtaining my allowance, i stowed it away in my knapsack, rolled up my blanket and fixed it on my back, and was ready. then the "fall in" was sounded. what a happy-go-lucky lot! no one would have thought these men were going into battle, and that many of them would probably not return. this, unfortunately, turned out to be only too true. in my interest in the scene and anxiety to film it, i was forgetting to put my own house in order. "what if i don't come back?" i suddenly thought. begging some paper, i wrote a letter, addressed to my firm, telling them where i had gone, and where to call at furnes for my films in the event of my being shot. addressing it, i left it in charge of an officer, to be posted if i did not return, and requested that if anything happened to me my stuff should be left at my café in furnes. shaking me by the hand, he said he sincerely hoped it would not be necessary. laughingly i bade him adieu. falling in with the other men we started off, with the cheers and good wishes of those left behind ringing in our ears. it was still raining, and, as we crossed the fields of mud, i began to feel the weight of my equipment pressing on my shoulders, which with my camera and spare films made my progress very slow. many a time during that march the men offered to help me, but, knowing that they had quite enough to do in carrying their own load, i stubbornly refused. on we went, the roar of the guns getting nearer: over field after field, fully eighteen inches deep in mud, and keeping as close to hedges as possible, to escape detection from hostile aeroplanes. near a bridge we were stopped by an officer. "what's the matter?" i asked of my interpreter. not knowing, he went to enquire. an order was shouted. the whole regiment rushed for cover to a hedge which ran by the roadside. i naturally followed. my friend told me that the germans had sent up an observation balloon, so we dare not advance until nightfall, or they would be sure to see us and begin shelling our column before we arrived at the trenches. in the rain we sat huddled close together. notwithstanding the uncomfortable conditions, i was very thankful for the rest. night came, and we got the word to start again. progress was becoming more difficult than ever, and i only kept myself from many a time falling headlong by clinging on to my nearest companion; he did likewise. ye gods! what a night, and what a sight! raining hard, a strong wind blowing, and the thick, black, inky darkness every now and then illuminated by the flash of the guns. death was certainly in evidence to-night. one felt it. the creative genius of the weirdest, imaginative artist could not have painted a scene of death so truthfully. the odour arising from decaying bodies in the ground was at times almost overwhelming. we had been conversing generally during the march, but now word was passed that we were not to speak under any circumstances, not until we were in the trenches. a whispered order came that every man must hold on to the comrade in front of him, and bear to the left. reaching the trench allotted to us, we went along it in single file, up to our knees in water. sometimes a plank had been thrown along it, or bricks, but generally there was nothing but mud to plough through. "halt!" came the command to the section i was with. "this is our shelter, monsieur," said a voice. gropingly, i followed the speaker on hands and knees. the shelter was about feet long, feet inches high, the same in width, and made of old boards. on the top, outside, was about inches of earth, to render it as far as possible shrapnel-proof. on the floor were some boards, placed on bricks and covered with soddened straw. there was just enough room for four of us. rolling ourselves in our blankets we lay down, and by the light of an electric torch we ravenously ate our bread and herrings. i enjoyed that simple meal as much as the finest dinner i have ever had placed before me. whilst eating, a messenger came and warned us to be prepared for an attack. heavy rifle-fire was taking place, both on the right and left of our position. "well," thought i, "this is a good start; they might have waited for daylight, i could then film their proceedings." at any rate, if the attack came, i hoped it would last through the next day. switching off the light, we lay down and awaited events. but not for long. the order came to man the trench. out we tumbled, and took up our positions. suddenly out of the blackness, in the direction of the german positions, came the rattle of rifle-fire, and the bullets began to whistle overhead. keeping as low as possible, we replied, firing in quick succession at the flashes of the enemy rifles. this continued throughout the night. towards morning a fog settled down, which blocked out our view of each other, and there was a lull in the fighting. at midday the attack started again. taking my apparatus, i filmed a section of belgians in action. several times bullets whistled unpleasantly near my head. passing along the trench, i filmed a mitrailleuse battery in action, which was literally mowing down the germans as fast as they appeared. then i filmed another section of men, while the bullets were flying all around them. several could not resist looking round and laughing at the camera. whilst thus engaged, several shells fell within thirty feet of me. two failed to explode; another exploded and sent a lump of mud full in my face. with great spluttering, and i must admit a little swearing, i quickly cleaned it off. then i filmed a large shell-hole filled with water, caused by the explosion of a german "jack johnson." the diameter was feet across, and, roughly, feet deep in the centre. at the other end of the line i filmed a company damming the canal, to turn it into the german trenches. then i cautiously made my way back, and filmed a section being served with hot coffee while under fire. coming upon some men warming themselves round a bucket-stove, i joined the circle for a little warmth. how comforting it was in that veritable morass. even as we chatted we were subjected to a heavy shrapnel attack, and the way we all scuttled to the trench huts was a sight for the gods. it was one mad scramble of laughing soldiers. plunk--plunk--plunk--came the shells, not - feet from where we were sitting by the fire. six shells fell in our position, one failed to explode. i had a bet with a belgian officer that it was feet from us. he bet me it was feet. not to be done, i roughly measured off a yard stick, and left the shelter of the trench to measure the distance. it turned out to be feet. just as i had finished, i heard three more shells come shrieking towards me. i simply dived for the trench, and luckily reached it just in time. towards evening our artillery shelled a farm-house about three-quarters of a mile distant, where the germans had three guns hidden, and through the glasses i watched the shells drop into the building and literally blow it to pieces. unfortunately, it was too far off to film it satisfactorily. that night was practically a repetition of the previous one. the trench was attacked the greater part of the time, and bullets continually spattered against the small iron plate. next morning i decided to try and film the mitrailleuse outpost on a little spot of land in the floods, only connected by a narrow strip of grass-land just high enough to be out of reach of the water. still keeping low under cover of the trenches, i made my way in that direction. several officers tried to persuade me not to go, but knowing it would make an excellent scene, i decided to risk it. on the side of the bank nearest our front line the ground sloped at a more abrupt angle, the distance from the trench to the outpost being about sixty yards. rushing over the top of the parapet, i got to the edge of the grass road and crouched down. the water up to my knees, i made my way carefully along. twice i stumbled over dead bodies. at last i reached the outpost safely, but during the last few yards i must have raised myself a little too high, for the next minute several bullets splashed into the water where i had been. the outpost was very surprised when i made my appearance, and expressed astonishment that i had not been shot. "a miss is as good as a mile," i laughingly replied, and then i told them i had come to film them at work. this i proceeded to do, and got an excellent scene of the mitrailleuse in action, and the other section loading up. the frightful slaughter done by these guns is indescribable. nothing can possibly live under the concentrated fire of these weapons, as the germans found to their cost that day. after getting my scenes, i thanked the officer, and was about to make my way back; but he forbade me to risk it, telling me to wait until night and return under cover of the darkness. to this i agreed, and that night left the outpost with the others when the relief party came up. shortly after news was received that we were to be relieved from duty in the trenches for the next forty-eight hours; the relief column was on its way to take our places. i was delighted, for i had been wet through during the days and nights i had been there, but was fully satisfied that i had got some real live films. hastily packing up my equipment, i stood waiting the signal to move off. at last the relief came up. holding each other's hands, we carefully made our way in indian file along the trench, on to the road, and into ramscapelle. [illustration: with a group of belgian officers at furnes, belgium, . one of them used to act as my courier] [illustration: on skis in the vosges mountains just before the french attack, february and march, ] what a terrible sight it was! the skeletons of houses stood grim and gaunt, and the sound of the wind rushing through the ruins was like the moaning of the spirits of the dead inhabitants crying aloud for vengeance. the sounds increased in volume as we neared this scene of awful desolation, and the groans became a crescendo of shrieks which, combined with the crash of shell-fire, made one's blood run cold. leaving the ruins behind we gained the main road, and on arriving at the bridge where we had stopped on our journey out, i parted with the company, thinking to make my way to a café by a short cut over some fields. i wished to heaven afterwards that i had not done so. i cut across a ditch, feeling my way as much as possible with a stick. but i had not gone far before i knew i had lost my way. the rain was driving pitilessly in my face, but i stumbled on in the inky darkness, often above my knees in thick clay mud. several times i thought i should never reach the road. it was far worse than being under fire. i must have staggered along for about two miles when i perceived a light ahead. never was sight more welcome. remember, i had about fifty to sixty pounds weight on my back, and having had little or no sleep for five nights my physical strength was at a low ebb. it seemed hours before i reached that house, and when at last i got there i collapsed on the floor. i struggled up again in a few minutes, and asked the bewildered occupants to give me hot coffee, and after resting for an hour, i made again for furnes reaching it in the early hours of the morning. going to my café, i went to bed, and slept for eighteen hours; the following day i packed up and returned to london. a day or two afterwards i was sitting comfortably in a cushioned chair in the private theatre at our london office watching these selfsame scenes being projected upon the screen. ah! thought i, how little does the great public, for whom they are intended, know of the difficulties and dangers, the trials and tribulations, the kinematograph camera man experiences in order to obtain these pictures. chapter iii with the goumiers at lombartzyde a morning of surprises--the german positions bombarded from the sea--filming the goumiers in action--how these tenacious fighters prepare for battle--goumier habits and customs--i take the chief's photograph for the first time--and afterwards take food with him--an interesting and fruitful adventure ends satisfactorily. once more i went to furnes, and while sipping my coffee at the café i heard a remark made about the goumiers (the arab horsemen employed by the french as scouts). quickly realising the possibilities in a film of such a body of men, i made enquiries of the speakers as to their whereabouts. "ah, monsieur, they are on the sand-dunes near nieuport. they are veritable fiends, monsieur, with the bosches, who run away from them like cats. they are terrible fighters." after such a glowing account, i thought the sooner i interviewed these fighters the better. starting out next morning, i made a bee-line for the coast. i soon began to hear the sharp crackle of rifle-fire, and artillery on my right opened fire on the german position, and then the heavy boom, boom of the guns from the sea. looking in that direction, i discerned several of our battleships opening fire, the shells giving a fearful shriek as they passed overhead. the germans were certainly in for it that day. keeping along the bottom of the dunes, i observed a goumier encampment in the distance. at that moment there came a rasping voice on my right. "halt!" this certainly was a morning of surprises. "ah," i said, with a laugh, "you startled me." "i am sorry, monsieur," he said. "the password, if you please?" "it is not necessary," i replied. "i wish to speak to your officer. i will go by myself to the officer in charge, it is not necessary for you to leave your post. direct me to headquarters, and tell me your captain's name." "captain ----, monsieur. he is billeted in that house which is half destroyed by shell-fire. be careful, monsieur, and keep low, or you will draw the fire on you." he saluted, and turned back to his post. making straight for the ruined house in question, i observed a sentry on guard at the door. this, i perceived, led to a cellar. i asked to see the captain. the man saluted and entered the house, appearing in a few minutes with his chief. i saluted, and bade him "good morning," extending my hand, which he grasped in a hearty handshake. i straightway explained my business, and asked him for his co-operation in securing some interesting films of the goumiers in action. he replied that he would be glad to assist me as far as possible. "you will greatly help me, sir," i said, "if you can roughly give me their location." "that i cannot do," he replied, "but follow my directions, and take your chance. i will, however, accompany you a short distance." we started out, keeping as much to the seashore as possible. "keep low," the captain said, "the place is thick with bosche snipers." i certainly needed no second warning, for i had experienced those gentry before. "our goumiers are doing splendid work here on the dunes. it is, of course, like home to them among the sand-heaps." our conversation was suddenly cut short by the shriek of a shell coming in our direction. simultaneously we fell flat on the sand, and only just in time, for on the other side of the dune the shell fell and exploded, shaking the ground like a miniature earthquake and throwing clouds of sand in our direction. "they have started on our encampment again," the captain said, "but our huts are quite impervious to their shells; the sand is finer than armourplate." several more shells came hurtling overheard, but fell some distance behind us. looking over the top of the dune, i expected to see an enormous hole, caused by the explosion, but judge my surprise on seeing hardly any difference. the sides of the cavity had apparently fallen in again. a short distance further on the captain said he would leave me. "you can start now," and he pointed in the distance to a moving object in the sand, crawling along on its stomach for all the world like a snake. "i will go," he said, "and if you see the chief of the goumiers, tell him i sent you." with a handshake we parted. i again turned to look at the goumier scout, his movements fascinated me. keeping low under the top of the dune, i made for a small hill, from which i decided to film him. reaching there, i did so. i then saw, going in opposite directions, two more scouts, each proceeding to crawl slowly in the same fashion as the first. "this film certainly will be unique," i thought. who could imagine that within half an hour's ride of this whirling sand, with full-blooded arabs moving about upon it, the soldiers of belgium are fighting in two feet of mud and water, and have been doing so for months past. no one would think so to look at it. a rattle of musketry on my right served as a hint that there were other scenes to be secured. making my way in the direction of the sound, i came upon a body of goumiers engaged in sniping at the germans. i filmed them, and was just moving away when the interpreter of the company stopped and questioned me. i told him of my previous conversation with the captain, which satisfied him. "well," he said, "you are just in time to catch a troop going off on a scouting expedition," and he led the way to a large dune looking down on the sea, and there just moving off was the troop. what a magnificent picture they made, sitting on their horses. they seemed to be part of them. veritable black statues they looked, and their movements were like a finely tensioned spring. hastily filming the troop, i hurried across and succeeded in obtaining some scenes of another detachment proceeding further on the flank, and as they wound in and out up the sand-hills, i managed to get into a splendid point of vantage, and filmed them coming towards me. their wild savage huzzas, as they passed, were thrilling in the extreme. looking round, i perceived a curious-looking group a short distance away, going through what appeared to be some devotional ceremony. hastening down the hill, i crossed to the group, which turned out to be under the command of the chief of the goumiers himself, who was going through a short ceremony with some scouts, previous to their meeting the germans. it was quite impressive. forming the four men up in line, the chief gave each of them instructions, waving signs and symbols over their heads and bodies, then with a chant sent them on their journey. the actual obeisance was too sacred in itself to film. i was told by the interpreter afterwards that he was glad i did not do so, as they would have been very wrath? a few words about the customs of the goumiers may not be out of place. these men are the aristocracy of the algerian arabs; men of independent means in their own land. at the outbreak of war they patriotically combined under their chief, and offered themselves to the french government, which gladly accepted their services for work on the sand-dunes of flanders. the troop bore the whole cost of their outfit and transport. they brought their own native transport system with them. the men obey none but their chief, at whose bidding they would, i believe, even go through hell itself. all arguments, quarrels, and discussions in the troop are brought before the chief, whose word and judgment is law. on the dunes of northern flanders they had their own encampment, conducted in their own native style. they looked after their horses with as much care as a fond mother does her child. the harness and trappings were magnificently decorated with beautiful designs in mother-of-pearl and gold, and the men, when astride their horses and garbed in their long flowing white _burnouses_, looked the very personification of dignity. the chief never handles a rifle, it would be beneath his position to do so. he is the head, and lives up to it in every respect possible. i filmed him by the side of his horse. it was the first time he had been photographed. returning to the point where the scouts were leaving, i decided to follow close behind them, on the chance of getting some good scenes. strapping my camera on my back, and pushing a tuft of grass under the strap, to disguise it as much as possible if viewed from the front, i crawled after them. one may think that crawling on the sand is easy; well, all i can say to those who think so is, "try it." i soon found it was not so easy as it looked, especially under conditions where the raising of one's body two or three inches above the top of the dune might be possibly asking for a bullet through it, and drawing a concentrated fire in one's direction. i had crawled in this fashion for about yards, when i heard a shell come shrieking in my direction. with a plunk it fell, and exploded about forty feet away, choking me with sand and half blinding me for about five minutes. the acrid fumes, too, which came from it, seemed to tighten my throat, making respiration very difficult for some ten minutes afterwards. cautiously looking round, i tried to locate the other scouts, but nowhere could they be seen. i crawled for another thirty yards or so, but still no sign of them. deciding that if i continued by myself i had everything to lose and nothing to gain, i concluded that discretion was the better part of valour. possibly the buzzing sensation in my throat, and the smarting of my eyes, helped me in coming to that decision, so i retraced my steps, or rather crawl. getting back to the encampment, i bathed my eyes in water, which quickly soothed them. in a short time news came in that the scouts were returning. hurrying to the spot indicated, i was just in time to film them on their arrival. the exultant look on their faces told me that they had done good work. i then filmed a general view of the encampment, and several other interesting scenes, and was just on the point of departing when the chief asked me to partake of some food with him. being very hungry, i accepted the invitation, and afterwards, over a cup of coffee and cigarettes, i obtained through an interpreter some very interesting information. the night being now well advanced, i bade the chief adieu, and striking out across the dunes i made for furnes. the effect of the star-shells sent up by the germans was very wonderful. they shed a vivid blue light all round, throwing everything up with startling clearness. after about a mile i was suddenly brought up by the glitter of a sentry's bayonet. "password, monsieur." flashing a lamp in my face, the man evidently recognised me, for he had seen me with his officer that day, and the next moment he apologised for stopping me. "pardon, monsieur," he said. "pass, monsieur anglais, pardon!" accepting his apologies, i moved off in the direction of furnes, where, after reviewing the events of the previous days, i came to the conclusion that i had every reason to be thankful that i had once more returned from an interesting and fruitful adventure with a whole skin. chapter iv the battle of the sand-dunes a dangerous adventure and what came of it--a race across the sand-dunes--and a spill in a shell-hole--the fate of a spy--a battle in the dunes--of which i secured some fine films--a collision with an obstructive mule. i arrived at oost-dunkerque, which place i decided to use as a base for this journey, chiefly because it was on the main route to nieuport bain. having on my previous visit proceeded on foot, and returned successfully, i decided that i should go by car. to get what i required meant that i should have to pass right through the french lines. finding out a chauffeur who had previously helped me, i explained my plans to him. "well, monsieur," he said, "i will try and help you, but for me it is not possible to get you through. i am stationed here indefinitely, but i have a friend who drives an armoured car. i will ask him to do it." we then parted; i was to meet him with his friend that night. i packed my things as close as possible, tying two extra spools of film in a package round my waist under my coat, put on my knapsack, and drew my balaclava helmet well down over my chin. anxiously i awaited my friends. seven o'clock--eight o'clock--nine o'clock. "were they unable to come for me?" "was there some hitch in the arrangement?" these thoughts flashed through my mind, when suddenly i heard a voice call behind me. "monsieur, monsieur!" [illustration: using my aeroscope camera in belgium, - ] turning, i saw my chauffeur friend beckoning to me. hurrying forward, i asked if all was well. "oui, monsieur. i will meet you by the railway cutting." this was the beginning of an adventure which i shall always remember. i had been up at the bridge some two minutes, when the armoured car glided up. "up, monsieur," came a voice, and up i got. placing my camera by the side of the mitrailleuse, i sat by my chauffeur, and we started off for the french lines. dashing along roads covered with shell-holes, i marvelled again and again at the man's wonderful driving. heaps of times we escaped a smash-up by a hair's-breadth. on we went over the dunes; the night was continuously lighted up by flashes from the big guns, both french and german. we were pulled up with a jerk, which sent me flying over the left wheel, doing a somersault, and finally landing head first into a lovely soft sandbank. spluttering and staggering to my feet, i looked round for the cause of my sudden exit from the car, and there in the glare of the headlight were two french officers. both were laughing heartily and appreciating the joke. as i had not hurt myself, i joined in. after our hilarity had subsided they apologised, and hoped i had not hurt myself. seeing that i was an an englishman, they asked me where i was going. i replied, "to nieuport bain." they asked me if my chauffeur might take a message to the captain of the ---- chasseurs. "yes, yes," i replied, "with pleasure." thinking that by staying every second might be dangerous, i asked the officers to give the message, and we would proceed. they did so, and again apologising for their abrupt appearance, they bade us "good night." i hurriedly bade the driver start off, and away we went. he evidently had not got over his nervousness, for, after going about three-quarters of a mile, we ran into a large, partially filled shell-hole, burying the front wheels above the axle. to save myself from a second dive i clutched hold of the mitrailleuse. this was a position indeed! scooping away as much sand as possible from the front wheels, we put on full power, and tried to back the car out of it. but as the rear wheels were unable to grip in the sand it would not budge. while there the germans must have seen our light, for suddenly a star-shell shot up from their position, illuminating the ground for a great distance. i swiftly pinched the tube of our headlight, so putting it out, then dropped full length on the sand. i observed my companion had done the same. we lay there for about ten minutes, not knowing what to expect, but luckily nothing happened. it was obvious that we could not move the car without assistance, so shouldering my apparatus we started to walk the remaining distance. twice we were held up by sentries, but by giving the password we got through. enquiring for the headquarters of captain ----, we were directed to a ruined house which had been destroyed by german shell-fire. "mon capitaine is in the cellar, monsieur." thinking that it would be a better introduction if i personally delivered the message to the captain, i asked my chauffeur to let me do so. asking the sentry at the door to take me to his captain, we passed down some dozen steps and into a comfortably furnished cellar. sitting round a little table were seven officers. i asked for captain ----. "he is not here, monsieur," said one. "is it urgent?" "i do not know," i replied. i was trying to form another reply in french, when an officer asked me in english if he could be of any service. i told him that an officer had given me a message to deliver on my journey here, but owing to an accident to the car i had had to walk. taking the letter, he said he would send a messenger to the captain with it. "you must be hungry, monsieur. will you share a snack with us?" gladly accepting their hospitality, i sat down with them. "are you from london?" he asked. "yes," i said. "do you know it?" "yes, yes," he replied. "i was for three years there. but are you _militaire_?" he enquired. "well, hardly that," i confess. "i am here to take kinema records of the war. i have come in this direction to film an action on the sand-dunes. will you help me?" "i will do what i can for you," he replied. "we expect to make a sortie to-morrow morning. it will be very risky for you." "i will take my chance," i replied, "with you." whilst our conversation proceeded, i noticed a scuffling on the cellar steps, then into the room came four soldiers with a man in peasant's clothes. he turned out to be a spy caught signalling in the dunes. they brought him in to have a cup of coffee before taking him out to be shot. he was asked if he would take sugar; his reply was "no." presently there was a shot outside, and there was one spy the less. the captain returned and, after explanations, made me understand that he would accept no responsibility for my safety. those conditions i did not mind a scrap. rolling myself in a blanket, i tumbled in. "what would the morrow bring forth?" i wondered. i was up next morning at four o'clock. everywhere there was a state of suppressed excitement. outside the men were preparing, but there was not the least sign of confusion anywhere. to look at them one would not imagine these men were going out to fight, knowing that some of them at least would not return again. but it is war, and sentiment has no place in their thoughts. the order came to line up. hours before the scouts had gone out to prepare the ground. they had not returned yet. personally, i hoped they would not turn up till the day was a little more advanced. eight o'clock; still not sufficient light for filming. a lieutenant came to me, and said if i would go carefully along the sand-dunes in the direction he suggested, possibly it would be better; he would say no more. i did so; and i had only gone about half a kilometre when, chancing to turn back, i spied coming over the dunes on my right two scouts, running for all they were worth. quietly getting my camera into position, i started exposing, being certain this was the opening of the attack. i was not mistaken, for within a few minutes the advance guard came hurrying up in the distance; the attack was about to begin. suddenly the french guns opened fire; they were concealed some distance in the rear. shells then went at it thick and fast, shrieking one after the other overhead. the advance guard opened out, clambered up the dunes, and disappeared over the top, i filming them. i waited until the supporting column came up, and filmed them also. i followed them up and over the dunes. deploying along the top, they spread out about six metres apart, with the object of deceiving the germans as to their numbers, until the supporting column reached them. the battle of musketry then rang out. cautiously advancing with a company, i filmed them take the offensive and make for a large dune forty yards ahead. successfully reaching it they lay down and fired in rapid succession. crawling up, i managed to take a fine scene of the attack, showing the explosion of two french shells over the ruins of the town. the germans evidently found our range, for several shells came whistling unpleasantly near me. what followed was a succession of scenes, showing the covering columns advancing and others moving round on the flank. the germans lost very heavily in this engagement, and great progress was made by the gallant french. while filming a section of the flanking party, i had the nearest acquaintance with a shell that i shall ever wish for. i don't think it would have been the good fortune of many to have such an experience and come scathless out of it. i was kneeling filming the scene, when i heard a shell hurtling in my direction. knowing that if i moved i might as likely run into it as not, i remained where i was, still operating my camera, when an explosion occurred just behind me, which sounded as if the earth itself had cracked. the concussion threw me with terrific force head over heels into the sand. the explosion seemed to cause a vacuum in the air for some distance around, for try as i would i could not get my breath. i lay gasping and struggling like a drowning man for what seemed an interminable length of time, although it could have only been a few seconds. at last i pulled round; my first thought was for my camera. i saw it a short distance away, half buried in the sand. picking it up, i was greatly relieved to find it uninjured, but choked with sand round the lens, which i quickly cleared. the impression on my body, caused by the concussion of the exploding shell, seemed as if the whole of one side of me had been struck with something soft, yet with such terrible force that i felt it all over at the same moment. that is the best way i can describe it, and i assure you i don't wish for a second interview. noticing some blood upon my hand, i found a small wound on the knuckle. whether or no it was caused by a small splinter from the shell, i cannot say; in all probability it was, for i do not think striking the soft sand would have caused it. turning back, i made for the sea road, and filmed the reserves coming up to strengthen the positions already won. hurrying across in the direction of another column, i filmed them steadily advancing, while their comrades kept the germans employed from the top of a large dune. the main body then came up and lined the top for a considerable distance, and at the word of command the whole body arose as one man. for the fraction of a second they were strikingly silhouetted against the sky-line; then with a cheer they charged down the other side. darkness was now closing in, making it impossible for me to film any further developments, so i proceeded back to the cellar with an officer and some men. after resting awhile, i decided to go back to furnes that night with my films and get home with them as quickly as possible. meeting a small transport car going in the desired direction after some stores, i begged a ride, and getting up beside the driver, we started off. owing to the enormous shell-holes it was impossible to proceed along the road without a light. what a magnificent sight it was. magnesium star-shells were continually being sent up by the germans. they hung in the air alight for about thirty seconds, illuminating the ground like day. when they disappeared the guns flashed out; then the french replied; after that more star-shells; then the guns spoke again, and so it continued. we were suddenly stopped by an officer warning us to put out our lamp immediately, and proceed cautiously for about three hundred yards. while doing so a shell came screaming by. we knew then that the germans had seen our light. we immediately rushed to a shell-proof shelter in the sand. i had barely reached it when a shell exploded close by the car, half destroying the body of it. that was the only one that came anywhere near. running to see what damage was done, i was pleased to see, by the aid of a covered light, that the chassis was practically uninjured. so starting up we once more proceeded on our journey. we had several narrow squeaks in negotiating corners and miniature sand-banks, and once we bumped into a mule that had strayed on to the road--but whether it will do so again i don't know, for after the bump it disappeared in a whirl of sand, making a noise like a myriad of fiends let loose. but the remainder of the journey was uneventful, and after a long night's rest i left for calais. chapter v under heavy shell-fire in a trench coat and cap i again run the gauntlet--a near squeak--looking for trouble--i nearly find it--a rough ride and a mud bath--an affair of outposts--i get used to crawling--hot work at the guns--i am reported dead--but prove very much alive----and then receive a shock--a stern chase. time after time i crossed over to france and so into belgium, and obtained a series of pictures that delighted my employers, and pleased the picture theatre public. but i wanted something more than snapshots of topical events. unfortunately, i had been unable to make previous arrangements for a car to take me into belgium. the railroad was barred to me, and walking quite out of the question. a motor-car was the only method of travelling. after two days of careful enquiries, i at last found a man to take me. he was in the transport department, taking meat to the trenches. i was to meet him that evening on the outskirts of calais. and i met him that night at an appointed rendezvous, and started on our journey. eventually we entered furnes. making my way into a side street, i told my chauffeur to call at a certain address whenever he passed through the town, and if i should require his services further, i would leave a letter to that effect. i was awakened next morning by being vigorously shaken by my belgian friend, jules. "quick, monsieur, the germans are bombarding us," he cried. jumping out of bed, i rushed to the window. the next second i heard the shriek of shells coming nearer. with a crash and a fearful explosion they burst practically simultaneously on the houses opposite, completely demolishing them, but luckily killing no one. hastily dressing, i grabbed my camera and went out into the square and waited, hoping to film, if possible, the explosion of the shells as they fell on the buildings. two more shells came shrieking over. the few people about were quickly making for the cover of their cellars. getting my camera into position, ready to swing in any direction, i waited. with deafening explosions the shells exploded in a small street behind me. the germans were evidently trying to smash up the old flemish town hall, which was in the corner of the market-place, so i decided to fix my focus in its direction. but though i waited for over an hour, nothing else happened. the germans had ceased firing for that morning at least. not till i had gone to my café did i realise the danger i had exposed myself to, but somehow i had seemed so confident that i should not get hit, that to film the explosions entirely absorbed all my thoughts. next morning i decided to tour the front line, if possible from dixmude to nieuport, making ramscapelle a centre. i hoped to drop in with an isolated action or a few outpost duels, for up to the present things were going exceedingly slow from my point of view. arranging for a dispatch rider to take me along to ramscapelle, away i went. the roads were in a frightful condition after months of rain, and shell-holes were dotted all over the surface. it is marvellous these men do not more frequently meet death by accident, for what with the back wheel sliding and skidding like an unbroken mule, and dodging round shell-holes as if we were playing musical chairs, and hanging round the driver's waist like a limpet to keep our balance, it was anything but a comfortable experience. in the end one back wheel slipped into a shell-hole and pitched me into a lovely pool of water and mud. then after remounting, we were edged off the road into the mud again by a heavy transport lorry, and enjoyed a second mud-bath. after that i came to the conclusion that i would rather film a close view of a bayonet charge than do another such journey. by now i was the most abject-looking specimen of humanity imaginable. my camera in its case was securely fastened on my shoulders as a knapsack, and so, with the exception of a slight derangement, which i soon readjusted, no damage was done. but the motor-cycle suffered considerably, and leaving it alongside the road to await a breakdown lorry to repair it--or a shell to finish it--i proceeded on foot to ramscapelle. within a hundred yards of the ruined town, from the shelter of a wrecked barn came the voice of a belgian soldier peremptorily ordering me to take cover. without asking questions, i did so by sprawling full length in a deep wheel-rut, but as i had previously had a mud-bath, a little more or less did not matter. i wriggled myself towards the cover of the barn, when a sharp volley of rifle-fire broke out on my left. gaining shelter, i asked the soldier the reason of the fusillade. "uhlan outposts, monsieur," replied the man laconically. keeping under cover, i crawled towards the back of the barn, and ensconced behind some bales of straw, on a small bridge, i filmed this belgian outpost driving off the uhlans, and peeping through one of the rifle slots, i could see them showing a clean pair of heels, but not without losing one of their number. he was brought into our lines later, and i was lucky enough to secure the pennon from his lance as a souvenir. i made my way by various means into the town. the place was absolutely devoid of life. it was highly dangerous to move about in the open. to be seen by the german airmen was the signal for being shelled for about three hours. whilst filming some of the ruins, i was startled by a sharp word of command. turning round, i saw a belgian soldier, with his rifle pointing at me. he ordered me to advance. i produced my permit, and giving the password, i quite satisfied him. bidding me come inside he indicated a seat, and asked me to have some soup. and didn't it smell appetising! a broken door served as a table; various oddments, as chairs and the soup-copper, stood in the centre of the table. this proved one of the most enjoyable meals of the campaign. the soldier told me they had to be very careful to guard against spies. they had caught one only that morning, "but he will spy no more, monsieur," he said, with a significant look. i rose, and said i must leave them, as i wanted to take advantage of the daylight. i asked my friend if he could give me any information as to the whereabouts of anything interesting to film, as i wanted to take back scenes to show the people of england the ravages caused in belgium by the huns, and the brave belgians in action. he was full of regrets that he was not able to accompany me, but being on duty he dare not move. with a hearty shake of the hand and best wishes we parted, and, keeping under cover of the ruined buildings as much as possible, i made my way through ramscapelle. hardened as i was by now to sights of devastation, i could not help a lump rising in my throat when i came upon children's toys, babies' cots, and suchlike things, peeping out from among the ruins caused by the german guns. these scenes caused me to wander on in deep thought, quite oblivious to my immediate surroundings. this momentary lapse nearly proved disastrous. by some means i had passed the sentries, and wandered practically on top of a belgian concealed heavy gun battery. i was quickly brought to my senses by being dragged into a gun trench, absolutely invisible both from the front and above. compelled to go on hands and knees into the dug-out, i was confronted by a rather irate belgian officer, who demanded why i was there walking about and not taking cover. did i know that i had drawn the enemy's fire, which was very nearly an unpardonable offence? quickly realising the seriousness of my position, i thought the best thing to do was to tell him my mission, and so i explained to the officer that i had unconsciously wandered there. "there, monsieur," he said, "that is what you have done," and at that moment i heard two shells explode fifteen yards behind us. "we dare not reply, monsieur," he said, "because this is a secret battery. mon dieu!" he exclaimed, "i hope they cease firing, or they may destroy our defences." fortunately, the germans seeing no further sign of life, evidently thought it was a case of an isolated soldier, and so ceased their fire. imagine my thankfulness. i enquired if there was anyone there who could speak english. a messenger was sent out and returned with a belgian, who before the war broke out was a teacher of languages in england. with his aid i gave the chief officer full explanation, and pledged my word of honour that neither names, districts, nor details of positions should ever be mentioned. wishing to film some scenes of big guns in action, i enquired whether he was going to fire. he was expecting orders any minute, so making myself as comfortable as possible in the dug-out, i waited. but nothing happened, and that night, and the one following, i slept there. early next morning (about a.m.) i was awakened by the noise of a terrific cannonading. together with the officer i crawled out on to the top of our embankment and viewed the scene. the germans had started a night attack, the belgian guns had caught them in the act and were shelling them for all they were worth. as soon as it was daylight i strapped my camera on my back, and, lying flat in the mud, i edged away in the direction of the battery. before leaving, the officer gave me a final warning about drawing the germans' fire. alternately crawling and working my way on hands and knees, and taking advantage of any little bit of cover, i drew nearer to the guns. while i was lying here, there crashed out a regular inferno of rifle-fire from the german trenches. the bullets sang overhead like a flight of hornets. this certainly was a warm corner. if i had filmed this scene, all that would have been shown was a dreary waste of mud-heaps, caused by the explosion of the shells, and the graves of fallen soldiers dotted all over the place. as far as the eye could see the country was absolutely devoid of any living thing. thousands of people in england, comfortably seated in the picture theatre, would have passed this scene by as quite uninteresting except for its memories. but if the sounds i heard, and the flying bullets that whizzed by me, could have been photographed, they might take a different view of it. death was everywhere. the air was thick with it. to have lifted my head would have meant the billet for a bullet. so there i had to lie soaked through to the skin, and before i had been there twenty minutes i was literally lying in water. the german fusillade seemed interminable. suddenly with a roar the belgian guns spoke. about fifty shells were fired, and gradually the rifle-fire ceased. with a sigh of relief i drew myself out of the hole which my body had made, and on my elbows and knees, like a baby crawling, i covered the intervening ground to the battery. getting up, and bending nearly double, i ran under cover of the barricades. the men were astounded to see me run in. i went in the direction of a group of officers, who looked at me in amazement. saluting me, one of them came forward and asked who i wanted. explaining my business, i told him i had permission from headquarters to film any scenes of interest. the officer then introduced me to his friends, who asked me how in the world i had crossed the district without getting hit. i described my movements, and they all agreed that i was exceedingly lucky. once more the guns started, so getting my camera ready i commenced filming them in action, one scene after another. i changed from the firing of one gun to the full battery in action. the men were working like mad. all the time they were baling water out of the gun trenches with buckets. in some cases after the gun had fired it sank back about eighteen inches in the mud, and had to be dug out and set again. these poor devils had been doing this for nearly four months, every man of them was a hero. while taking these scenes, my compressed air cylinders ran out. looking round for somewhere solid on which to put my machine and foot-pump, i found some bricks, and made a little foundation. then i started to pump up. at every six strokes of the pump, it was necessary to pack under it more bricks, and still more, for the ground was a veritable morass. in the ordinary way my camera takes ten minutes to refill. on this occasion it took me forty-five minutes, and all the time guns were thundering out. making my way in a semi-circle, under cover of the communication trenches, to the most advanced outpost, i filmed a party of belgian snipers hard at work, cheerfully sniping off any german unwise enough to show the smallest portion of his head. several times while i was watching, i noticed one of the men mark upon his rifle with the stub of a pencil. i asked why he did it. "that, monsieur," he replied, "is a mark for every bosche i shoot. see," he said, holding the butt-end for me to look at, and i noticed twenty-eight crosses marked upon it. snatching it up to his shoulder he fired again, and joyfully he added another cross. by this time it was getting dark, and quite impossible to take any more scenes, so i returned to the battery, where the officer kindly invited me to stay the night. getting some dry straw from a waterproof bag, we spread it out on the boards of the trench-hut, rolled our blankets round our shoulders, and lighted our cigarettes. then they asked me about england. they told me that as long as belgium existed they would never forget what england had done for her people. while talking our candle went out, and as we had no other we sat in the darkness, huddled together to keep warm. heavy rain again came on, penetrating through the earth roof and soaking into my blanket. i must have dozed off, for after a little while i awoke with a start and, looking towards the entrance, i noticed a blue-white glare of light. as my companions were getting out, i followed them, in time to see the germans sending up star-shells, to guard against any attack on our part. the following day i filmed several scenes connected with the belgian artillery and outposts. i waited during the remainder of the day to catch, if possible, some scenes of german shells exploding, but again i was doomed to disappointment, for, with the exception of a few at a distance, i was never able to get the close ones in my field of view. having exhausted my stock of film, i decided to return to my base, but on bidding adieu to the commandant he begged me to return under cover of darkness. that night i set out for furnes, and after walking about an hour, i was lucky enough to get a lift in an ambulance waggon, which set me down in the market-place. entering the café by a side door, my belgian friend seemed to me to be astounded at my appearance. he immediately rushed up to me, shook my hands and pummelled my back. his friends did the same. after i had got over my astonishment, i ventured to ask the reason for this jubilation. "we thought you were dead," he cried; "we heard you had been shot by the germans, and as you had not turned up for the last five days, we came to the conclusion that it was true. but, monsieur, we cannot tell you how pleased we are to see you again alive and well." seeing the condition i was in, they heated water for a bath, and assisted me in every way possible. when i was once more comfortable, i asked my friend, over a cup of coffee, to tell me the exact report, as it highly amused me. "well, monsieur," he said, "your motor cyclist came rushing in the other evening, saying that monsieur malins, the englishman, had been shot while crossing ground between the two batteries. he told us that you had been seen attempting the crossing; that you suddenly threw up your arms, and pitched forward dead. and, monsieur, we were preparing to send your bag to london, with a letter explaining the sad news. the colonel was going to write the letter." "well," i replied with a laugh, "i am worth a good many dead men yet. i remember crossing the ground you mention--but, anyway, the 'eye-witness' who saw my death was certainly 'seeing things.'" chapter vi among the snows of the vosges i start for the vosges--am arrested on the swiss frontier--and released--but arrested again--and then allowed to go my way--filming in the firing zone--a wonderful french charge over the snow-clad hills--i take big risks--and get a magnificent picture. the man who wants to film a fight, unlike the man who wants to describe it, must be really on the spot. a comfortable corner in the hôtel des quoi, at boulogne, is no use to the camera man. "is it possible to film actual events with the french troops in the vosges and alsace?" i was asked when i got back after my last adventure. "if the public wants those films," i replied, "the public must have them." and without any previous knowledge of the district, or its natural difficulties, apart from the normal military troubles to which by that time i was hardened, i set out for paris, determined to plan my route according to what i learned there. and for the rest i knew it would be luck that would determine the result, because other camera men had attempted to cover the same district, men who knew everything there was to be known in the way of getting on the spot, and all had been turned back with trifling success. [illustration: how i carried my film in the early days of the war in belgium and the vosges mountains] for various reasons, among them the claims of picturesqueness, st. dié struck me as the best field, and to get there it is necessary to make a detour into switzerland. from geneva, where i arranged for transport of my films in case of urgent need, much as an arctic explorer would leave supplies of food behind him on his way to the pole, i arranged in certain places that if i was not heard from at certain dates and certain times, enquiries were to be made, diplomatically, for me. from basle i went to the swiss frontier, and had a splendid view of the alsace country, which was in german possession. german and swiss guards stood on either side of the boundary, and they made such a picturesque scene that i filmed them, which was nearly disastrous. a gendarme pounced on me at once, took me to general headquarters and then back to perrontruy, where i was escorted through the streets by an armed guard. at the military barracks i was thoroughly examined by the chief of the staff, who drew my attention to a military notice, prohibiting any photographing of swiss soldiery. he decided that my offence was so rank that it must go before another tribunal, and off i was marched to delemont, where a sort of court-martial was held on me. my film, of course, was confiscated; that was the least i could expect, but they also extracted a promise in writing that i would not take any more photographs in switzerland, and they gave me a few hours to leave the country, by way of berne. that didn't suit me at all. berne was too far away from my intended destination, and, after a hurried study of the map, i decided to chance it, and go to biel. i did. so did the man told off to watch me. and when i left the train at biel he arrested me. i am afraid i sang "rule britannia" very loudly to those good gentlemen before whom he took me, claiming the right of a british citizen to do as he liked, within reason, in a neutral country. in the result they told me to get out of the country any way i liked, if only i would get out, and, as my opinion was much the same, we parted good friends. i had lost a week, and many feet of good film, which showed me that the difficulties i should have to face in my chosen field of operations were by far the greatest i had up to then encountered in any of my trips to the firing line. i pushed on through besançon on the way to belfort. now belfort, being a fortified town, was an obviously impossible place for me to get into, because i shouldn't get out again in a hurry. so i took a slow train, descended at a small station on the outskirts, prepared to make my way across country to remiremont. this i achieved, very slowly, and with many difficulties, by means of peasants' carts and an occasional ride on horseback. this brought me into the firing zone, and the region of snow. my danger was increased, and my mode of progress more difficult, because for the first time in my life i had to take to skis. so many people have told the story of their first attempts with these that i will content myself with saying that, after many tumbles, i became roughly accustomed to them, and that when sledge transport was not available, i was able to make my way on ski. i don't suppose anyone else has ever learned to ski under such queer conditions, with the roar of big guns rumbling round all the time, with my whole expedition trembling every moment in the balance. the end of my journey to st. dié was the most dramatic part of the whole business. tired out, i saw a café on the outskirts of the village, which i thought would serve me as a reconnoitring post, so i went in and ordered some coffee. i had not been there five minutes when some officers walked in, and drew themselves up sharply when they saw a stranger there, in a mud-stained costume that might have been a british army uniform. i decided to take the bold course. i rose, saluted them, and in my anglo-french wished them good evening. they returned my greeting and sat down, conversing in an undertone, with an occasional side-flung glance at me. i saw that my attack would have to be pushed home, especially as i caught the word "_espion_," or my fevered imagination made me think i did. i rose and crossed to their table, all smiles, and in my best french heartily agreed with them that one has to be very careful in war time about spies. in fact, i added, i had no doubt they took me for one. this counter-attack--and possibly the very noticeable britishness of my accent--rather confused them. happily one of them spoke a little english, and, with that and my little french, satisfactory explanations were made. i affected no secrecy about my object, and asked them frankly if it would be possible for pictures of their regiment to be taken. one of them promised to speak to the commandant about it. i begged them not to trouble about it, however, as really all i wanted was a hint as to when and where an engagement was probable, and then i would manage to be there. they shrugged their shoulders in a most grimly expressive way. "if you do that it will be at your own risk," they said. i gladly accepted the risk, and they then told me of one or two vantage points in the district from which i might manage to see something of the operations, taking my chance, of course, of anything happening near enough to be photographed, as they could not, and quite rightly would not, say anything as to the plans for the future. it was not quite midday. i had at least four hours of daylight, and i determined not to lose them. it was obvious that my stay in st. dié would be very brief at the best. i hired a sledge and persuaded the driver to take me part of the way at least to the nearest point which the officers had mentioned. but neither he nor his horse liked the way the shells were coming around, and at last even his avarice refused to be stimulated further at the expense of his courage. so i strapped on my skis, thankful for my earlier experience with them, and sped towards a wood which french soldiers were clearing of german snipers. i managed to get one or two good incidents there, though occasional uncertainty about my skis spoiled other fine scenes, and in my haste to move from one spot to another, i once went head over heels into a snowdrift many feet deep. the ludicrous spectacle that i must have cut only occurred to me afterwards, and the utterly inappropriate nature of such an incident within sight of men who were battling in life and death grip was a reflection for calmer moments. i do not mind confessing that my sole thought during the whole of that afternoon was my camera and my films. the lust of battle was in me too. i had overcome great difficulties to obtain not merely kinema-pictures, but actual vivid records of the great war, scenes that posterity might look upon as true representations of the struggle their forefathers waged. military experts may argue as to whether this move or that was really made in a battle: the tales of soldiers returned from the wars become, in passing from mouth to mouth, fables of the most wondrous deeds of prowess. but the kinema film never alters. it does not argue. it depicts. the terrific cannonade that was proceeding told me that beyond the crest of the hill an infantry attack was preparing. it was for me a question of finding both a vantage point and good cover, for shells had already whizzed screaming overhead and exploded not many yards behind me. there were the remains of a wall ahead, and i discarded my skis in order to crawl flat on my stomach to one of the larger remaining fragments, and when i got behind it i found a most convenient hole, which would allow me to work my camera without being exposed myself. in the distance a few scouts, black against the snow, crawled crouching up the hill. the attack was beginning. the snow-covered hill-side became suddenly black with moving figures sweeping in irregular formation up towards the crest. big gun and rifle fire mingled like strophe and antistrophe of an anthem of death. there was a certain massiveness about the noise that was awful. yet there was none of the traditional air of battle about the engagement. there was no hand to hand fighting, for the opponents were several hundred yards apart. it was just now and then when one saw a little distant figure pitch forward and lie still on the snow that one realised there was real fighting going on, and that it was not manoeuvres. the gallant french troops swept on up the hill, and i think i was the only man in all that district who noted the black trail of spent human life they left behind them. i raised myself ever so little to glance over the top of my scrap of sheltering wall, and away across the valley, on the crest of the other hill, i could see specks which were the germans. they appeared to be massing ready for a charge, but the scene was too far away for the camera to record it with any distinctness. i therefore swept round again to the french lines, to meet the splendid sight of the french reserves dashing up over the hill behind me to the support. every man seemed animated by the one idea--to take the hill. there was a swing, an air of irresistibility about them that was magnificent. but even in the midst of enthusiasm my trained sense told me that my position must have been visible to some of them, and that it was time for me to move. i edged my way along the broken stumps of wall to the shelter of a wood, and there, with bullets from snipers occasionally sending twigs, leaves, and even branches pattering down around me, with shells bursting all round, i continued to film the general attack until the spool in the camera ran out. to have changed spools there would have been the height of folly, so i plunged down a side path, where in the shelter of a dell, with thick undergrowth, i loaded up my camera again, and utterly careless of direction, made a dash for the edge of the wood again, emerging just in time to catch the passage of a french regiment advancing along the edge of the wood to cut off the retreat of the little party of germans who had been endeavouring to hold it as an advanced sniping-post. snipers seemed to be in every tree. bullets whistled down like acorns in the autumn breeze, but the french suddenly formed a semi-circle and pushed right into the wood, driving the enemy from their perches in the trees or shooting them as they scrambled down. through the wood i plunged, utterly ignoring every danger, both from friend or foe, in the thrill of that wonderful "drive." luck, however, was with me. neither the french nor the germans seemed to see me, and we all suddenly came out of the wood at the far side, and i then managed to get a splendid picture of the end of the pursuit, when the french, wild with excitement at their success in clearing the district of the enemy, plunged madly down the hill in chase of the last remnants of the sniping band. a few seconds later i darted back into the cover of the trees. my mission was accomplished. i had secured pictures of actual events in the vosges. but that was the least part of my work. i had to get the film to london. the excitement of the pursuit had taken me far from my starting-point, and with the reaction that set in when i was alone in the wood, with all its memories and its ghastly memorials of the carnage, i found it required all my strength of nerve to push me on. i had to plough through open spaces, two feet and more deep in snow, through undergrowth, not knowing at what moment i might stumble across some unseen thing. above all, i had but the barest recollection of my direction. it seemed many hours before i regained my stump of wall and found my skis lying just where i had cast them off. it was a race against time, too, for dusk was falling, and i knew that it would be impossible to get out of st. dié by any conveyance after dark. i had the luck to find a man with a sledge, who was returning to a distant village, some way behind the war zone, and he agreed for a substantial consideration to take me. we drove for many hours through the night, and it was very late when at last, in a peasant's cottage, i flung myself fully dressed on a sofa, for there was no spare bed, and slept like a log for several hours. it was by many odd conveyances that i made my way to besançon, and thence to dijon. i had managed to clean myself up, and looked less like an escaped convict than i had done; but i was very wary all the way to paris, where i communicated with headquarters, and received orders to rush the films across to london as fast as ever i could. having overcome the perils of the land, i had to face those of the sea, for the german submarines were just beginning their campaign against merchant shipping, and cross-channel steamers were an almost certain mark. so the boat service was suspended for a day or two, and there was i stranded in dieppe with my precious films, as utterly shut off from london as the german army. i was held up there for three days, during which time i secured pictures of the steamer _dinorah_, which limped into port after being torpedoed, of a sailing vessel which had struck a mine, and some interesting scenes on board french torpedo boat destroyers as they returned from patrolling the channel. i spent most of my time hanging around the docks, ready to rush on board any steamer that touched at an english port. at last i heard of one that would start at midnight. my films were all packed in tins, sealed with rubber solution to make them absolutely watertight, and the tins were strung together, so that in the event of the ship going down i could have slipped them round my waist. if they went to the bottom i should go too, but if i was saved i was determined not to reach london without them. as it happened, my adventures were at an end. we saw nothing of any under-water pirates, and my trip to the fighting line ended in a prosaic taxi-cab through london streets that seemed to know nothing of war. part ii chapter i how i came to make official war pictures i am appointed an official war office kinematographer--and start for the front line trenches--filming the german guns in action--with the canadians--picturesque hut settlement among the poplars--"hyde park corner"--shaving by candlelight in six inches of water--filming in full view of the german lines, yards away--a big risk, but a realistic picture. during the early days of the war i worked more or less as a free lance camera man, both in belgium and in france, and it was not till the autumn of that i was appointed an official kinematographer by the war office, and was dispatched to the front to take films, under the direction of kinematograph trade topical committee. when offered the appointment, i did not take long to decide upon its acceptance. i was ready and anxious to go, and as i had had considerable experience of the work, both in belgium and in the vosges, i knew pretty well what was expected of me. numerous interviews with the authorities and members of the committee followed, and for a few days i was kept in a fever of expectation. eventually arrangements were completed, and the announcement was then made that mr. tong (of jury's imperial pictures) and myself had been appointed official war office kinematographers. i was in the seventh heaven of delight, and looked forward to an early departure for the front in my official capacity. this came soon enough, and on the eve of our going tong and i were entertained to dinner by the members of the topical committee, and during the post-prandial talk many interesting and complimentary things were said. we left charing cross on an early morning in november, and several members of the committee were there to see us off, and wish us god-speed. we reached the other side safely, after a rather choppy crossing, and soon i was on my way to the front--and the front line trenches, if possible. passing through bailleul, armentières and ploegsteert, i was able to film some hidden batteries in action. as the whole road was in full view of the german lines we had to go very carefully. several shells dropped close by me when running across the open ground. i managed at last to get into a house, and from a top window, or rather what was once a window, filmed the guns in action. while doing so an artillery officer came and told me not to move too much as the germans had been trying to find this battery for some considerable time, and if they saw any movement they would undoubtedly start to shell heavily. not wishing to draw a cloud of shells on me, needless to say, i was very careful. eventually i obtained the desired view, and making my way through the communication trenches to the front of the guns, i obtained excellent pictures of rapid firing. i had to keep very low the whole of the time. about forty yards on my right a small working party of our men had been seen, and they were immediately "strafed." during the next few days it rained the whole of the time, and there was little opportunity for photography; but i obtained some excellent scenes, showing the conditions under which our men were living and fighting, and their indomitable cheerfulness. [illustration: the state of the trenches in which we lived and slept (?) for weeks on end during the first and second winter of war] [illustration: our dug-outs in the front line at picantin in which we lived, fought, and many died during - , before the days of tin hats] about this time i arranged to go to the canadian front trenches, in their section facing messines. arriving at the headquarters at bailleul, i met lieutenant-colonel ----, and we decided to go straight to the front line. leaving in a heavy rain, we splashed our way through one continuous stream of mud and water. mile after mile of it. in places the water covered the entire road, until at times one hardly knew which was the road and which was the ditch alongside. several times our car got ditched. shell-holes dotted our path everywhere. apart from the rotten conditions, the journey proved most interesting; vehicles of all kinds, from motor-buses to wheelbarrows, were rushing backwards and forwards, taking up supplies and returning empty. occasionally we passed ambulance cars, with some poor fellows inside suffering from frost-bite, or "trench-foot" as it is generally called out here. though their feet were swathed in bandages, and they were obviously in great pain, they bore up like true britons. line after line of men passed us. those coming from the trenches were covered in mud from head to foot, but they were all smiling, and they swung along with a word and a jest as if they were marching down piccadilly. those going in to take their places: were they gloomy? not a bit of it! if anything they were more cheerful, and quipped their mud-covered comrades on their appearance. we drew up at a ruined farm-house, which the colonel told me used to be their headquarters, until the position was given away by spies. then the germans started shelling it until there was hardly a brick standing. luckily none of the staff were killed. leaving the farm, we made our way on foot to ploegsteert wood. a terrible amount of "strafing" was going on here. shells were exploding all round, and our guns were replying with "interest." as we made our way cautiously up to the side of the wood, with mud half way up to our knees, we scrambled, or rather waddled, round the base of the much-contested hill, which the germans tried their hardest to keep, but which, thanks to the canadians, we wrested from them. under cover of canvas screens, which in many places were blown away by shell-fire, and bending low to save our heads from the snipers' bullets, we gained the communication trenches. again wading knee-deep in mud and water, we eventually reached the firing trench. the german front line was only sixty-five yards away, and the town of messines could be seen in the distance. staying in this section of trench, i filmed several scenes of the men at work repairing and rebuilding the sides which the night previous had been destroyed by shell-fire and the heavy rains. then followed scenes of relief parties coming in, and working parties hard at it trying to drain their dug-outs. this latter seemed to me an almost superhuman task; but through it all, the men smiled. bending low, i raced across an open space, and with a jump landed in an advanced sniper's post, in a ruined farm-house. i filmed him, carefully and coolly picking off the germans foolish enough to show their heads. then i set my camera up behind what i thought quite a safe screen, to film a general view of our front line, but i had hardly started exposing when, with murderous little shrieks, two bullets whizzed close by my head--quite as near as i shall ever want them. dropping as low as possible, i reached up, and still turning the handle finished the scene. then followed several pictures of scouts and snipers making their way across the ground, taking advantage of any slight cover they could get, in order to take up suitable positions for their work. by this time the light was getting rather bad, and as it was still raining hard i made my way back. during the return journey, an officer who accompanied me showed himself unknowingly above the parapet, and "zipp" came a bullet, which ripped one of the stars off his coat. "jove!" said he, with the greatest of _sang-froid_, "that's a near thing; but it's spoilt my shoulder-strap": and with a laugh we went on our way. again we had to cross the open ground to the covered way. accordingly we spread out about fifty yards apart, and proceeded. careful as we were, the germans spotted us, and from thence onwards to the top of the hill shrapnel shells burst all round us and overhead. several pieces fell almost at my feet, but by a miracle i escaped unscathed. for some minutes i had to lie crouching in a ditch, sitting in water. it was a veritable inferno of fire. i cautiously worked my way along. where the rest of the party had gone i did not know. i hugged my camera to my chest and staggered blindly on. in about half an hour i gained the cover of some bushes, and for the first time had a chance to look about me. the firing had momentarily ceased, and from various ditches i saw the heads of the other officers pop out. the sight was too funny for words. with a hearty laugh they jumped up and hurried away. my chauffeur, who incidentally used to carry my tripod, was the most sorry spectacle for he was absolutely covered from head to foot with clay, and my tripod was quite unrecognisable. hurrying over the top of the hill we gained our cars, and rapidly beat a retreat for headquarters. the following day i went to film the ruins of richebourg st. vaaste. what an awful spectacle! a repetition of the horrors of ypres on a smaller scale. nothing left, only the bare skeletons of the houses and the church. with great difficulty, i managed to climb to the top of the ruined tower, and filmed the town from that point. i was told by an observation officer to keep low, as the germans had the church still under fire. naturally i did so, not wishing for a shell that might bring the tower down, and myself with it. remarkable to relate, the figure of christ upon the cross was untouched in the midst of this terrible scene of devastation. subsequently the tower was completely destroyed by german shells. hearing that the canadian guns were going to bombard petite douve, a large farmstead which the germans had fortified with machine-guns and snipers, i started off from headquarters in the company of a lieutenant-colonel and a captain. a few passing remarks on the conditions of the road as we went along to hill will be interesting. no matter where one looked there was mud and water. in several places the roads were flooded to a depth of six inches, and our cars several times sank above the front axle in hidden shell-holes. the whole district was pitted with them. entire sections of artillery were stuck in the mud on the roadside, and all the efforts of the men failed to move them. all around us hidden guns, . and . , were hurtling their messengers of death with a monotonous regularity. passing a signpost, marked "hyde park corner," which looked incongruous in such a place, we entered ploegsteert wood. but what a change! it was as if one had suddenly left france and dropped unceremoniously into the western woods of america, in the times of the old pioneers. by the wood-side, as far as one could see, stretched a series of log-huts. to the right the same scene unfolded itself. our cars came to a stop. then i had a chance to study the settings more closely. [illustration: choosing a position for my camera in the front line trench at picantin, with the guards. winter, - ] what a picture! amidst all the glamour of war, these huts, surrounded by tall poplars, which stood grim, gaunt and leafless--in many places branchless, owing to the enemies' shells, which tore their way through them--presented the most picturesque scene i had come across for many a long day. upon the boards fixed over the doorposts were written the names of familiar london places. as the time of the bombardment was drawing near i could not stay at the moment to film anything, but decided to do so at an early opportunity. sharing my apparatus with two men, we started climbing through eighteen inches of slimy mud towards the top of hill . the effort was almost backbreaking. at last we got through and paused, under cover of the ruins of an old château, to gain breath. to negotiate the top needed care as it was in full view of the german front. i went first with the captain, and both of us kept practically doubled up, and moved on all fours. the men behind us waited until we had covered about one hundred yards, then they followed. we decided to make for a point in the distance which was at one time a grand old château. now it was nothing more than a heap of rubble. we waited for the remainder of the party to come up before proceeding, the idea being that in case either of us was hit by shrapnel, or picked off by a sniper, no time would be lost in rendering assistance. resting awhile, we again proceeded in the same order as before. we were held up by a sentry, and warned to take to the communication trenches down the hill, as german snipers had been picking off men in the working parties the whole of the morning, and shrapnel was continually bursting overhead. we entered the trench, and as usual sank up to our knees in mud. how in the world we got through it i don't know! every time i lifted my foot it seemed as though the mud would suck my knee-boot off. after going along in this way for about three hundred yards, and occasionally ducking my head to avoid being hit by bursting shells, we came to a ruined barn. the cellars had been converted, with the aid of a good supply of sandbags, into a miniature fort. a sloping tunnel led to the interior, and the captain going in front, we entered. there by the light of a candle, and standing in a good six inches of water, was a captain shaving himself. this officer the previous week had led his party of bombers into the german trenches, killed over thirty and captured twelve, and only suffered one casualty. for this action he was awarded the d.s.o. i was introduced, and sitting on the edge of a bench we chatted until the others came up. a few minutes later the colonel entered. we then started off in single file down the other side of hill . i had to take advantage of any bit of cover that offered itself during the descent. at one point we had to cross an open space between a ruined farm and a barn. the germans had several snipers who concentrated on this point, and there was considerable risk in getting across. bending low, however, i started, and when half-way over i heard the whistle of a bullet overhead. i dropped flat and crawled the remainder of the distance, reaching cover in safety. at that moment our big guns started shelling the german trenches, and knowing that the diversion would momentarily occupy the snipers' attention the others raced safely across in a body. the remainder of the journey was made in comparative safety, the only danger being from exploding shrapnel overhead. but one does not trouble very much about that after a time. reaching the front trenches, i made my way along to a point from which i could best view the petite douve. obtaining a waterproof sheet we carefully raised it very, very slowly above the parapet with the aid of a couple of bayonets. without a doubt, i thought, the germans would be sure to notice something different on that section after a few seconds. and so it proved. two rifle-shots rang out from the enemy trench, and right through the sheet they went. our object in putting up this temporary screen was to hide the erection of my tripod and camera, and then at the moment the bombardment began it was to be taken away, and i would risk the rest. just when the bullets came through i was bending to fasten the tripod legs. a few seconds earlier and one or other of them would have surely found my head. getting some sandbags, we carefully pushed them on to the parapet, in order to break the contact as much as possible, and we put one in front of the camera in a direct line to cover the movement of my hand while exposing. i was now ready. raising my head above the parapet for a final look, i noticed i was fully exposed to the right german trenches, and was just on the point of asking captain ---- if there was any possibility of getting sniped from that direction when with a "zipp" a bullet passed directly between our heads. having obtained such a practical and prompt answer to my enquiry, though not exactly the kind i had expected, i had some more sandbags placed, one on top of the other, to shelter my head as much as possible. all i had to do now was to focus, and to do that i lifted the bottom edge of the screen gently. in a few seconds it was done, and dropping the screen, i waited for the first shot. i was warned by an observing officer that i had still five minutes to spare. they were not bombarding until . . german shells were continually dropping all round. the part of the hill down which we came was getting quite a lively time of it. the enemy seemed to be searching every spot. on the right a canadian sniper was at work, taking careful aim. turning to me, he said: "wall, sir, i bet that chap won't want any more headache pills." the remark caused a good deal of laughter. boom--boom--boom. in rapid succession came two shells from our guns. everyone was alert. i sprang to my camera. two men were standing by me, ready to take down the screen. boom came another shell, and at a sign the men dropped the screen. i was exposed to the full view of the german lines, from my shoulders upwards. i started exposing; the shells came in rapid succession, dropping right in the middle of the petite douve. as they fell clouds of bricks and other débris were thrown in the air; the din was terrific. nothing in the world could possibly have lived there. after about thirty shells had been dropped there was a slight pause for about half a minute, during which i continued turning the handle. the germans were too occupied in getting under cover to notice the fine target my head offered, for not a single shot was fired at me. once more our guns rang out, and in as many seconds--at least so it seemed to me--another thirty shells dropped into the buildings and tore them wall from wall. word was then passed to me that this was the finishing salvo. with the same suddenness as it had begun, the firing ceased. dropping quickly, and dragging the camera after me, i stood safely once more in the bottom of the trench and, to tell the truth, i was glad it was over. to put one's head above the parapet of a trench, with the germans only seventy-five yards away, and to take a kinematograph picture of a bombardment, is not one of the wisest--or safest--things to do! chapter ii christmas day at the front leave-taking at charing cross--a fruitless search for food on christmas eve--how tommy welcomed the coming of the festive season--"peace on earth, good will to men" to the boom of the big guns--filming the guards' division--and the prince of wales--coming from a christmas service--this year and next. on december rd i met an officer, a captain, at charing cross station. we were leaving by the . train, and we were not the only ones to leave christmas behind, for hundreds of men were returning to the front. heartbreaking scenes were taking place, and many of the brave women-folk were stifling their sobs, in order to give their men a pleasant send-off, possibly for the last time. amidst hurried good-byes and fond kisses from mothers, sisters, sweethearts and wives, and with shouts of good luck from hundreds of throats, the train started off. handkerchiefs were waved from many windows, cheerful heads were thrust out, and not until the train had cleared the platform, and the "hurrahs" had faded away in the distance, did we take our seats. then with set faces, grim with determination, we resigned ourselves to the fate that awaited us on the battlefields of france. reaching boulogne, after a rather choppy voyage, our car conveyed us to g.h.q., which we reached late in the evening. the following morning i was told to leave for la gorgue, to film scenes connected with the guards' division. late that afternoon, the captain and i set out for our destination, reaching there about o'clock. i was billeted in a private house, and immediately enquired for some food, but it was impossible to obtain any there. going out i walked through the town, in the hope of finding a place to get something. but none could be found. feeling very tired, i began to retrace my steps, with the intention of going to bed. on my way back i had reason to change my mind. quite an interesting scene unfolded itself. the boom of the guns rang out sharp and clear. the moon was shining brightly, and at intervals there flashed across the sky the not-far-distant glare of star-shells. in the houses, lining both sides of the road, there was music, from the humble mouth-organ to the piano, and lusty british voices were singing old english tunes with the enthusiasm of boyhood. on the pavement clusters of our tommies were proceeding towards their billets, singing heartily at the top of their voices. some batches were singing carols, others the latest favourites, such as "keep the home fires burning." no matter where one went, the same conditions and the same sounds prevailed; just happy-go-lucky throngs, filled with the songs and laughter born of the spirit of christmas. and yet as i reached my room, despite the scenes of joyousness and hilarity rampant, i could still hear the crash of the guns. [illustration: the prince of wales trying to locate my "camouflaged camera"] [illustration: the prince of wales leaving a temporary church at la gorgue, xmas day, ] this was my second christmas at the front, although not in the same district. last year i was with the brave belgian army. this year was certainly very different in all respects except the weather, and that was as poisonous as ever. a miserable, misty, drifting rain, which would soak through to the skin in a few minutes anyone not provided with a good rainproof. donning my burberry, i proceeded towards a small chapel, or rather to a building which is now used as one. it was originally a workshop. on three sides it was entirely surrounded by the floods. the front door was just clear, but i had to paddle through mud half-way up to my knees to get there. i intended to obtain a film of the guards' division attending the christmas service. fixing up my camera, i awaited their arrival. after a short time they came along, headed by their band. what a fine body of men! swinging along with firm stride, they came past. thinking i had got sufficient i packed my camera, when, to my astonishment, i saw the prince of wales, with lord cavan, coming up at the rear. rushing back to my old position, i endeavoured to fix up again, to film them coming in, but i was too late. "anyway," i thought, "i will get him coming out." fixing up my machine at a new and advantageous point of view, i waited. the service began. i could hear the strains of the old, old carols and christmas hymns. surely one could not have heard them under stranger conditions, for as the sound of that beautiful carol, "peace on earth, good will to men!" swelled from the throats of several hundreds of our troops, the heavy guns thundered out round after round with increasing intensity. strange that at such a moment so terrific a bombardment should have taken place. it seems as if some strange telepathic influence was at work, commanding all the guns in the vicinity to open fire with redoubled fury. and high in the air, our steel "birds" were hovering over the enemy lines, directing the fire, and flecked all round them, like flakes of snow, was the smoke from the shrapnel shells fired on them by the germans. "peace on earth, good will to men," came the strains of music from the little church. crash! went the guns again and again, throwing their shrieking mass of metal far overhead. i fell into a deep reverie, and my thoughts naturally strayed to those at home. returning to my room. i donned my thick woollen coat, as i intended to rush off to g.h.q. to see tong, who had got a bad attack of dysentery, and try and cheer him up. getting into my car, i told the chauffeur to drive like the wind. i had fifty kilometres to go. away we rushed through the night, and as we went through villages where our tommies were billeted, the strains of the old home songs--irish, scotch and english--were wafted to my ears. except for the incessant shelling, the flash of guns, and the distant glare from the star-shells, it was almost impossible to believe we were in the terrible throes of war. i arrived at g.h.q. about . p.m. poor tong was very queer and feeling dejected. not being able to speak french, he could not let the people of the hotel know what he wanted. i soon made him as comfortable as possible, and sat beside his bed chatting about this, the strangest christmas day i had ever experienced. after remaining with him for about an hour and a half, i again started for the front line, where i arrived about a.m., dog-tired, and at once turned in. so ended my second christmas day at the front, and, as i dozed off to sleep, i found myself wondering whether the next christmas would find me still in france. should i be listening to carols and guns at the front, or would the message of the bells peal from a church in an adjacent street at home, and announce the coming of another christmas to me and mine? chapter iii i get into a warm corner boxing day--but no pantomime--life in the trenches--a sniper at work--sinking a mine shaft--the cheery influence of an irish padre--a cemetery behind the lines--pathetic inscriptions and mementoes on dead heroes' graves--i get into a pretty warm corner--and have some difficulty in getting out again--but all's well that ends well. boxing day! but nothing out of the ordinary happened. i filmed the royal welsh fusiliers en route for the trenches. as usual, the weather was impossible, and the troops came up in motor-buses. at the sound of a whistle, they formed up in line and stopped, and the men scrambled out and stood to attention by the roadside. they were going to the front line. they gave me a parting cheer, and a smile that they knew would be seen by the people in england--perchance by their own parents. i went along the famous la bassée road--the most fiercely contested stretch in that part of the country. it was literally lined with shell-destroyed houses, large and small; châteaux and hovels. all had been levelled to the ground by the huns. i filmed various scenes of the coldstreams, the irish and the grenadier guards. at the furthermost point of the road to which cars are allowed shells started to fall rather heavily, so, not wishing to argue the point with them, i took cover. when the "strafing" ceased i filmed other interesting scenes, and then returned to my headquarters. the next day was very interesting, and rather exciting. i was to go to the front trenches and get some scenes of the men at work under actual conditions. proceeding by the road, i reached the croix rouge crossing, which was heavily "strafed" the previous day. hiding the car under cover of a partly demolished house, and strapping the camera on my back, my orderly carrying the tripod, i started out to walk the remaining distance. i had not gone far when a sentry advised me not to proceed further on the road, but to take to the trench lining it, as the thoroughfare from this point was in full view of the german artillery observers. not wishing to be shelled unnecessarily, i did as he suggested. "and don't forget to keep your head down, sir," was his last remark. so bending nearly double, i proceeded. as a further precaution, i kept my man behind me at a distance of about twenty yards. several times high explosives and shrapnel came unpleasantly near. presently i came upon a wooden tramway running at right angles to the road. my instructions were to proceed along it until i came to "signpost lane." why it was so dubbed i was unable to discover, but one thing i was certainly not kept in ignorance of for long, and that was that it was perpetually under heavy shell-fire by the germans. they were evidently under the impression that it was the route taken by our relief parties going to the trenches at appointed times during the day, and so they fairly raked it with shell-fire. unfortunately i happened to arrive on one of these occasions, and i knew it. shells dropped all round us. hardly a square yard of ground seemed untouched. under such conditions it was no good standing. i looked round for cover, but there was none. the best thing to do under the circumstances was to go straight on, trust to providence, and make for the communication trenches with all speed. i doubled like a hare over the intervening ground, and i was glad when i reached the trenches, for once there, unless a shell bursts directly overhead, or falls on top of you, the chances of getting hit are very small. i was now in the sniping zone, and could continually hear the crack of a hun rifle, and the resulting thud of a bullet striking the mud or the sandbags, first one side then the other. the communication trenches seemed interminable, and, as we neared the front line, the mud got deeper and parts of the trench were quite water-logged. plod, plod, plod; section after section, traverse after traverse. suddenly i came upon a party of sappers mending the parapet top with newly filled sandbags. at that particular section a shell had dropped fairly near and destroyed it, and anyone walking past that gap stood a very good chance of having the top of his head taken off. these men were filling up the breach. "keep your head well down, sir," shouted one, as i came along. "they" (meaning the germans) "have got this place marked." down went my head, and i passed the gap safely. we were now well up in the firing trench. fixing the camera, and the rest of the apparatus, i began taking scenes of actual life and conditions in the trenches--that mysterious land about which millions have read but have never had the opportunity of seeing. no mere verbal description would suffice to describe them. every minute the murderous crack of rifles and the whir of machine-guns rang out. death hovered all round. in front the german rifles, above the bursting shrapnel, each shell scattering its four hundred odd leaden bullets far and wide, killing or wounding any unfortunate man who happened to be in the way. the trenches looked as if a giant cataclysm of nature had taken place. the whole earth had been upheaved, and in each of the mud-hills men had burrowed innumerable paths, seven feet deep. it was hard to distinguish men from mud. the former were literally caked from head to foot with the latter. i filmed the men at work. there were several snipers calmly smoking their cigarettes and taking careful aim at the enemy. crack--crack--crack--simultaneously. "sure, sir," remarked one burly irish guardsman, "and he'll never bob his ---- head up any more. it's him i've been afther this several hours!" and as coolly as if he had been at a rifle range at home, the man discharged the empty cartridge-case and stood with his rifle, motionless as a rock, his eyes like those of an eagle. all this time it was raining hard. i worked my way along the never-ending traverses. coming upon a mount of sandbags, i enquired of an officer present the nature and cause of its formation. he bade me follow him. at one corner a narrow, downward path came into view. trudging after him, i entered this strange shelter. inside it was quite dark, but in a few seconds, when my eyes had got used to the conditions, i observed a hole in the centre of the floor about five feet square. peering over the edge, i saw that the shaft was about _twenty-five feet deep_, and that there was a light at the bottom. it then dawned upon me what it really was. it was a mine-shaft. at the bottom, men worked at their deadly occupation, burrowing at right angles under our own trenches (under "no man's land") and under the german lines. they laid their mines, and at the appointed time exploded them, thus causing a great amount of damage to the enemy's parapets and trenches, and killing large numbers of the occupants. retracing my steps, i fixed the camera up and filmed the men entering the mines and others bringing up the excavated earth in sandbags and placing them on the outside of the barricade. then i paused to film the men at work upon a trench road. thinking i could obtain a better view from a point in the distance, i started off for it, bent nearly double, when a warning shout from an officer bade me be careful. i reached the point. although about fifty yards behind the firing trench, i was under the impression that i was still sheltered by the parapet. evidently i had raised my head too high while fixing up the tripod, for with a murderous whistle two bullets "zipped" by overhead. i must be more careful if i wanted to get away with a whole skin; so bending low, i filmed the scene, and then returned. while proceeding along the line, i filmed the regimental padre of the irish guards wading through the mud and exchanging a cheery word with every man he passed. what a figure he was! tall and upright, with a long dark beard, and a voice that seemed kind and cheery enough to influence even the dead. he inspired confidence wherever he went. he stayed awhile to talk to several men who were sitting in their dug-outs pumping the water out before they could enter. his words seemed to make the men work with redoubled vigour. then he passed on. along this section, at the back of the dug-outs, were innumerable white crosses, leaning at all angles, in the mud. they were the last resting-place of our dead heroes. on each cross a comrade had written a short inscription, and some of these, though simple, and at times badly spelt, revealed a pathos and a feeling that almost brought tears to the eyes. for all its slime and mud it was the most beautiful cemetery i have ever seen. on some of the graves were a few wildflowers. no wreaths; no marble headstones; no elaborate ornamentation; but in their place a battered cap, a rusty rifle or a mud-covered haversack, the treasured belongings of the dead. i had barely finished filming this scene when with a shriek several shells came hurtling overhead from the german guns and burst about a hundred yards behind our firing line. quickly adjusting the camera, i covered the section with my lens. in a few seconds more shells came over, and turning the handle i filmed them as they burst, throwing up enormous quantities of earth. the huns were evidently firing at something. what that something was i soon found out. an enemy observer had seen a small working party crossing an open space. the guns immediately opened fire. whether they inflicted any casualties i do not know, but a few minutes later the same party of men passed me as though nothing had happened. the rain was still falling, and the mist getting heavy, so i decided to make my way back to headquarters. packing up, and bidding adieu to the officers, i started on the return journey through the communication trenches. one officer told me to go back the same way, via "signpost lane." "you will manage to get through before their evening 'strafing,'" he called out. after wearily trudging through nearly a mile of trenches, i came out at "signpost lane," and i am never likely to forget it. we had left the shelter of the trench, and were hurrying, nearly doubled, across a field, when a german observer spotted us. the next minute "whizz-bangs" started falling around us like rain. no matter which way i turned, the tarnation things seemed to follow and burst with a deafening crash. at last, i reached the crossing, and was making my way down the trench lining the road, when a shell dropped and exploded not thirty feet ahead. but on i went, for a miss is as good as a mile. about a hundred yards further on was the battered shell of a farm-house. when almost up to it a couple of shells dropped fairly in the middle of it and showered the bricks all round. a fairly warm spot! i had just reached the corner of the building when i heard the shriek of a shell coming nearer. i guessed it was pretty close, and without a moment's hesitation dropped in the mud and water of a small ditch, and not a moment too soon for with a dull thud the shell struck and burst hardly seven feet from me. had i not fallen down these lines would never have been written. picking myself up, i hurried on. still the shells continued to drop, but fortunately at a greater distance. when i reached croix rouge, i was literally encased in mud. our progress along the road had been anxiously watched by the sentries and by my chauffeur. "well, sir," said the latter, with a sigh of relief, "i certainly thought they had you that time." chapter iv the battlefield of neuve chapelle a visit to the old german trenches--reveals a scene of horror that defies description--dodging the shells--i lose the handle of my camera--and then lose my man--the effect of shell-fire on a novice--in the village of neuve chapelle--a scene of devastation--the figure of the lonely christ. it occurred to me that an interesting film might be made out of scenes of the battlefield of neuve chapelle. the very thought of it conjured up a reeking, whirling mass of humanity, fighting with all the most devilish, death-dealing weapons that had ever been conceived by the mind of man. i decided to do a picture of the scene, and took with me an orderly who had never been under fire before. we proceeded along the la bassée road, and at the croix rouge proceeded on foot towards neuve chapelle. as usual, bosche shelling was so consistent in its intensity that we thought it advisable to spread out a bit in case a shell burst near us. my guide was major ----, who commanded one of the regiments holding the ground on the other side of neuve chapelle. eventually i reached the assembly trenches, where our men concentrated for the great attack. in shape they were just ordinary trenches, branches off a main gallery, but they were in an awful state of decay, and literally torn to shreds by shell-fire. what tales these old sandbags might tell if only they could speak, tales of our brave boys and our indian troops that would live for ever in the history of mankind. standing upon one of the parapets, i looked round, and marvelled that it was possible in so small a section of ground so many men were hidden there. quickly formulating my programme, i decided to begin at the assembly trenches, and follow in imagination the path of the troops during the battle, ending up in the ruins of neuve chapelle village itself, which i could see in the distance. "be careful," came the warning voice of a major, "the whole of the ground here is in view of the bosche artillery observers. if they see anyone moving about they'll start 'strafing' like anything, and i assure you they do it very conscientiously." i therefore kept as low as possible. fixing up the camera, i started to film the scenes from the assembly trenches to the old first line trench, and then into the stretch of ground known as "no man's land." finishing this particular picture, we went along to the old german trenches, and during the whole time we bent nearly double, to keep under the line of the old parapets. in the old german trenches the frightful effect of modern shell-fire was only too apparent. the whole line, as far as one could see, was absolutely smashed to atoms. only the bases of the parapets were left, and in the bottom of the trenches was an accumulation of water and filth. it was a disgusting sight. the whole place was littered with old german equipment, and whilst wading and splashing along through the water i saw such things, and such stenches assailed my nostrils, as i shall not easily forget. dotted all over the place, half in and half out of the mud and water, were dead bodies. but why recount the horrors of the scene? imagine the sights and the smell. how i got through that section of trench heaven only knows. it was simply ghastly. to escape from the scene i hurried to the end of the trench and again crossed "no man's land." the sight here was not so bad as in the trenches. to obtain a good view of the spot i got up very gingerly on top of the parapet, fixed the machine, and filmed the scene. but this enterprise nearly put an end to my adventure, _and also to the other members of the party_. i had finished taking, and had got my camera down on the stand, in the bottom of the trench, and was on the point of unscrewing it, when two shells came hurtling overhead and exploded about forty feet away. the major ran up to me and shouted that i had been seen, and told me to take cover at once. he and the others, suiting the action to the word, dived below the parapets. snatching the camera off its stand, i followed, and paddled as close as possible to the mud. the shells began falling in quick succession. nearer and nearer they came. some just cleared the parapet top; some burst in front, some immediately behind. "they have got our line; let's shift along further," some one said. from one point of the trench to the other we dodged. the shells seemed to follow us wherever we went. crash! one struck the crumbling parapet on the very spot where, a few seconds before, i had been sheltering. in the rush for cover i had lost the handle of the camera, and as it was the only one i had there, i began to work my way back to find it. "don't be a fool," called the major. "if you show yourself they'll have you, as sure as eggs are eggs." but my anxiety to obtain pictures of the bursting shells was too much for me. i set to to make a handle of wood. looking round, i spotted an old tree-trunk, behind which i could take cover. doubling towards it, i crouched down, and finding a piece of wood and an old nail i fashioned a handle of a sort. at this moment a funny incident occurred. i had momentarily forgotten the existence of the other members of the party. i was hoping against hope that they had escaped injury. what had happened to them? where were they? it almost seemed as if my thoughts were communicated by telepathy to one of them, for just above the parapet in front of me rose the head of captain ----. "i say, malins," he said, "did you find your handle?" the words were barely out of his mouth when a shell shot by. captain ----'s head went down like a jack-in-the-box. the sight was too funny for words. if he hadn't ducked the shell would have taken his head off, for it struck the ground and exploded, as we found out afterwards, only ten feet away. for three-quarters of an hour this "strafing" continued, then giving bosche ten minutes to settle down we came out of our holes and corners. what sights we were! collecting my apparatus, i again crossed "no man's land," and carefully made my way into the village of neuve chapelle itself. to describe it would only be to repeat what i said of the devastated city of ypres. there was nothing whole standing. the place was smashed and ground down out of all recognition. and yet, from its solitary high position upon the cross, the figure of christ looked down upon the scene. it was absolutely untouched. it stood there--this sacred emblem of our faith--grim and gaunt against the sky. a lonely sentinel. the scene was a sermon in itself, and mere words fail to describe the deep impression it made upon me. chapter v filming the prince of wales how i made a "hide-up"--and secured a fine picture of the prince inspecting some gun-pits--his anxiety to avoid the camera--and his subsequent remarks--how a german block-house was blown to smithereens--and the way i managed to film it under fire. to-day has certainly been most interesting, and not without excitement. i was to film the bombardment of a concrete german block-house from the guards' trenches at ----. previous to starting out from ---- news came through from headquarters that the prince of wales was going to inspect some guns with lord cavan. the staff officer who told me this knew the trouble i had previously experienced in trying to obtain good films of the prince, and warned me to be very careful. i enquired the time of his arrival at the gun-pits. so far as i could ascertain, it was to be at . a.m. i therefore decided to be there half an hour earlier, and make a "hide-up" for myself and camera. i was determined to succeed this time. proceeding by way of ----, which place has suffered considerable bombardment, the church and surrounding buildings having been utterly destroyed, i stayed awhile to film the interior and exterior of the church, and so add another to the iniquitous record of the bosche for destroying everything held sacred. [illustration: on the way to the "menin gate" with an artillery officer, to film our guns in action] a short distance outside the town i came upon the gun positions, and crossing a field--or rather shall i say a mud-pond, for the mud very nearly reached my knees--i selected a point of vantage at one side of a hedge which ran at right angles to the gun-pits. there was only one path fit to traverse, and getting hold of an officer, i asked him if we could so arrange it that the prince started from the further end of the path and came towards camera. he said he would try. fixing up the camera, i got in front of the hedge facing the path, and completely hid all signs of the machine with bracken and branches of trees. pushing the lens well through the hedge, i ripped open an old sandbag, cut a hole in it and hung it on the hedge, with my lens pointing through. by such means it was quite impossible for anyone in front to see either myself or the camera, and having completed my preparations, i settled down to patiently await the arrival of the prince. in about half an hour he came along with lord cavan, a general, and other officers of the staff. true to his promise, captain ---- got the prince to follow the path i had indicated. when he arrived at the further end of the row of guns, i started filming. he came direct towards the camera, but when within fifteen feet of it the noise of handle turning attracted his attention. he stood fully fifteen seconds gazing in my direction, evidently wondering what it was on the other side of the hedge. then he passed out of range. i hurried across the field with my aeroscope (an automatic camera), and stood at the end of the path waiting for him to pass. in a few moments he came along, and i started filming. the smiles of the staff officers were pleasing to behold. one of them remarked to the prince that it was quite impossible to escape this time. as he passed inside the farm-house, i heard him remark: "that was the man i tried to dodge on christmas day. how did he know i was coming here? who told him?" the enquiry was followed by some good-natured laughter, and feeling satisfied with my work, i hurried away. i had now to proceed to the front line trenches, taking the car, as far as possible, along the road. i had hidden it under cover of some ruined buildings, and taking the camera, and bidding my chauffeur bring the tripod, i started out. a captain conducted me. we quickly got to the communication trenches. as usual, a good deal of "strafing" was going on, and the german snipers were very busy. when we reached the first line firing trenches, i peered over the parapet through a periscope, but found i was too far south of the block-house. so i proceeded higher up, and about eight hundred yards further on came a traverse, which i had chosen, and the loophole through which i was going to film the scene. the distance to the german block-house from where i was standing was about yards. the thickness of the parapet, i should say, was roughly four feet; and through the parapet was a conical, square-shaped, wooden cylinder. in front, under cover of darkness, the night previous, i had had two sandbags placed, so that when everything was ready, and my camera fixed, a slight push from the back with a stick would shift them clear of the opening. fixing up the camera, i very carefully pinned an empty sandbag over the back of the aperture, with the object of keeping any daylight from streaming through. i placed a long stick ready to push the sandbags down. i intended doing that after the first shell had fallen. this particular loophole had been severely sniped all the morning, the germans evidently thinking it was a new maxim-gun emplacement. time was drawing near. i thought i would try with the stick whether the sandbags would fall easily. evidently i gave them too vigorous a push, for the next moment they came toppling down. knowing such a movement as that was certain to attract the german snipers' attention, i quickly ducked my head down and hoped our . 's would soon open fire. i did not relish the idea of having a bullet through my camera. sure enough the germans had seen the movement, for bullets began battering into sandbags around the loophole. at that moment the c.o. withdrew the whole of the men from that section of the trench, and i was left alone. but the prospect of getting a fine film drove all other thoughts from my mind. a few minutes later the first shell came hurtling over and exploded within ten yards of the block-house. i started filming. shell after shell i recorded as it exploded, first on one side then on the other, until at last the eighth shell fell directly on top of the block-house, and with a tremendous explosion the whole fabric disappeared in a cloud of smoke and flame. débris of every description rattled in the trench all round me, and continued to fall for some moments, but luckily i was not hit. being unable to resist the temptation of looking over the parapet, i jumped up and gazed at the remains of the building which now consisted of nothing more than a twisted, churned-up mass of concrete and iron rails. our artillery had done its work, and done it well. chapter vi my first visit to ypres and arras greeted on arrival in the ruined city of ypres by a furious fusillade--i film the cloth hall and cathedral, and have a narrow escape--a once beautiful town now little more than a heap of ruins--arras a city of the dead--its cathedral destroyed--but cross and crucifixes unharmed. to ypres! this was the order for the day. the news gave me a thrill of excitement. the thunder of the big guns grew louder as we approached the front line, until they seemed to merge into one continuous roar. stopping on the road, i asked if the germans were "strafing" to-day. "yes," said one of our military police, "they were shelling us pretty heavily this morning: you will have to be very careful moving about inside. bosche machines are always up in the air, taking bearings for the guns." arriving at the outskirts of the ruined town, we were pulled up by a sentry, who, finding our papers in order, allowed us to proceed. at that moment a furious fusillade of gun-fire attracted our attention, and three shrill blasts of a whistle rang out; then we heard a cry, "everyone under cover!" stopping the car, i immediately jumped out, and stood under cover of a broken-down wall, and looking up, could see the cause of this activity. [illustration: taking scenes in devastated ypres, may, ] high in the air, about eight to ten thousand feet, was a bosche aeroplane, and while i was watching it shrapnel shells from our anti-aircraft guns were exploding round it like rain. a great number were fired at it. the whole sky was flecked with white and black patches of smoke, but not one hit was recorded. the machine seemed to sail through that inferno as if nothing were happening, and at last it disappeared in the haze over its own lines. only then were we allowed to proceed. i had made a rough programme of what to film, and decided to start from the grand place. in a few words, i may say that i filmed the place from the remains of the cloth hall, the cathedral, and various districts of the town, but to try and describe the awful condition of what was once the most beautiful town in belgium would be to attempt the impossible. no pen, and no imagination, could do justice to it. the wildest dreams of dante could not conjure up such terrible, such awful scenes. the immensity of the outrage gripped me perhaps more completely when i stood upon the heap of rubble that was once the most beautiful piece of architecture of its kind in all the world. the cloth hall, and the cathedral, looked exactly as if some mighty scythe had swept across the ground, levelling everything in its path. the monster -inch german shells had dismembered and torn open the buildings brick by brick. confusion and devastation reigned everywhere, no matter in what direction you looked. it was as if the very heavens and the earth had crashed together, crushing everything between them out of all semblance to what it had been. the ground was literally pock-marked with enemy shell-holes. the stench of decaying bodies followed me everywhere. at times the horror of it all seemed to freeze the understanding, and it was difficult to realise that one was part and parcel of this world of ours. literally, horror was piled upon horror. and this was the twentieth century of which men boasted; this was civilisation! built by men's hands, the result of centuries of work. now look at them; those beautiful architectural monuments, destroyed, in a few months, by the vilest spawn that ever contaminated the earth. a breed that should and would be blotted out of existence as effectively as they had blotted out the town of ypres. beneath one large building lay buried a number of our gallant soldiers, who were sheltering there, wounded. the position was given away by spies, with the result that the germans poured a concentrated fire of shells upon the helpless fellows, and the shelling was so terrific that the whole building collapsed and buried every living soul beneath the débris. as i stood upon the heap tears came into my eyes, and the spirits of the brave lads seemed to call out for vengeance. and even as i stood and pondered, the big guns rang out, the very concussion shaking bricks and dust upon me as i stood there. while filming the scene, german shells came hurtling and shrieking overhead, exploding just behind me and scattering the débris of the ruins high above and whizzing in my direction. to obtain a good view-point, i clambered upon a mount of bricks nearly fifty feet high, all that was left of the cathedral tower. from that eminence i could look right down into the interior, and i succeeded in taking an excellent film of it. while doing so, two german shells exploded a short distance away. whether it was the concussion or pieces of shell that struck it, i do not know--probably the latter--but large pieces of stone and granite fell at my feet, and one piece hit my shoulder. so i quickly made my way to more healthy quarters, and even as i left the shells overhead began to shriek with redoubled fury, as if the very legions of hell were moaning, aghast at the terrible crime which the fiendish huns had perpetrated. arras, although not by any means as badly damaged as ypres, is one of the most historical and beautiful places systematically destroyed by the germans. the cathedral, the wonderful museum, the hôtel de ville, once the pride of this broken city, are now no more. arras provides yet another blasting monument of the unspeakable methods of warfare as practised by the descendants of attila, the hun. the city was as silent as the tomb when i visited it. it was dead in every sense of the word; a place only fit for the inhabitants of the nether world. only when the german shells came screaming overhead with unearthly noise, in an empty street, was the silence broken in this city of the dead. i visited the ruined cathedral, and filmed various scenes of the interior and exterior, having to climb over huge mounds of fallen masonry to obtain my best view-points. in places all that was left standing was the bare walls. the huge columns, with their beautiful sculptures, no longer able to support the roof, still stood like grim sentinels watching over their sacred charge. and yet, despite the unholy bombardment to which the building had been subjected, three things remained unharmed and untouched in the midst of this scene of awful desolation. the three crucifixes, with the figures of christ still upon them, gazed down upon this scene of horror. and high upon the topmost joint of the south wall stood the cross, the symbol of christianity--unharmed. the united endeavours of the powers of evil could not dislodge that sacred emblem from its topmost pinnacle. i left the cathedral and walked along the grass-covered streets, pock-marked by innumerable shell-holes, and every now and then i had to dive into some cellar for shelter from falling shells. at the hôtel de ville the same sight presented itself. the bombardment had reduced its walls to little more than a tottering shell, which fell to pieces at the merest touch. [illustration: in ypres, with "baby" brooks, the official still photographer, may, ] chapter vii the battle of st. eloi filming within forty-five yards of the german trenches--watching for "minnies"--officers' quarters--"something" begins to happen--an early morning bombardment--develops into the battle of st. eloi--which i film from our first-line trench--and obtain a fine picture. a bombardment was to take place. a rather vague statement, and a common enough occurrence; but not so this one. i had a dim idea--not without foundation, as it turned out--that there was more in this particular bombardment than appeared on the surface. why this thought crossed my mind i do not know. but there it was, and i also felt that it would somehow turn out seriously for me before i had finished. i was to go to a certain spot to see a general--and obtain permission to choose a good view-point for my machine. my knowledge of the topography of this particular part of the line was none too good. reaching the place i met the general, who said, in a jocular way, when i had explained my mission: "have you come to me to-day by chance, or have you heard something?" this remark, "had i heard something?" confirmed my opinion that something _was_ going to happen. without more ado, the general told me the bombardment would take place on the morrow, somewhere about . a.m. "in that case," i said, "it will be quite impossible to obtain any photographs. anyway," i added, "if you will permit me, sir, i will sleep in the front line trenches to-night, and so be ready for anything that may happen. i could choose a good spot for my machine this afternoon." "well," he replied, "it's a hot corner," and going to the section maps he told me our front line was only forty-five yards away from the bosche. "you will, of course, take the risk, but, honestly speaking, i don't expect to see you back again." this was anything but cheerful, but being used to tight corners i did not mind the risk, so long as i got some good films. the general then gave me a letter of introduction to another general, who, he said, would give me all the assistance he could. armed with this document, i started out in company of a staff officer, who was to guide me to the brigade headquarters. arriving there (it was the most advanced point to which cars were allowed to go), i obtained two orderlies, gave one my aeroscope the other the tripod, and strapping another upon my back, we started off on a two-mile walk over a small hill, and through communication trenches to the section. at a point which boasted the name of "cooker farm," which consisted of a few dug-outs, well below ground level, and about five by six feet high inside by seven feet square, i interviewed two officers, who 'phoned to the front line, telling them of my arrival. they wished me all good luck on my venture, and gave me an extra relay of men to get me to the front. a considerable amount of shelling was going on overhead, but none, fortunately, came in my immediate neighbourhood. the nearest was about fifty yards away. from our front line trenches the bosche lines were only forty-five yards away, therefore dangers were to be anticipated from german snipers. a great many of our men had actually been shot through the loophole of plates. i immediately reported myself to the officer in charge, who was resting in a dug-out, built in the parapet. he was pleased to see me, and promised me every assistance. i told him i wished to choose a point of vantage from which i could film the attack. placing my apparatus in the comparative safety of the dug-out, i accompanied him outside. rifle-fire was continuous; shells from our -pounders and . 's were thundering past overhead, and on either side "minnies" (german bombs) were falling and exploding with terrific force, smashing our parapets and dug-outs as if they had been the thinnest of matchwood. fortunately for us these interesting novelties could be seen coming. men are always on the look-out for "minnies," and when one has been fired from the bosche it rises to a height of about five hundred feet, and then with a sudden curve descends. at that point it is almost possible to calculate the exact whereabouts of its fall. everyone watches it; the space is quickly cleared, and it falls and explodes harmlessly. sometimes the explosion throws the earth up to a height of nearly feet. while i was deciding upon the exact point of the parapet upon which i would place the camera, a sudden cry of "minnie" was heard. looking up, i saw it was almost overhead, and with a quick rush and a dive i disappeared into a dug-out. i had barely got my head into it before "minnie" fell and blew the mud in all directions, covering my back plentifully, but fortunately doing no other damage. eventually i decided upon the position, and looking through my periscope saw the german trenches stretching away on the right for a distance of half a mile, as the ground dipped into a miniature valley. from this point i could get an excellent film, and if the germans returned our fire i could revolve the camera and obtain the resulting explosions in our lines. the farm-house where i spent the night was about nine hundred yards behind the firing track. all that now remained of a once prosperous group of farm buildings were the battered walls, but with the aid of a plentiful supply of sandbags and corrugated iron the cellars were made comparatively comfortable. by the time i reached there it was quite dark, but by carefully feeling my way with the aid of a stick i stumbled down the five steps into the cellar, and received a warm welcome from captain ----, who introduced me to his brother officers. they all seemed astounded at my mission, never imagining that a moving picture man would come into the front battle line to take pictures. the place was about ten feet square; the roof was a lean-to, and was supported in the centre by three tree-trunks. four wooden frames, upon which was stretched some wire-netting, served as bedsteads; in a corner stood a bucket-fire, the fumes and smoke going up an improvised chimney of petrol tins. in the centre was a rough table. one corner of it was kept up by a couple of boxes; other boxes served as chairs. rough as it was, it was like heaven compared with other places at which i have stayed. by the light of two candles, placed in biscuit tins, we sat round, and chatted upon kinematograph and other topics until . p.m. the colonel of another regiment then came in to arrange about the positions of the relieving battalions which were coming in on the following day. he also arranged for his sniping expert and men to accompany the patrolling parties, which were going out at midnight in "no man's land" to mend mines and spot german loop-holes. a message came through by 'phone from brigade headquarters that the time of attack was . a.m. i could have jumped for joy; if only the sky was clear, there would be enough light for my work. the news was received in quite a matter-of-fact way by the others present, and after sending out carrying parties for extra ammunition for bomb guns, they all turned in to snatch a few hours' sleep, with the exception of the officer on duty. at twelve o'clock i turned in. rolling myself in a blanket and using my trench-coat and boots as a pillow, i lay and listened to the continual crack of rifle-fire, and the thud of bullets striking and burying themselves in the sandbags of our shelter. now and then i dozed, and presently i fell asleep. i suddenly awakened with a start. what caused it i know not; everything seemed unnaturally quiet; with the exception of an isolated sniper, the greatest war in history might have been thousands of miles away. i lit a cigarette, and was slowly puffing it (time, . a.m.), when a tremendous muffled roar rent the air; the earth seemed to quake. i expected the roof of our shelter to collapse every minute. the shock brought my other companions tumbling out. "something" was happening. the rumble had barely subsided, when it seemed as if all the guns in france had opened rapid battery fire at the same moment. shells poured over our heads towards the german positions in hundreds. the shrieking and earsplitting explosives were terrific, from the sharp bark of the . to the heavy rumble and rush of the -inch "how." the germans, surprised in their sleep, seemed absolutely demoralised. they were blazing away in all directions, firing in the most wild and extraordinary manner, anywhere and everywhere. shells were crashing and smashing their way into the remains of the outbuildings, and they were literally exploding all round. captain ---- instructed his officers to see what had happened to the ammunition party. they disappeared in the hell of shell-fire as though it were quite an every-day incident. i opened the door, climbed the steps, and stood outside. the sight which met my eyes was magnificent in its grandeur. the heavens were split by shafts of lurid fire. masses of metal shot in all directions, leaving a trail of sparks behind them; bits of shell shrieked past my head and buried themselves in the walls and sandbags. one large missile fell in an open space about forty feet on my left, and exploded with a deafening, ear-splitting crash. at the same moment another exploded directly in front of me. instinctively i ducked my head. the blinding flash and frightful noise for the moment stunned me, and i could taste the exploding gas surrounding me. i stumbled down the steps into the cellar, and it was some minutes before i could see clearly again. my companions were standing there, calmly awaiting events. the frightful din continued. it was nothing but high explosives, high explosive shrapnel, ordinary shrapnel, trench bombs, and bullets from german machine-guns. one incessant hail of metal. who on earth could live in it? what worried me most was that there was not sufficient light to film the scene; but, thank heaven, it was gradually getting lighter. it was now a.m. the shelling continued with increasing intensity. i got my apparatus together, and with two men decided to make my way to the position in the front line. [illustration: with my aeroscope camera after filming the battle of st. eloi] shouldering my camera i led the way, followed by the men at a distance of twenty yards. several times on the journey shrapnel balls and splinters buried themselves in the mud close by. when i reached the firing trench all our men were standing to arms, with grim faces, awaiting their orders. i fixed up the tripod so that the top of it came level with our parapet, and fastened the camera upon it. it topped the parapet of our firing trench (the germans only forty-five yards away), and to break the alignment i placed sandbags on either side of it. in this position i stood on my camera case, and started to film the battle of st. eloi. our shells were dropping in all directions, smashing the german parapets to pulp and blowing their dug-outs sky-high. the explosions looked gorgeous against the ever-increasing light in the sky. looking through my view-finder, i revolved first on one section then on the other; from a close view of -inch shells and "minnies" bursting to the more distant view of our . . then looking right down the line, i filmed the clouds of smoke drifting from the heavy (woolly bears) or high shrapnel, then back again. shells--shells--shells--bursting masses of molten metal, every explosion momentarily shaking the earth. the germans suddenly started throwing "minnies" over, so revolving my camera, i filmed them bursting over our men. the casualties were very slight. for fully an hour i stood there filming this wonderful scene, and throughout all the inferno, neither i nor my machine was touched. a fragment of shrapnel touched my tripod, taking a small piece out of the leg. that was all! shortly after seven o'clock the attack subsided, and as my film had all been used up, i packed and returned to my shelter. what a "scoop" this was. it was the first film that had actually been taken of a british attack. what a record. the thing itself had passed. it had gone; yet i had recorded it in my little - by -inch box, and when this terrible devastating war was over, and men had returned once again to their homes, business men to their offices, ploughmen to their ploughs, they would be able to congregate in a room and view all over again the fearful shells bursting, killing and maiming on that winter's morning of march th, . chapter viii a night attack--and a narrow escape a very lively experience--choosing a position for the camera under fire--i get a taste of gas--witness a night attack by the germans--surprise an officer by my appearance in the trenches--and have one of the narrowest escapes--but fortunately get out with nothing worse than a couple of bullets through my cap. the weather was very fine when i left g.h.q., but on reaching ----, to interview colonel ---- in reference to the mining section, rain fell heavily. i arrived soon after midday, and went to the intelligence department to report; the c.o. telephoned to the c. of m. for an appointment. it was made for nine o'clock that night. having plenty of time at my disposal, i returned to ----, and passed a few hours with some friends. in the evening i returned for my appointment at the hour named. the colonel was exceedingly interested in my project, and was willing to do anything to help me. he gave me a letter of introduction to the corps commander of the ---- army, brigadier-general ----; also one to captain ----, c.o. of the ---- mining section. i was to proceed to general ---- first, and obtain the permission. at eight o'clock the following morning i rushed off to the company h.q. i met the general leaving his château. having read my letter of introduction, he promptly gave his consent. i was to report to major ----, at h.q., saying it was quite all right. thanking the general, i hastened to h.q., and showing his letter and delivering his message, i was given a note to captain ----, asking him to give me every assistance. before leaving, the major wished me success, and asked me whether i was prepared to wait until a "blow" came off? "yes, sir," i replied, "for five or six days in the trenches, if necessary." the colonel had made arrangements with several companies that they were to report immediately to ----th company when they were going to "blow," in order to give me time to go immediately to the spot and film it. leaving the company h.q., i proceeded to ----, and duly presented the captain's letter. "you have the corps' permission," said the colonel; "it will now be necessary to obtain the divisional c.o. permit." this i eventually obtained. now if by any chance a "blow" took place opposite either of the other companies, it would be necessary to obtain their permission, as they were in another division. therefore, calling upon a major of that division, i secured the final permit. next morning i left for the front line trenches. reaching ----, which was smashed out of all recognition, we drew up under cover of some ruined walls. shells were falling and bursting among the ruins, but these diversions were of such ordinary, everyday occurrence that hardly any notice was taken of them. if they missed--well, they were gone. if they hit--well, it was war! the miners, gathering near the "birdcage" (a spot which derives its name from a peculiar iron cage erection at the corner of the road), formed up, and proceeded for about three hundred yards to the beginning of "quarry ally," the ammunition trench leading to their particular part of the front line. they filed in one by one; i filmed them meanwhile. the journey of thirteen hundred yards to the front line was quite an ordinary walk. it was interesting to note the different tones of the heavy and light shells as they flew overhead, from the dull rush of a . to the shriek of the -pounder. i reached a company dug-out. it was certainly one of the best i have ever seen. going down three steps, then turning sharply at right angles, i disappeared through a four-foot opening; down more steps to a depth of ten feet, then straight for three paces. at the end was the main gallery, about twenty-five feet long, five feet in width, and five feet six inches high. half of it was used for the telephone operator, and sleeping accommodation for the orderlies, the other half was used as officers' quarters. several officers were busy discussing plans when i arrived. the conversation might sound strange and callous to an ordinary listener. "well, what's the news? how's brother bosche?" "bosche reported quite near," was the reply. "our shaft is practically finished, and ready for charging. this morning you could distinctly hear bosche speaking. his gallery was getting nearer to ours. i told the sergeant to work only when bosche was doing so." "when are you going to 'blow' ----?" "i am not sure of the date, but 'dinkie' is going to 'poop' in a few days. he's got two tons under bosche. it will be a ---- fine show; right under his trenches. ought to snip a hundred or so." "well," said another, "i was down in c shaft, and could hear bosche working very hard, as if he had got all the world to himself." at that moment a tunnelling-sergeant came in, and reported that the bosche was much nearer. the listener could distinctly hear talking through the 'phone. an officer immediately got up and went out with the sergeant, one of the speakers meanwhile suggesting that brother bosche was certainly going to visit realms of higher kultur than he had hitherto known. then came a close scrutinising of maps, showing shafts in the making and mines ready for "blowing"; of sharp orders to the tunnelling-sergeants and fatigue parties to bring charges from the magazine. the whole thing was fascinating in the extreme. a new branch of his majesty's service, and one of the most dangerous. to be on duty in a listening-post thirty feet underground--in a narrow tunnel, scarcely daring to breathe, listening to german miners making a counter-mine, and gradually picking their way nearer and nearer, until at last you can hear their conversation--would try the nerves of the strongest of men. i went out, and made my way towards the well-known quarries. noting several interesting scenes of our scottish battalions at work, i filmed them. a most pathetic touch was added to the scene, for a neat little graveyard occupied the right-hand corner, and about one hundred small crosses were there. i was not allowed to remain very long. the bosche sent over several aerial torpedoes, which exploded with terrific force and split up the ground as if a -inch h.e. shell had been at work. naturally every one rushed to obtain as much cover as possible. i crossed to the other side of the quarry, and entered a small tunnel, which led into a winding maze of narrow communication trenches. [illustration: in the main street of contalmaison the day of its capture] [illustration: launching a smoke barrage at the battle of st. eloi] "be careful, sir," called a sentry. "bosche is only thirty yards away, and they are plugging this corner pretty thoroughly; they're fairly whizzing through the sandbags, as if they warn't there, sir. they caught my captain this morning, clean through the head. i was a-talking to him, sir, at the time; the finest gentleman that ever lived; and the swine killed him. i'll get six of them for him, sir." the look in his eyes and the tone of his voice told me he was in earnest. i passed on, keeping as low as possible. the crater, when i reached it, proved to be one of an enormous size. it must have been quite feet across. the place had been converted into a miniature fort. i noticed how spongy the ground was. when walking it seemed as if one was treading upon rubber. i casually enquired of an officer the cause of it. "dead bodies," said he; "the ground here is literally choked with them; we dare not touch it with a spade; the condition is awful. there are thousands of them for yards down, and when a shell tears away any section of our parapets the sight is too ghastly for words." at that moment a man yelled out "cover," and, looking up, i saw several bosche rifle grenades falling. shouting to my orderly to take cover with the camera, he disappeared into what i thought was a dug-out but which i afterwards discovered was an incline shaft to a mine. he made a running dive, and slid down about four yards before he pulled himself up. luckily he went first, the camera butting up against him. he told us afterwards he thought he was really going to the lower regions. i dived under a sandbag emplacement, when the grenades went off with a splitting crash, and after allowing a few seconds for the pieces to drop, looked out. a tragic sight met my gaze. the officer with whom i had been speaking a few moments before had, unfortunately, been too late in taking cover. one of the grenades had struck him on the head, and killed him on the spot. within a few moments some red cross men reverently covered the body with a mackintosh sheet and bore it away. one more cross would be added to the little graveyard in the quarry. shortly after i met an officer of the mining section. he was just going down into the gallery to listen to bosche working a counter-mine. did i care to accompany him? "don't speak above a whisper," he said. he disappeared through a hole about three feet square. i followed, clinging to the muddy sides like a limpet, half sliding, half crawling, in the impenetrable darkness. we went on, seemingly for a great distance; in reality it was only about fifteen yards. then we came to a level gallery, and in the distance, by the aid of a glow-lamp, i could see my companion crouching down, with a warning finger upon his lips to assure silence. the other side of him was a man of the tunnelling section, who had been at his post listening. the silence was uncanny after the din outside. in a few moments i heard a queer, muffled tap--tap--tap, coming through the earth on the left. i crept closer to my companion, and with my mouth close to his ear enquired whether that was the bosche working. "yes," he said, "but listen with this," giving me an instrument very similar to a doctor's stethoscope. i put it to my ear and rested the other end upon a ledge of mud. the effect was like some one speaking through a telephone. i could distinctly hear the impact of the pickaxe wielded by the bosche upon the clay and chalk, and the falling of the débris. i turned to him with a smile. "brother bosche will shortly have a rise in life?" "yes," said he, "i think we shall 'blow' first. it's going to be a race, though." final orders were given to the man in charge, then we crawled up again into the din of the crashing shells. i was more at home in these conditions. down below the silence was too uncanny for me. when i reached our dug-out once more a message was waiting for me to return to h.q., as important things were in prospect the following morning. the message was urgent. mines were to be blown at an early hour. i therefore decided that the best thing to do was to go into the trenches and stay the night, and so be prepared for anything that might happen. little did i dream what the next forty-eight hours were going to bring. it's a good thing sometimes we don't know what the future has in store for us. the stoutest heart might fail under the conditions created by the abnormal atmosphere of a modern battlefield. i prepared to depart at p.m., and bidding adieu to my friends, i started off in the car. the guns were crashing out continuously. several times i pulled the car up to shelter under some ruins. then for a few minutes there was a lull, and directing my chauffeur to go ahead at top speed we reached our destination safely. i had barely entered this scene of desolation when bosche shells came hurtling overhead and fell with a deafening explosion a short distance away. here i had my first taste of gas from the german weeping shells. the air was suddenly saturated with an extraordinarily sweet smell. for the first few moments i quite enjoyed it. then my eyes began to water freely, and pain badly. realising at once that i was being "gassed," i bade the driver rush through the village, and as far beyond as possible. his eyes, poor fellow, were in the same state. the car rolled and pitched its way through, smashing into shell-holes, bounding over fallen masonry, scraping by within a hair's-breadth of a recently smashed lorry. on and on, like a drunken thing. still the air was thick with the foul gas. my eyes were burning; at last it was quite impossible to keep them open. but i had to get through, and so with a final effort looked ahead, and to my great relief found we were beyond the village, and the air smelt cleaner. i told the driver to pull up, and with a final roll the car landed its front wheels into a ditch. for two hours afterwards i was to all intents and purposes blind. my eyes were burning, aching and weeping. the pain at last subsided, and collecting the apparatus we trudged off along the communication trench to the front line. threading our way through seemed much more difficult than previously. the sides of the trenches had been blown in by shells a few minutes before, and this necessitated climbing over innumerable mounds of rubble; but working parties were quickly on the scene clearing a way through. at last i reached the dug-out previously referred to, and believe me, i was very thankful. the officer there seemed rather surprised to see me. "hullo!" he said. "what news? anything doing?" "yes," i replied. "h.q. says they are 'blowing' in the early morning, so i decided to come along to-night and fix up a good position for the camera, not desiring to attract the too earnest attentions of a bosche sniper." "whose mine are they blowing?" said he. "i suppose i shall hear any moment." just then a message came through on the 'phone. he picked up the receiver and listened intently. an earnest conversation was taking place. i could gather from the remarks that h.q. was speaking. in a few minutes he replaced the receiver, and turning to me, said: "d shaft is going to blow; time, . a.m." soon after i turned in. rolling myself in a blanket, i lay down on a trestle-bed in the corner, and in doing so disturbed a couple of rats, almost as large as rabbits, which had taken up their temporary quarters there. apparently there were plenty of them, for several times i felt the brutes drop on my blanket from holes and crannies in the chalk. needless to say, i could not sleep a wink, tired out as i was, and as i lay there, twenty feet underground, i could hear the rumble and roar of the shells crashing their way through our parapets, tearing, killing and maiming our brave lads, who throughout all these horrors held this section of our line like a wall of steel. i had been lying there for about half an hour. then i got up and climbed out of the incline into the open trench. i worked my way towards the firing trench; bullets from bosche machine-guns and snipers were flattening themselves against the parapet. several times i had to squeeze myself close to the muddy sides to allow stretcher-bearers to pass with their grim burdens; some for the corner of the quarry, some for good old "blighty." i stayed for a while alongside a sentry. "any news?" i asked. "no, sir," said he, "but i feel as if something is going to happen." "come," said i, with a laugh, "this is not the time for dreaming." "no, sir, i'm not dreaming, but i feel something--something that i can't explain." "well, cheer up," i said. "good night." "good night, sir!" and as i wended my way along i could hear him softly whistling to himself the refrain of an old song. at last i came upon the section opposite which our mine was going up in the morning, and cautiously looking over the parapet i surveyed the ground in front. there were several sandbags that required shifting. if they remained it would be necessary to place the camera higher above the top than was safe or wise. carefully pulling myself up, i lay along the top of the parapet and pushed them aside. several star-shells were fired whilst i was so engaged, and i dare not stir--i scarcely dared breathe--for fear the slightest movement would draw a stream of bullets in my direction. undoubtedly this was the only place from which to film the mine successfully. so marking the spot i slid down into the trench again, and retraced my steps to the dug-out. i found the officer i had previously seen enjoying a lovely, steaming tin of tea, and it wasn't many minutes before i was keeping him company. we sat chatting and smoking for a considerable time. "is everything ready?" i asked. "yes," he said. "there is over three thousand pounds of it there" (mentioning an explosive). "brother bosche will enjoy it." "let me see your map," i said, "and i'll point out the spot where i'm working. it's about eighty yards away from bosche. if we work out the exact degree by the map of the 'blow,' i can obtain the right direction by prismatic compass, and a few minutes before 'time' lift the camera up and cover the spot direct. it'll save exposing myself unnecessarily above the parapet to obtain the right point of view." the point of view was accordingly settled. it was ° from the spot chosen for the "blow." we had been so busy over our maps that we had not noticed how quiet everything had become. hardly a gun sounded; the silence was uncanny. save for the scurrying of the rats and the drip--drip--drip of water, the silence was like that of the grave. "what's wrong?" i asked. "bosche is up to no good when he drops silent so soon," he said. the words of the sentry recurred to me. "i've a feeling, sir, that i cannot describe." i was beginning to feel the same. at length my companion broke the silence. "as bosche seems to be going easy, and our artillery has shut up shop, let's lie down," and with that he threw himself on the bed. i sat on the box, which served as a table, smoking. half an hour went by. things were livening up a bit. we began to hum a tune or two from the latest revue. suddenly we were brought to our feet by a crashing sound that was absolutely indescribable in its intensity. i rushed up the incline into the trench. what a sight! the whole of our front for the distance of a mile was one frightful inferno of fire. the concentration of artillery fire was terrific! scores of star-shells shot into the air at the same moment, lighting the ground up like day, showing up the smoking, blazing mass more vividly than ever. hundreds of shells, large and small, were bursting over our trenches simultaneously; our guns were replying on the german front with redoubled fury; the air was alive with whirling masses of metal. the noise was indescribable. the explosions seemed to petrify one. i made my way as near the front line as possible. a number of scots rushed by me with a load of hand grenades. the trenches were packed with men rushing up to the fight. i asked an officer who raced by, breathlessly, if bosche was getting through. "yes," he yelled; "they are trying to get through in part of my section. they have smashed our communication trenches so much that i have got to take my men round on the right flank. it's hell there!" it was impossible to get through. the place was choked with men, many of them badly wounded; some of them, i'm afraid, destined as tenants of the little cemetery near by. the awful nightmare continued. men were coming and going. reserves were being rushed forward; more bombs were being sent up. the bosche artillery quietened down a bit, but only, as i found out immediately afterwards, to allow their bombers to attack. i could see the flash of hundreds of bombs, each one possibly tearing the life out of some of our brave boys. nothing in the world could have withstood such a concentrated artillery fire as the germans put upon that five hundred yards of ground. it was torn and torn again, riven to shreds. it was like the vomiting of a volcano, a mass of earth soddened with the blood of the heroes who had tried to hold it. the germans came on, bombing their way across to what was left of our trench. they dug themselves in. then with a whirl and a crash, our guns spoke again. our boys, who had been waiting like dogs on a leash, sprang to the attack. briton met bosche. the battle swayed first this way then that. our men drove the germans out twice during the night, and held on to a section commanding the flank of the original position. towards four o'clock the fighting ceased. daylight was breaking. the wounded were still being passed to the rear. i stopped and spoke to an officer. "how have you got on?" i asked. "we occupy the left flank trench, and command the position. but, what a fight; it was worse than loos." then suddenly, "what are _you_ doing here?" "i am taking kinema pictures!" i said. the look of amazement on his face was eloquent of his thoughts. "doing _what_?" he asked. "i am taking kinema pictures," i repeated. "well i'm damned," were his exact words. "i never thought you fellows existed. i've always thought war pictures were fakes, but--well--now i know different," and giving me a hearty shake of the hand he went on his way. time was now drawing near for my work to begin. taking the camera to the selected point in the front line, which, luckily, was just on the left of the fighting area, i took my bearings by the aid of a compass. fixing up a tripod in such close quarters was very difficult. i stretched an empty sandbag on a piece of wire, cut a hole in it and hung it on the front of the camera in such a position that the lens projected through the hole. the sandbag stretched far enough on either side to shelter my hands, especially the right one, which operated the machine. i was now ready. i had to risk the attentions of the snipers; it was unavoidable. little by little i raised the camera. it was now high enough up, and ramming some sand against the tripod legs, i waited. had the bosche seen it? three more minutes, then the mine. one minute went by; no shots! another minute went by. a bullet flew over my head. immediately afterwards another buried itself in the parapet, then another. surely they would hit it! heavens how that last minute dragged! to be absolutely sure of getting the mine from the very beginning, i decided to start exposing a minute before time. it had to be done; reaching up, i started to expose. another and another bullet flew by. then the thing happened which i had been dreading. the bosche opened a machine-gun on me. at that moment there was a violent convulsion of the ground, and with a tremendous explosion the mine went up. it seemed as if the whole earth in front of us had been lifted bodily hundreds of feet in the air. showers of bombs exploded, showing that it had been well under the german position. then with a mighty roar the earth and débris fell back upon itself, forming a crater about feet across. would our men rush the crater and occupy it? on that chance, i kept turning the handle. the smoke subsided; nothing else happened. the show was over. no, not quite; for as i hurriedly took down the camera, i evidently put my head up a little too high. there was a crack, and a shriek near my head, and my service cap was whisked off. the whole thing happened like a flash of lightning. i dropped into the bottom of the trench and picked up my cap. there, through the soft part of it, just above the peak, were two holes where a bullet had passed through. one inch nearer and it would have been through my head. can you realise what my thoughts were at that precise moment? chapter ix fourteen thousand feet above the german lines the first kinematograph film taken of the western front--and how i took it whilst travelling through the air at eighty miles an hour--under shell-fire--over ypres--a thrilling experience--and a narrow escape--a five thousand foot dive through space. "i feel confident i can manage it, and that the result will be both instructive and unique, and provided the weather is clear and i get as small a dose of 'bosche' as possible, there is no reason why it shouldn't be successful." "of course, i am quite aware of the atmospheric difficulties. the fact that it is so thick and misty is entirely due to the heavy body of moisture in the ground--but if i start off early in the morning i may just escape it." this conversation took place in the office of a certain british aerodrome in france between the flight commander and myself. we had been going into the pros and cons of an aerial expedition over the german lines. i was anxious to film the whole line from an aeroplane. "well," said he, "what about the height? i think i had better call in the captain," and pressing a bell an orderly quickly appeared and was sent off to inform the captain that his presence was required. "i say," said the flight commander, "this is malins, the war office kinematographer." he then explained my mission and requirements. "now," he said, after all preliminaries had been discussed, "the question is about the height. what is a tolerably safe height over 'bosche'?" "about , feet, i should say, though of course if we go well over his lines it will be necessary to rise higher. there are too many 'archibalds' about to dodge any lower." "well," i replied, "i'll start taking my scenes when we arrive at the coast-line. we can then follow it along and turn off inland towards ypres. i should very much like to film that place from above, then follow down the lines, passing over st. eloi, ploegsteert, armentières, neuve chapelle, richebourg, festubert, givenchy, loos, hohenzollern redoubt, and on to arras. i am of course entirely in your hands. i do not want to jeopardise the trip, nor wish you to run any unnecessary risks, you understand, but i should like to get as low as possible, and so obtain more detail. it will be the first kinematograph film ever taken of the western front." "well," said the flight commander, rising, "you have full permission. you can have the use of a be c machine, with captain ----. do what you like, but take care. don't be rash. good luck to you. i shall be as anxious as you to see the result." in the captain's company i left the office, and together we went round to make arrangements regarding the means of fixing my camera. the machine was the usual type of passenger-carrying aero, numbered be c, a very stable and reliable machine, but according to the captain, not very fast. speed in this case was not an absolute necessity, unless a fokker favoured us with his attentions. [illustration: in the trenches at the famous and deadly hohenzollern redoubt, after a german attack. shortly after this was taken i was shot through my service cap by a german sniper] i went aboard to find the best means of fixing and operating my camera. i decided to use my debrie, not the aeroscope. the latter had jambed a day or two previous, and i had not had an opportunity of repairing it. the observer's seat was in the front, and just above, on the main struts, was a cross-tube of metal. on each end was an upright socket, for the purpose of dropping into it a lewis gun. the pilot also had the same in front of him. i suggested that a metal fixing, which would fit the socket, and a tilting arrangement, so that it would be possible to raise or lower the camera to any angle, would suit admirably, and on the other side, in case of attack, a lewis gun could be fitted. "it's well to be prepared for emergencies," said the captain. "it's quite possible we shall be attacked." "well," i said, "i will have a good shot at him if he does turn up. and who knows--i may be able to get a picture of the hun machine falling. by jove, what a thrill it would provide!" instructions were given to the excellent mechanics employed in the r.f.c., and within an hour or so the metal tilting-top was made and fixed on the plane. "you will have to wrap up well," said the captain. "it's jolly cold up there. it looks rather misty, and that will make it all the worse. now then, all aboard." up i scrambled, or rather wriggled, between a network of wire stays, and taking my seat the camera was handed to me. i fastened it on one side of the gun-mounting and fixed a lewis gun on the other, making sure i had spare boxes of film ready, and spare drums of ammunition. i then fastened the broad web belt round my waist, and fixed on my goggles. i was ready for the ascent. my companion was in his seat, and the machine was wheeled into position for starting. the mechanics were turning the propeller round to suck the gas into the many cylinders, to facilitate easier starting. "all ready," shouted the captain. "right away, contact, let her go." and with a jerk the motor started. the whirl of the huge blades developed into a deafening roar. the machine vibrated horribly. i clung to my camera, holding it tight to the socket. i knew that once in the air the shake would be reduced to a minimum. faster and faster whirled the propeller as the captain opened the throttle. how sweet and perfect was the hum of the giant motor. not the slightest sound of a misfire. being an ardent motorist, i could tell that the engine was in perfect tune. the captain leaned over and shouted to me through the roar to fasten the telephone receiver against my ear under my leather cap. "that," said he, pointing to a mouthpiece attached to a small rubber tube, "is the transmitter. if you want to give me any instructions shout into that. i shall hear you. all fit?" he asked. i nodded my head. he took his seat, and opened the throttle. the engine leapt into new life. the roar was deafening. the whirring blades flung the air back into my face, cutting it as if with a whip. he dropped his arm. the men drew away the chocks from the wheels, and amid shouts of "good luck!" from the officers present, the machine sprang forward like a greyhound, bounding over the grass, until at last it rose like a gigantic bird into the air. the earth gradually drew away. higher and higher we rose, and began to circle round and round to gain height. "we will get up to three thousand feet before we strike towards the coast," he shouted through the telephone. the vibration, now we were in the air, was barely perceptible, at any rate it was not sufficient to affect the taking of my scenes. in case any moisture collected on my lens, i had brought a soft silk pad, to wipe it with occasionally. higher, still higher, we rose. "what's the height now?" i asked. "very nearly three thousand feet," he said. "we are now going towards the coast. that's dunkirk over there." i peered ahead. the port, with its shipping, was clearly discernible. over the sea hung a dense mist, looking for all the world like a snowfield. here and there, in clear patches, the sun gleamed upon the water, throwing back its dazzling reflections. as soon as we reached the coast-line, i shouted: "proceed well along this side, so that i can obtain an oblique view. it looks much better than directly above the object. what's our speed?" "sixty miles," he said. "i shall keep it up until we reach the german lines." he turned sharp to the right. we are now following the coast-line towards ostend. how beautiful the sand dunes looked from above. the heavy billows of sea-mist gave it a somewhat mystic appearance. how cold it was. i huddled down close into my seat, my head only above the fuselage. keeping my eye upon the wonderful panorama unfolding itself out beneath me, i glanced at my camera and tested the socket. yes, it was quite firm. "we are nearing the lines now," my companion shouted. "can you see them on your right? that's the belgium area. our section, as you know, begins just before ypres. will this height suit you? shall i follow the trenches directly overhead or a little to one side?" "keep this side, i'll begin taking now." kneeling up in my seat, i directed my camera downwards and started filming our lines and the german position stretching away in the distance. we were nearing ypres, that shell-battered city of flanders. white balls of smoke here and there were bursting among the ruins, showing that the huns were still shelling it. what a frightful state the earth was in. for miles and miles around it had the appearance of a sieve, with hundreds of thousands of shell-holes, and like a beautiful green ribbon, winding away as far as the eye could see, was that wonderful yet terrible strip of ground between the lines, known as "no man's land." we were now running into a bank of white fleecy clouds, which enveloped us in its folds, blotting the whole earth from view. i held my handkerchief over the lens of the camera to keep the moisture from settling upon it. after a time several breaks appeared in the clouds beneath, and the earth looked wonderful. it seemed miles--many miles--away. rivers looked like silver streaks, and houses mere specks upon the landscape. here and there a puff of white smoke told of a bursting shell. but for that occasional, somewhat unpleasant reminder, i might have been thousands of miles away from the greatest war in history. who could imagine anything more wonderful, more fantastic? i had dreamed of such things, i had read of them; i even remembered having read, years ago, some of the wonderful stories in _grimm's fairy tales_. to my childish mind, they seemed very wonderful indeed. there were fairies, goblins, mysterious figures, castles which floated in the air, wonderful lands which shifted in a night, at the touch of a magic wand or the sound of a magic word. things which fired my youthful imagination and set me longing to share in their adventures. but never in my wildest dreams did i think i should live to do the same thing, to go where i listed; to fly like a bird, high above the clouds. it was like an adventure in fairyland to take this weird and wonderful creation of men, called an aeroplane, through the home of the skylark. boom! boom! i was suddenly brought back to--no, not to earth, but to--things more material. looking down, i could discern several balls of smoke, which i immediately recognised as shrapnel shells, or "archibalds," that had been fired at us by the germans. they were well below. i looked round at the captain. he was smiling through his goggles, and humorously jerked his thumb in the direction of the bursting "archies." "too high, eh?" i shouted. but i had forgotten that in the fearful hum of the rushing air and whirling motors my voice would not carry. it was literally cut off as it left my lips. i picked up the 'phone and shouted through it. "yes, they are pretty safe where they are," he said drily. then a few more burst underneath us. by this time we were well out of the cloud bank. the atmosphere was much clearer. i knelt up again on my seat and began to expose, and continued turning the handle while we passed over st. eloi and hill . on certain sections i could see that a considerable "strafe" was going on. fritz seemed to be having a very trying time. near messines my film suddenly ran out. i had to reload. this was anything but an easy operation. i unscrewed my camera from the gun socket, and in doing so had a near escape from doing a head-dive to earth. like an idiot, i had unfastened my waist-strap, and in reaching over the fuselage my camera nearly over-balanced, the aeroplane contributing to this result by making a sudden dive in order to avoid an "archibald." for a second or two i had clear visions of flying through space on wings other than those of an aeroplane. but fortunately i had the steel crossbar to cling to, and this saved me. getting back to my seat, i asked the pilot to circle round the spot for a few minutes. while changing my spool, i settled down in the bottom of the car and reloaded my camera, eight thousand feet above the earth. this operation occupied about ten minutes, and when i had finished i gingerly raised myself on the seat and refixed the camera in its socket. "right away," i shouted. "is it possible to go any lower?" "it's very risky," he said, "but if you like i will try. hold tight, it's a dive." i held tight. the nose of the machine tilted forward until it seemed as if it was absolutely standing on end. the earth rushed up to meet us. for the moment it seemed as if the aeroplane was out of control, but with a graceful glide, which brought us level, we continued our journey at a height of three thousand feet. "get what you want quickly," he shouted. "we can't stay here long." i began to expose again. by now we were over line after line of trenches. at times we were well over the bosche lines. i continued to film the scenes. first came ploegsteert, fromelles, and aubers ridge. then we crossed to neuve chapelle, festubert, la bassée and loos. town after town, village after village, were passed over, all of them in ruins. from above the trenches, like a splash of white chalk dropped into the middle of a patch of brown earth. the long winding trenches cut out of the chalk twisted and wound along valley and dale like a serpent. looking down upon it all, it seemed so very insignificant. man? what was he? his works looked so small that it seemed one could, with a sweep of the foot, crush him out of existence. how small he was, yet how great; how powerful, yet how weak! we were now over la bassée. "we shall have to rise," shouted my companion. "look up there." i looked up, and thousands of feet above us was a small speck. "bosche plane," said he. "hold tight!" and i did. chapter x filming the earth from the clouds chasing an "enemy" aeroplane at a height of , feet--and what came of it--a dramatic adventure in which the pilot played a big part--i get a nasty shock--but am reassured--a freezing experience--filming the earth as we dived almost perpendicularly--a picture that would defy the most ardent futurist to paint. "is that gun ready?" asked my companion, twisting round in his seat. i nodded. "right-o! i'm going to get up higher. we are absolutely lost down here." i fixed on a drum of cartridges, and with a butt in my hand was ready for any emergency. higher and higher we rose. the mist was becoming more and more dense. photographing was impossible. the cold seemed to chill one's bones. i could tell by the increasing vibration we were going "all out," in order to get above the enemy machine, which seemed to be drawing closer and closer. i looked at the pilot. he had his eyes fixed upon the bosche. "what are we now?" "eight thousand," he said. "that chap must be at least thirteen thousand up. do you notice whether he is coming nearer?" i told him it seemed to me as if he was doing so. up and up we went. colder and colder it grew. my face was frozen. to breathe, i had to turn my head sideways to avoid the direct rush of air from the whirling propeller. i could just discern the ground through the mist. i looked around for the bosche. he seemed further away. i shouted to the pilot. he looked round. "i'm going to chase it," he said. and away he went. but the faster we moved the faster went the other machine. at last we discovered the reason. in fact, i believe we both discovered it at precisely the same moment. _the plane was one of our own!_ i looked at the captain. he smiled at me, and i'm positive he felt disappointed at the discovery. "what's the height?" i enquired. "about thirteen thousand feet," he said. "shall we go higher? we may get above the mist." "try a little more," i replied. "but i don't think it will be possible to film any more scenes to-day; the fog is much too heavy." the whole machine was wet with moisture. it seemed as if we should never rise above it. i had never before known it so thick. my companion asked if we should return. with reluctance i agreed, then, turning round face to the sun, we rushed away. the mist did not seem to change. mile after mile we encountered the same impenetrable blanket of clammy moisture. i was huddling as tight as possible to the bottom of the seat, taking advantage of the least bit of cover from the biting, rushing swirl of icy-cold air. mile after mile; it seemed hours up there in the solitude. i watched the regular dancing up and down of the valves on top of the engine. i was thinking of a tune that would fit to the regular beat of the tappets. i shouted through the 'phone. no answer. he must be too cold to speak, i thought. for myself, i did not know whether i had jaws or not. the lashing, biting wind did not affect my face now. i could feel nothing. once i tried to pinch my cheek; it was lifeless. it might have been clay. my jaw was practically set stiff. i could only just articulate. i tried again to attract my companion's attention. still no answer. i was wondering whether anything had happened to him, when something did happen which very nearly petrified me. i felt a clutch on my shoulder. quickly turning my head, i was horrified to see him standing on his seat and leaning over my shoulder. "get off the telephone tube, you idiot. you are sitting on it," he shouted. "we can't speak to one another." "telephone be damned!" i managed to shout. "get back to your seat. don't play monkey-tricks up here." if you can imagine yourself fourteen thousand feet above the earth, sitting in an aeroplane, and the pilot letting go all his controls, as he stands on his feet shouting in your ear, you will be able to realise, but only to a very slight extent, what my feelings were at this precise moment. he returned to his seat. he was smiling. i fumbled about underneath and found the tube. putting it to my mouth, i asked him what he meant by it. "that's all right, my dear chap," he said, "there's no need to get alarmed. the old bus will go along merrily on its own." "i'll believe all you say. in fact i'll believe anything you like to tell me, but i'd much rather you sit in your seat and control the machine," i replied. he chuckled, apparently enjoying the joke to the full, but during the remainder of the journey i made sure i was not sitting on the speaking tube. the mist was gradually clearing now. the sun shone gloriously, the clouds, a long way beneath us, looked more substantial; through the gaps in their fleecy whiteness the earth appeared. it seemed a long time since i had seen it. we were again coming to the edge of a cloud bank. the atmosphere beyond was exceedingly clear. "we are nearly home," said my companion. "are you going to take any more scenes?" "yes," i said, "i suppose you'll spiral down?" "right-ho!" "i'll take a film showing the earth revolving. it'll look very quaint on the screen." "here goes then. we are going to dive down to about six thousand feet, so hold on tight to your strap." the engines almost stopped. suddenly we seemed to be falling earthwards. down--down--down! we were diving as nearly perpendicular as it is possible to be. sharp pains shot through my head. it was getting worse. the pain was horrible. the right side of my face and head seemed as if a hundred pin-points were being driven into it. i clutched my face in agony; then i realised the cause. coming down from such a height, at so terrific a speed, the different pressure of the atmosphere affected the blood pressure on the head. suddenly the downward rush was stopped. the plane was brought to an even keel. "i'm going to spiral now," said the pilot. "ready?" "right away," i said, and knelt again in my seat. the plane suddenly seemed to swerve. then it slanted at a most terrifying angle, and began to descend rapidly towards the earth in a spiral form. i filmed the scene on the journey. to say the earth looked extraordinary would be putting it very mildly. the ground below seemed to rush up and mix with the clouds. first the earth seemed to be over one's head, then the clouds. i am sure the most ardent futurist artist would find it utterly impossible to do justice to such a scene. round and round we went. now one side, now the other. how i held to my camera-handle goodness only knows. half the time, i am sure, i turned it mechanically. suddenly we came to an even keel. the earth seemed within jumping distance. the nose dipped again, the propeller whirled. within a few seconds we were bounding along on the grassy space of the aerodrome, and finally coming to rest we were surrounded by the mechanics, who quickly brought the machine to a standstill. "by the way," i said to the pilot, as we went off to tea, "how long were we up there altogether?" "two hours," he replied. two hours! great scott! it seemed days! chapter xi preparing for the "big push" the threshold of tremendous happenings--general ----'s speech to his men on the eve of battle--choosing my position for filming the "big push"--under shell-fire--a race of shrieking devils--fritz's way of "making love"--i visit the "white city"--and on the way have another experience of gas shells. the time for which england has been preparing during these past two awful years is here. we are now on the threshold of tremendous happenings. the great offensive is about to begin. what will be the result? we see the wonderful organisation of our vast armies, and we know the firm and resolute methods of our general staff--as i have seen and known them during the war--would leave nothing to be desired. as a machine, it is the most wonderful that was ever created. my position as official kinematographer has afforded me unique opportunities to gain knowledge of the whole system required to wage the most terrible war that has ever been known to mankind. i have not let these opportunities slip by. the great day was coming; there was a mysterious something which affected everyone at g.h.q. there was no definite news to hand; nobody, with the exception of those directly concerned, knew when and where the blow was to be struck. some thought on the northern part of our line, others the centre; others, again, the south. in the home, in the streets, in the cafés and gardens, the one topic of conversation was--the coming great offensive. i was told by a colonel that my chance to make history was coming. that was all. but those few words conveyed an enormous lot to me. later in the day i was told by a captain to proceed to the front line, to choose a suitable position wherein to fix up my camera. our section facing gouerment was suggested to me as the place where there was likely to be the most excitement, and i immediately set out for that section. during the journey i was held up by a large body of our men, who turned out afterwards to be the london scottish. they were formed up in a square, and in the centre was a general, with his staff officers, addressing the men. his words thrilled the hearts of every one who heard them: "gentlemen of the london scottish: within the next few days you will take part in the greatest battle in the history of the world. to you has been entrusted the taking and holding of gouerment.... england is looking to you to free the world from slavery and militarism that is epitomized in the german nation and german kultur.... gentlemen, i know you will not fail, and from the bottom of my heart i wish you the best of luck." i waited until the address was finished, and then proceeded to a certain place, striking out on the left and trudging through innumerable communication trenches, at times up to my knees in mud and water. eventually i reached an eminence facing the village of gouerment. it was in a valley. the german trenches ran parallel with my position, and on the right i could discern the long green ribbon of grass termed "no man's land," stretching as far as the eye could see. the whole front of the german lines was being shelled by our heavy guns; the place was a spitting mass of smoke and flame. salvo after salvo was being poured from our guns. [illustration: in a shell hole in "no man's land" filming our heavy bombardment of the german lines. i got into this position during the night previous. it was here that i earned the soubriquet "malins of no man's land"] "what an inspiring sight," i said to an officer standing by my side, "and these shells were made by the women of england." "well," he said, "you see gommecourt; that's all coming down in a day or two. every gun, large and small, will concentrate its fire on it, and level it to the ground. that's your picture." "in that case," i replied, "i shall want to be much nearer our front line. i must get within five hundred yards of it. what a sight! what a film it will be!" i stood watching the bombardment for some time, then fixing my camera position, i returned. divisional h.q. told me i should be informed in ample time when the attack was to be made. that afternoon i returned to g.h.q., but the best laid schemes of mice and men aft gang agley. i was told that night to prepare immediately to proceed to the h.q. of a certain division, with instructions to attach myself to them for the next week; all particulars would be given to me in the morning. i received my instructions next morning. i was to proceed to the division, report myself, and i should receive all the information and assistance i required. with parting wishes for the best of luck, and "don't come back wounded," i left h.q., and proceeded by car to the company h.q., where i was received with every courtesy by general ----. he told me the best thing to do was to go to divisional h.q. and see the general. he had been informed of my arrival, and the final details could be arranged with him, such as the best points of vantage for fixing up my camera. accordingly i hurried off to divisional h.q. and met the general. on being ushered into his room, i found him sitting at a table with a large scale map of a certain section of our line before him. he looked the very incarnation of indomitable will, this general of the incomparable ---- division. i quickly explained my mission, and told him i should like to go to the front trenches to choose my position. "certainly," he said, "that is a very wise plan, but if you will look here i will show you the spot which, in my opinion, will make an ideal place. this is the german position. this, of course, is beaumont hamel, which is our objective. this is as far as we are going; it will be a pivot from which the whole front south of us will radiate. we are going to give the village an intense bombardment this afternoon, at o'clock; perhaps you would like to obtain that?" "yes, sir," i replied, "it is most necessary to my story. what guns are you using?" "everything, from trench mortars to -inch howitzers. we are going to literally raze it to the ground. it is one of the strongest german redoubts, and it's not going to be an easy job to occupy it; but we achieved the impossible at gallipoli, and with god's help we will win here. there is a spot here in our firing trench called 'jacob's ladder,'" and pointing to the map, he showed it me. "that certainly looks a most excellent point, sir," i said. "what is the distance from bosche lines?" "about yards. they 'strafe' it considerably, from what i am told; but, of course, you will have to take your chance, the same as all my other officers." "that is unavoidable, sir. the nature of my work does not permit me to be in very comfortable places, if i am to get the best results." "right," he said, "if you will report to brigade h.q. the brigade major will give you what orderlies you require, and you had better draw rations with them while you are there. he has instructions to give you every assistance." "oh, by the way, sir, what time does the mine go up?" "ten minutes to zero," he replied. "you quite understand, don't you? major ---- will give you zero time to-morrow night." after lunching with the general i started off for brigade h.q. the weather was vile. it had been raining practically without break for several days, and was doing its best to upset everything and give us as much trouble as possible. what an enormous number of munition waggons and lorries i passed on the road; miles and miles of them, all making for the front line. "ye gods!" i thought, "bosche is certainly going to get it." i reached my destination about . . what a "strafe" there was going on! the concussion of what i afterwards found out was our -inch howitzers was terrible. the very road seemed to shake, and when i opened the door of the temporary brigade h.q., one gun which went off close by shook the building to such an extent that i really thought for the moment a shell had struck the house. "captain ----, i presume?" said i, addressing an officer seated at a long table making out reports and giving them over to waiting dispatch riders. the room was a hive of industry. "gad, sir," he said, "are you the kinema man? i am pleased to see you. take a seat, and tell me what you want. you are the last person i expected to see out here. but, seriously, are you really going to film 'the day'?" "yes," i replied. "where do you propose to take it?" "general ---- suggested 'jacob's ladder.'" "what?" came a startled chorus from about half a dozen other officers. "take photos from 'jacob's ladder,'" they repeated in tones of amazement. "good lord! it's an absolute death-trap. bosche strafes it every day, and it's always covered by snipers." "well," i said, "it certainly seems by the map to be an ideal place to get the mine going up and the advance over 'no man's land.'" "granted, but--well!--it's your shoot. will you let us introduce the doctor? you'll need him." "gentlemen," i said, with mock gravity, "i assure you it would be most difficult for me to receive a more cordial welcome." this remark caused some laughter. turning to the captain, i said: "will you give me an orderly? one who knows the trenches, as i wish to go there this afternoon to film the 'strafe' at o'clock. i shall stay down there for the next few days, to be on the spot for 'the day,' and ready for anything that follows." "certainly," he said. "have you got a trench map? what about blankets and grub?" "i have my blanket and some provisions, but if i can draw some bully and biscuits, i shall manage quite well." having secured supplies and filled my knapsack, i strapped it on my shoulder, fixed the camera-case on my back and, handing the tripod to another man, started off. i had hardly got more than two hundred yards when the captain ran up to me and said that he had just had a 'phone message from d.h.q., saying that the general was going to address the men on the following day, before proceeding to battle. would i like to film the scene? it would take place about a.m. naturally, i was delighted at the prospect of such a picture, and agreed to be on the field at the time mentioned. then with a final adieu we parted. the weather was still vile. a nasty, drizzly mist hung over everything. the appearance of the whole country was much like it is on a bad november day at home. everything was clammy and cold. the roads were covered to a depth of several inches with slimy, clayey mud. loads of munitions were passing up to the front. on all sides were guns, large and small. the place bristled with them, and they were so cunningly hidden that one might pass within six feet of them without being aware of their existence. but you could not get away from the sounds. the horrible dinning continued, from the sharp rat-tat-tat-tat of the french mm., of which we had several batteries in close proximity, and from the bark of the -pounders to the crunching roar of the -inch howitzer. the air was literally humming with shells. it seemed like a race of shrieking devils, each trying to catch up with the one in front before it reached its objective. salvo after salvo; crash after crash; and in the rare moments of stillness, in this nerve-shattering prelude to the great push, i could hear the sweet warblings of a lark, as it rose higher and higher in the murky, misty sky. at one place i had to pass through a narrow lane, and on either side were hidden batteries, sending round upon round into the german trenches, always under keen observation from enemy-spotting balloons and aeroplanes. the recent shell-holes in the roadway made me pause before proceeding further. i noticed a sergeant of the lancashire fusiliers at the entrance to a thickly sand-bagged shelter, and asked him if there was another way to the section of the front line i sought. "no, sir," he said, "that is the only way; but it's mighty unhealthy just now. the hun is crumpling it with his . -inch h.e., and making a tidy mess of the road. but he don't hit our guns, sir. he just improves their appearance by making a nice little frill of earth around them, he does, and--look out, sir; come in here. "here she comes!" with a murderous shriek and horrible splitting roar a german shell burst on the roadway about fifty yards away. "that is fritz's way of making love, sir," he said, with a chuckle; which remark admirably reflects the marvellous morale of our men. "have they been shelling the avenues much?" i asked, referring to the various communication trenches leading to the front line. "yes, sir. nos. , and are being severely crumped. i would suggest no. , sir; it's as clear as any of them. i should advise you to get along this lane as fast as possible. i have been here some time, so i know fritz's little ways." he saluted, and like a mole disappeared into his dug-out as i moved away. i told my man to keep about ten yards behind me, so that in the event of a shell bursting near by one or the other of us would have a chance of clearing. "now," i said, "let it go at a double. come on," and with head well forward i raced up the road. altogether, with my camera, i was carrying about seventy pounds in weight, so you can guess it was no easy matter. there was about another yards to go, when i heard the ominous shriek of a german shell. "down in the ditch," i yelled. "lie flat," and suiting the action to the word, i flung myself down in the mud and water near a fallen tree. crash came the shell, and it exploded with a deafening roar more on the side of the road than the previous one, and near enough to shower mud and water all over me as i lay there. "now then," i yelled to my man, "double-up before they range the next one," and jumping up we raced away. not before i had got well clear, and near the old railway station, did i stay and rest. while there several shells crashed in and around the road we had just left. i was glad i was safely through. with the exception of the usual heavy shelling, getting down to the front trench was quite uneventful. my objective was a place called "the white city," so called because it is cut out of the chalk-bank of our position facing beaumont hamel. getting there through the communication trenches was as difficult as in the winter. in places the mud and water reached my knees, and when you had come to the end of your journey you were as much like dirty plaster-cast as anything possibly could be. after three-quarters of an hour's trudging and splashing i reached "the white city," and turned down a trench called "tenderloin street." about one hundred yards on my right, at the junction of "king street" and "st. helena street," my guide pointed me out the brigade dug-out. depositing my camera and outfit close to some sandbags i went inside and introduced myself. four officers were present. "by jove!" said one, "you are welcome. have a drink. here's a cigarette." "here you are," said another, "have a match. now tell us all the news from home. my word, we haven't heard a blessed thing for days. have you really come to photograph 'the day'?" "yes," i replied. "but i have come this afternoon to look round, and to film the 'strafe' at beaumont hamel. you know the trenches round here: where can i see the village to the best advantage?" "well," said one, "there are several places, but bosche is 'hating' us rather this afternoon, and the firing trench is anything but healthy. he's been properly dosing us with 'whizz-bangs,' but you know he _will_ have his bit of fun. you see, when fritz starts we let off a few 'flying pigs' in return, which undoubtedly disturbs his peace of mind." "by my map, a spot called 'lanwick street' seems likely," i said. "it's bang opposite the village, and they are putting the -inch on the eastern corner. if you will be good enough to guide me, i will have a look now; it will take me some time to fix up my camera in reasonable safety." "you won't find much safety there," he replied. "we have practically to rebuild the parapet every night, but only for a few more days, thank heaven! anyway, come along." we proceeded by way of "king street" to "lanwick street," and several times we had to fall flat in the trench bottom to escape being hit by shells. they seemed at times to burst almost overhead. the "whizz-bangs" which fritz puts over are rather little beggars; you have no time to dodge them. they come with a "phut" and a bang that for sheer speed knocks spots off a flash of lightning. one only thinks to duck when the beastly thing has gone off. "lanwick street" was the usual sort of trench. at one end was an artillery observation officer, correcting the range of his guns. "go easy, won't you?" he said to me. "bosche has an idea we use this corner for something rather important. if he sees your camera we shall certainly receive his attention. for heaven's sake, keep your head down." "right-o!" i said. "lend me your periscope; i will have a look at the ground first through that." i looked on the village, or rather the late site of it. it was absolutely flattened out, with the exception of a few remaining stumps of trees, which used to be a beautiful wood, near which the village nestled. "that's been done by our guns in five days; some mess, eh?" "my word, yes. now about this afternoon's bombardment; they are working on the left-hand corner." i chose a spot for working and fixing up my tripod, and waited until . p.m. in the meantime, with the aid of a stick, i gradually pushed away several sandbags which interfered with my view on the parapet. to do this it was necessary to raise myself head and shoulders above the top and, with one arm pushed forward, i worked the bags clear. i felt much better when that job was done. "you're lucky," said the a.o. "i had one of my periscopes hit clean by a bullet this morning. fritz must be having a nap, or he would have had you for a cert." "anyway," i replied, "it gives me a comparatively clear view now." time was drawing near. i prepared my camera by clothing it in an old piece of sacking, and gently raising it on to the tripod i screwed it tight. then gradually raising my head to the view-finder, i covered the section which was going to be "strafed," and wrapping my hand in a khaki handkerchief, waited. our guns were simply pouring shells on the bosche. the first of the -inch came over and exploded with a deafening roar. the sight was stupefying. i began to expose my film, swinging the camera first on one side then the other. shell after shell came roaring over; one dropped on the remaining walls of a château, and when the smoke had cleared there was absolutely nothing left. how in the world anything could live in such a maelstrom of explosive it is difficult to conceive. i continued to expose my film at intervals until about o'clock, and twice i had to snatch my camera down hastily and take shelter, for the "whizz-bangs" came smashing too close for safety. i was just taking down my camera when several shells exploded in the trenches about fifteen yards behind us. then a man came running into our traverse: "shure, sor," he said, "and it's gas-shells the dirty swine are sending over. my eyes seem to be burning out." his eyes were undoubtedly bad. tears were pouring down his cheeks, and he was trying to ease the pain by binding his handkerchief over them. then i smelt the gas, and having had a previous dose at vernilles, and not wishing for further acquaintance with it, i bade my man rush as quickly as possible back to "the white city." i got back to h.q. dug-out just in time for tea. i told the officers present of my success in filming the "strafe," and i learned that it was the first time fritz had put tear-shells over them. "we must certainly prepare our goggles," they said. "have you seen 'jacob's ladder'?" enquired one of the officers. "no," i replied, "i shall wait until dusk. it will then be safer to move about." we sat smoking and talking about the prospects of the "big push," and at last we all lapsed into silence, which was broken by the arrival of a lieutenant. the captain looked up from his bench. "hullo, what's up? any news?" "oh, no; nothing much, sir," said he, "but h.q. wishes me to go out for a raid to-night. they want a bosche to talk to; there are a few things they want to know. we haven't brought one in for several nights now. they asked me to go out again; i said, if there was one to be had my company would bring him along." [illustration: geoffrey h. malins, o.b.e., official kinematographer to the war office] "right-o!" said the captain. "who are you taking?" "---- for one, and a few men--the same lot that have been across with me before. h.q. specially want to know the actual results of the heavy 'strafe.' they are going to cease fire to-night, between twelve and one. i want to find out where their machine guns are fixed up----" and so the conversation went on. at that moment another officer came in, and i got him to show me round "jacob's ladder." we went through "king street" again, and followed the trench until we arrived at the place. the formation of this point was extraordinary. a stranger coming upon it for the first time would undoubtedly get a slight shock for, upon turning into a traverse, you come abruptly upon an open space, as if the trench had been sliced off, leaving an opening from which you could look down upon our front line trenches, not only upon them but well in front of them. i was on the bank of a small valley; leading down from this position were about twenty-five steps, hence the name "jacob's ladder." our parapet still followed down, like the handrail of a staircase, only of course much higher. the position from a photographic point of view was admirable, and i doubt whether on any other part of our front such a suitable point could be found. "jove!" i said, "this is the ideal place. i will definitely decide upon it." "if you look carefully over here you will see the bosche line quite plainly. they are about seventy yards away, and at that point we are going to put a barrage of fire on their second line with our stokes guns. we are going to do that from 'sunken road,' midway in 'no man's land.' can you see it there?" "yes," i replied; "splendid. as soon as i have got the mine exploding, and our men going over the parapet and across 'no man's land,' i can immediately--if all's well--swing my camera on to the barrage and film that. this is a wonderful position." "it rests entirely with fritz now. if he does not crump this place you will be all right, but they are sure to plaster our front trench as soon as they see us go over." "well, i must risk that," i said. and we turned and retraced our steps to the "white city," where i bade my companion good night, and returned to film the scene of the general's speech to his men the following morning. chapter xii filming under fire the general's speech to the fusiliers before going into action--filming the -inch howitzers--a miniature earthquake--"the day" is postponed--keeping within "the limits"--a surprise meeting in the trenches--a reminder of other days--i get into a tight corner--and have an unpleasantly hot experience--i interview a trench mortar--have a lively quarter of an hour--and then get off. rain, rain, rain. it was like a dull, dismal december night. owing to the tramping of hundreds of feet up and down the trenches, they became like a quagmire. we slipped and slid, clutching to the sticky, clay walls, and floundering up to our knees in holes, and, to make matters worse, bosche, who knew that this was the time we brought up fresh munitions, crumped the fifth avenue as hard as he could. one or two shells crashed into the trench on the way up, and i had to pass over two working parties (by the aid of a candle-light, screened) searching for, and placing the remains of their comrades in sacks. good god! it's a hellish game; and the terror of war gripped one's heartstrings that night. the momentary flash of the exploding shells lighted up the faces of the men with ghastly vividness, some grinding out curses then groping blindly on. i was glad when the journey was ended, and i turned into a dug-out in the village to rest for the night. next morning a misty, drizzly pall still hung over everything. i wondered how in the world our men were going to attack under such conditions, and to-morrow was "the day." i pitied them with all my heart and soul. and then i thought of myself, and my own particular job. i couldn't possibly "take" in such disgusting weather. the result would be an absolute failure. i controlled my feelings, and hoped for the best. the time arrived for the general's speech. reaching the field, i found all the men mustered up. the general had just arrived. i started to film the scenes as they presented themselves to me. jove! the speech was the most impressive that i had ever heard. i will give it as it was spoken, as near as i can. i do not think that it has been published before: "officers and men of the west riding field company, r.e., and -- battalion, royal fusiliers: "i hoped yesterday to be able to come and wish you good luck, on the first anniversary of the engagement in gully ravine, there the royal fusiliers took the turkish fifth line of trenches. owing to the rain, however, and to the discomfort to which you would have been placed, i postponed my visit until to-day. "i want to tell you something of the situation as it now stands. you are probably aware that we are now taking part in the greatest battle ever fought by british troops. not only is it of far more importance than any fight since waterloo, but the numbers engaged far exceed any assembly of troops in former days. the strength of this army,--the fourth army--under general sir h. s. rawlinson, is ---- times as large as the force of british troops at mons, when we first came out a year and a half ago. "the importance of winning a great victory is so great that nothing has been left undone to ensure success. but the higher commanders know--and i know--that all the best arrangements in the world cannot win battles. battles are won by infantry, and it is to the battalions like yourself that we look to gain a great victory, equal to the great victory which the russians have obtained this month. "the germans are shut in all round. on their northern flank they are shut in by the british navy, on the eastern flank pressed back by the russians, on the southern flank the italians are advancing, and this week, on the western flank, certain divisions of the french and many divisions of the british are determined to break their line and drive them back to their own country. "officers and men of the -- battalion, the royal fusiliers: you are very fortunate in having this opportunity to add to the high honours already gained by your distinguished regiment. not only, however, are you fighting for your battalion and your regiment, you are fighting to maintain against the germans the same high reputation which you have won for the ---- division on the gallipoli peninsula. more than that, you are fighting for your country, and also you are fighting for christianity and humanity. you are fighting for truth and justice against oppression. we are fighting for our liberty against slavery. "it is now thirty-three years since i was first associated with the royal fusiliers, the regiment i have looked up to during all my service as a pattern of smartness and efficiency. i have served with you in gibraltar, egypt, and many stations in india; also at aldershot, and on the gallipoli peninsula during the past year. there is no regiment in the service in which i have had a higher confidence, and i hope next week to be able to assemble you again and to congratulate you on the great victory that you are going to win for me, as commanding this division, and for your country." the faces of the men shone with a new light. it seemed as if they had seen a sight which other mortals were not allowed to look upon. as upright as poplars, chests well forward and heads thrown back, their souls seemed to speak out of their inflexible determination to win. they marched away, going to that stretch of land from which many have never returned--giving their lives for freedom and the honour of england. i turned and gave a parting wave of the hand to a group of officers standing by. "see you to-night," i said, "at the 'white city.' we will drink to the health of 'the day,'" and with a parting laugh i moved a way. i found out through h.q. that some of our -inch howitzers were in the vicinity, so i decided to film them without delay, to work them into the story of the battle. i discovered their position on my map. i reached the battery. the state of the ground was indescribable. it was more like a "sea of mud," and standing in the middle of this morass was the giant gun, for all the world like a horrible frog squatting on its haunches. each time it breathed it belched out flame and smoke with the most unearthly crash that could possibly be produced, and with each breath there flew with it a mass of metal and high explosive weighing fourteen hundred pounds, scattering death and destruction for hundreds of yards round the point of impact in the german defences, so that our boys might find it easier to force their way through. i filmed the firing several times, from various points of view, and when standing only about fifteen yards away the concussion shook the ground like a miniature earthquake. on one occasion, indeed, it lifted my camera and tripod in the air, driving it crashing into my chest. i had unknowingly placed myself in the danger zone which forms a semi-circle on either side of the muzzle when fired, the force being at times so great as to tear trees up by the roots and send them crashing to the ground. the prospects for "the day" were certainly bad. as one burly lancashire lad said to me: "the devil was looking after his own; but we are going to beat them, sir." that was the spirit of all the men i met there. i went direct to b.h.q. to get a full supply of film stock before going to the front line. i wished to get there early, to have a final look round and a discussion with the officers. a man i knew was there, looking for all the world like a man down and out. he had a face as long as a fiddle, and several other officers were looking just as glum. "you're a cheerful lot," i said. "what's up? anything wrong?" "yes, rather," they replied, "the ---- day is postponed for forty-eight hours." [illustration: bombarding the german trenches at the opening battle of the great somme fight, july st, ] [illustration: my official pass to the front line to film the battle of the somme, july st, ] "great scott! why?" i asked. "the weather," he answered laconically. "it's quite impossible for our chaps to go over the top in such sticky stuff. they wouldn't stand an earthly. as i said before, it's doing its best to upset the whole affair. i know the men will be awfully disappointed. we can hardly hold them back now--but there, i suppose the commander-in-chief knows best. undoubtedly it's a wise decision. the weather may break--god knows it couldn't be worse!" at that moment the brigade-general came in. he was looking quite bright. "i hear 'the day' has been postponed, sir," i said. "is that official?" "yes," he said. "if the weather improves ever such a little it will pay us for waiting, and of course it will suit you much better?" "rather," i replied. "it also gives me more time to film the preliminary scenes. i shall, however, keep to my programme, and go to the trenches this afternoon." i packed all my apparatus together, put some bully and biscuits in my bag, and started off once more for the trenches. i admit that on the journey thoughts crept into my mind, and i wondered whether i should return. outwardly i was merry and bright, but inwardly--well, i admit i felt a bit nervous. and yet, i had an instinctive feeling that all would be well, that i need not worry. such is the complex mystery of the human mind, battling within itself against its own knowledge, its own decisions, its own instincts. and yet there is a predominating force which seems to shuffle itself out of the midst of that chaotic state of mind, and holds itself up as a beacon-light, saying "follow me, believe in me, let me guide you, all will be well." and it is the man who allows himself to be guided by that mysterious something, which for the want of a better name we may call "instinct," who benefits, both spiritually and materially, by it. the usual big gun duel was proceeding with its usual intensity, but we were putting over about fifty shells to the huns' one. "crump" fell both ahead and behind me, compelling me, as before, to fall flat upon the ground. i reached the "fifth avenue." the trench was full of men taking down munitions. the news of the postponement had by some means reached them; they also were looking rather glum. ye gods, i thought, it's very nearly worth while to risk walking along the top. in places there was quite two feet of mud and water to wallow through. "fritz is crumping down the bottom of the avenue, sir," said a tommy to me; "just caught several of our lads--dirty blighters: right in the trench, sir." "thanks," i replied. thinking there might be an opportunity of getting some scenes of shell-bursts, i hurried on as fast as conditions would permit. with men coming up, and myself and others going down, with full packs on, it was most difficult to squeeze past each other. at times it was impossible, so climbing up on to the parapet, i crawled into another traverse further along. just then another shell burst lower down, but well away from the trench, hurting no one. i eventually reached the "white city" without mishap, and was greeted enthusiastically by the officers present. "what's the programme now?" "i am waiting for the final kick-off," i said. "are you going to give me a good show? and don't forget," i said, "hold back some of your bayonet-work on fritz until i get there with my machine." "but you're not coming after us with that affair, are you?" "yes, certainly; bet your life i shan't be far behind. as soon as you get into bosche trenches i shall be there; so don't forget--get there." from the corner some one shouted: "tell brother fritz if he gets out of 'the limits,' won't you?" this remark caused much laughter. "where have you heard that term used?" i enquired. "'limits' is a technical term." "yes, i heard it used once, a year or two ago. i was staying at a small place called steyning, near brighton. a film company was taking scenes in the village and on the downs. they had about two hundred horsemen and an immense crowd, and were rehearsing a scene for what i was told was a representation of the battle of worcester. it was some fight. the camera man was continually shouting out to them to keep in 'the limits' (i assumed he meant the angle of view). as i say, it was some fight. everything went well until a section of the men, who were supposed to run away, got a few genuine knocks on the head and, wishing to get their own back, they continued fighting. it was the funniest thing in the world. of course the camera was stopped, and the scene retaken." "that's extraordinary," i replied. "do you know that i was the chap who filmed that scene? it was for a film play called 'king charles.' it's very peculiar how one meets. i remember that incident quite well." i again filmed various scenes of the germans "strafing" our lines. our guns, as usual, were crashing out. they were pouring concentrated fire on the hawthorn redoubt, a stronghold of the germans, and thinking it would yield an excellent picture, i made my way to a point of vantage, whence i could get an unobstructed field of view. there was only one place, and that was a point directly opposite. to get there it was necessary to cross a sunken road about twenty-five feet wide. but it was under continual fire from german machine guns, and being broad daylight it was absolutely asking for trouble, thick and unadulterated, to attempt to cross it. i was advised not to do so, and i admit i ought to have taken the advice. anyway, the opportunity of getting such a fine scene of a barrage of fire was too strong, and for once my cautionary instincts were at fault. to reach the sunken road was comparatively easy. you had only to walk along our front line trench, and fall down flat on the ground when a german shell burst near you, then proceed. i reached the junction where the road ran across at right angles, and from the shelter of our parapet the road looked the quietest place on earth. it appeared easy enough to me to jump up quickly, run across and drop on the further side in our trench. "ridiculously easy! i'm going across," i said to my man. "when i'm over i'll throw a cord across for you to tie my tripod on to; then i'll pull it across. it will save you attempting it." i tied the camera on my shoulders, so as to have my arms quite free. i was now ready. the firing was renewed with redoubled vigour. shells i could see were falling on the hun lines like hailstones. "jove!" i said to myself, "i shall miss it. here goes." clambering up to the road level, i sprawled out flat and lay perfectly still for a few seconds, with my heart jumping like a steam engine. nothing happened. i gradually drew up my leg, dug the toe of my boot in the ground, and pushed myself forward bit by bit. so far, so good: i was half-way across. i was congratulating myself on my easy task. "what in the world am i lying here for?" i asked myself; "why shouldn't i run the remaining distance?" and suiting the action to the word, i got up--and found trouble! i had barely raised myself to my hands and knees when, with a rattle and a rush, a stream of bullets came swishing by, some striking the ground on my left, about nine feet away. i took the whole situation in in a flash. to lie there was almost certain death; to stand up was worse; to go back was as bad as going forward. what happened afterwards i don't know. i could hear the bullets whizzing by my head with an ugly hiss. the next moment, with a jump and a spring, i landed head first in the trench on the opposite side. for the moment i did not know whether i was hit or not. i unstrapped my camera, to see if it had caught any bullets, but, thank heaven, they had cleared it. some of our men were standing looking aghast at me, and wondering what the devil it was that had made such a sudden dive into their midst. the look on their faces was just too funny for words; i had to roar with laughter, and, realising that i was safe, they also joined in. but i was not out of the wood yet, for brother fritz immediately turned "whizz-bangs" on to us. "phut-bang," "phut-bang," they came. every one scampered for cover. needless to say, i did so too. five minutes went by. all the time these souvenirs dropped around us, but luckily none of them got any direct hits on our trench. i thought i would wait another five minutes, to see if bosche would cease fire. but not he. he was rather cross about my crossing the road safely. time went by. still the firing continued. i decided to risk throwing the cord and pulling over my tripod. keeping low, i yelled to my man: he, like a sage, had also taken cover, but hearing my shouts came out. "the rope is coming," i yelled. "tug it as a signal, when you have it." "right," came the reply. three times i threw it before i received the welcome tug at the other end. then a voice shouted: "pull away, sir." i pulled. i had to do it gently, otherwise the broken nature of the ground might damage the head. at last it was safely over, but bosche had seen something moving across; then he turned his typewriter on again. more bullets flew by, but with the exception of one which struck the metal revolving top and sliced out a piece as evenly as if it had been done by machine, no harm was caused. i bade one of the men shoulder my tripod. we rushed up the trench as fast as possible, and i thanked heaven for my escape. when i reached the section where i judged it best to fit up my camera, i gently peeped over the parapet. what a sight. never in my life had i seen such a hurricane of fire. it was inconceivable that any living thing could exist anywhere near it. the shells were coming over so fast and furious that it seemed as if they must be touching each other on their journey through the air. to get my camera up was the work of a few seconds. i had no time to put any covering material over it. the risk had to be run, the picture was worth it. up went my camera well above the parapet and, quickly sighting my object, i started to expose. swinging the machine first one way then the other, i turned the handle continuously. pieces of shell were flying and ripping past close overhead. they seemed to get nearer every time. whether they were splinters from the bursting shells or bullets from machine guns i could not tell, but it got so hot at last that i judged it wise to take cover. i had exposed sufficient film for my purpose, so quickly unscrewing the camera, my man taking the tripod, i hurried into a dug-out for cover. "jove!" i thought, mopping the perspiration from my head, "quite near enough to be healthy!" although the men were all taking cover, they were as happy as crickets over this "strafe." there is nothing a tommy likes more than to see our artillery plastering bosche trenches into "potsdam." "well, what's the next move?" i was asked. "trench mortars," i said. "both 'flying pigs' and 'plum puddings' ought to make topping scenes." "yes," the captain said. "they are in action this afternoon, and i am in charge of h.t.m. i'll give you a good show. i have only one pit available, as fritz dropped a 'crump' in the other yesterday, and blew the whole show to smithereens. my sergeant was sitting smoking at the time, and when she blew up it lifted him clean out of the trench, without even so much as scratching him. he turned round to me, and cursed bosche for spoiling his smoke. he's promised to get his own back on 'brother fritz.' bet your life he will too." he had hardly ceased speaking, when our dug-out shook as if a mine had gone up close by. i tumbled out, followed by the others. lumps of earth fell on our heads; i certainly thought the roof was coming in on us. getting into the trench, the bombardment was still going strong, and looking on my left i saw a dense cloud of smoke in our own firing trench. "what in the world's up?" i enquired of a man close by. "dunno, sir," he said. "i believe it's a bosche mine. it made enough fuss to be one, yet it seems in such an extraordinary position." "how about getting round to have a look at it?" i said to ----. "right-o," he said; "but you know we can't cross the road there. i think if we back well down, about one hundred yards, we may nip across into no. avenue. that'll bring us out near 'jacob's ladder.'" "lead on," i said. "i wish i had known. i came in across the road there," pointing down our firing trench. "you've got more pluck than i have," he said. "you can congratulate yourself that you are alive. anyway, come on." eventually i reached "jacob's ladder," and asked an officer what had happened. "i don't know," he said; "but whatever it was, it's smashed our front trench for about eighty yards: it's absolutely impassable." another officer came running up at that moment. "i say," he said, "there's a scene up there for you. a trench mortar gun had a premature burst, and exploded all the munition in the pit; blew the whole lot--men and all--to pieces. it's made a crater thirty yards across. it's a beastly wreck. can't use that section of the front line. and to make matters worse, fritz is pumping over tear-shells. everybody is tickled to death with the fumes." "don't cheer me up, will you?" i remarked. "i'm going to film the trench mortar this afternoon, both the h.t.m. and the -inch gee. i can thank my lucky stars i didn't decide to do them earlier. anyway, here goes; the light is getting rather poor." the officer with whom i was talking kindly offered to guide me to the spot. crumps were still falling, and so was the rain. "we'll go through 'lanwick street,' then bear to the left, and don't forget to keep your head down." [illustration: the plan of attack at beaumont hamel. july st, ] [illustration: over the top of beaumont hamel. july st, ] there are two things i detest more than anything else in the trenches: they are "whizz-bangs" and rats. the latter got mixed up in my feet as i was walking through the trench, and one, more impudent than the rest, when i crouched down to avoid a burst, jumped on to my back and sprang away into the mud. "we will turn back and go by way of 'white city,' then up king street. it may be cooler there." it certainly was not healthy in this neighbourhood. turning back, i bade my man follow close behind. entering the main trench, i hurried along, and was quite near the king street turning when a hun "crump" came tearing overhead. i yelled out to my man to take cover, and crushed into the entrance of a dug-out myself. in doing so, i upset a canteen of tea over a bucket-fire which one of our lads was preparing to drink. his remarks were drowned in the explosion of the shell, which landed barely twenty-five feet away. "now then," i called to my man, "run for it into king street," and i got there just in time to crouch down and escape another "crump" which came hurtling over. in a flash i knew it was coming very near: i crouched lower. it burst with a sickening sound. it seemed just overhead. dirt and rubble poured over me as i lay there. i rushed to the corner to see where it had struck. it had landed only twelve feet from the dug-out entrance which i had left only a few seconds before, and it had killed the two men whom i had crushed against, and for the loss of whose tea i was responsible. it was not the time or place to hang about, so i hurried to the trench-mortar pit to finish my scenes whilst daylight lasted. i met the officer in charge of the t.m. "keep your head down," he shouted, as i turned round a traverse. "our parapet has been practically wiped out, and there is a sniper in the far corner of the village. he has been dropping his pellets into my show all day, and fritz has been splashing me with his 'minnies' to try and find my gun, but he will never get it. just look at the mess around." i was looking. it would have beaten the finest indian scout to try and distinguish the trench from the débris and honeycomb of shell-holes. "where the deuce is your outfit?" i said, looking round. "you follow me, but don't show an inch of head above. look out." phut-bang came a pip-squeak. it struck and burst about five yards in front of us. "brother fritz is confoundedly inconsiderate," he said. "he seems to want all the earth to himself. come on; we'll get there this time, and run for it." after clambering, crawling, running and jumping, we reached a hole in the ground, into which the head and shoulders of a man were just disappearing. "this is my abode of love," said my guide. "how do you like it?" i looked down, and at the depth of about twelve feet was a trench mortar. the hole itself was, of course, boarded round with timber, and was about seven feet square. there was a gallery leading back under our parapet for the distance of about eighty feet, and in this were stored the bombs. the men also sheltered there. i let myself down with my camera and threaded by the numerous "plum puddings" lying there: i fixed my camera up and awaited the order for the men to commence firing. "are you ready?" came a voice from above. "right, sir," replied the sergeant. i began exposing my film. "fire!" the t.m. officer shouted down. fire they did, and the concussion nearly knocked me head over heels. i was quite unprepared for such a backblast. before they fired again, i got a man to hold down the front leg of my tripod. the gun was recharged; the order to fire was given, the lanyard was pulled, but no explosion. "hullo, another----" "misfire," was the polite remark of the sergeant. "those fuses are giving us more trouble than enough." another detonator was put on, everything was ready again. another tug was given. again no explosion. remembering the happenings of the morning in another pit, when a premature burst occurred, i felt anything but comfortable. sitting in the middle of about one hundred trench mortar bombs, visions of the whole show going up came to me. another detonator was put in. "fire," came the order. again it failed. "look here, sergeant," i said, "if that bally thing happens again i'm off." "the blessed thing has never been so bad before, sir. let's have one more try." still another detonator was put in. i began turning the handle of my camera. this time it was successful. "that's all i want," i said. "i'm off. hand me up my camera. and with due respect to your gun," i said to the t.m. officer, "you might cease fire until i am about fifty yards away. i don't mind risking brother fritz's 'strafe,' but i do object to the possibility of being scattered to the four winds of heaven by our own shells." and with a laugh and good wishes, i left him. "i say," he called out, "come into my dug-out to-night, will you? it's just in front of fifth avenue. i shall be there in about half an hour; i have got to give fritz a few more souvenirs to go on with. there is a little more wire left over there, and the c.o. wants it all 'strafed' away. do come, won't you? so long. see you later. keep your head down." "right-o!" i said, with a laugh. "physician, heal thyself. a little higher, and you might as well be sitting on the parapet." he turned round sharply, then dropped on his knees. "strafe that bally parapet. i forgot all about it. fire!" he yelled, and i laughed at the pleasure he was getting out of blowing up fritz. i scrambled and slithered back into the recognised trench again, and on my way back filmed the h.t.m., or "flying pig," in action. by this time it was getting rather dull, so going to a dug-out, i dropped my apparatus, and had another final look at the position from which i was going to film the great attack in the morning. chapter xiii the dawn of july first a firework display heralds the arrival of "the day"--how the boys spent their last few hours in the trenches--rats as bedfellows--i make an early start--and get through a mine-shaft into "no man's land"--the great event draws near--anxious moments--the men fix bayonets--and wait the word of command to "go over the top." darkness came, and with it a host of star-shells, or verey lights, which were shot up high in the air from both the german and our own trenches. they looked for all the world like a huge firework display at the crystal palace. rain had ceased. the heavens were studded with countless millions of stars. "great prospects for to-morrow," said one. "i hope it's fine, for the sake of the boys. they are as keen as mustard to go over the top." as we talked, batch after batch of men came gliding by in their full kit, smoking and chatting. while i was standing there hundreds must have passed me in that narrow trench, quietly going to their allotted positions. now and again sharp orders were given by their officers. "how's your section, sergeant? are you fitted up?" "yes, sir," came a voice from the blackness. "now, lads, come along: get through as quickly as possible. post your sentries at once, and be sharp." it was not long before little red fires were gleaming out of the dug-out entrances, and crowds of men were crouching round, heating their canteens of water, some frying pieces of meat, others heating soup, and all the time laughing and carrying on a most animated conversation. from other groups came the subdued humming of favourite songs. some were cursing and swearing, but with such a bluntness that, if i may say so, it seemed to take all the profanity from the words. and these men knew they were going "over the top" in the morning. the day which they had dreamed of was about to materialise. they knew that many would not be alive to-morrow night, yet i never saw a sad face nor heard a word of complaint. my feeling whilst watching these men in the glow of the firelight was almost indescribable. i was filled with awe at their behaviour. i reverenced them more than i had ever done before; and i felt like going down on my knees and thanking god i was an englishman. no words of mine can fitly describe this wonderful scene. and all the time more men, and still more men, were pouring into the trenches, and munitions of all descriptions were being served out. the bursting german shells, and the shrieks overhead of the missiles from our own guns, were for the moment forgotten in the immensity of the sights around me. i turned and groped the way back to my shelter and, as i did so, our fire increased in intensity. this was the prelude to the greatest attack ever made in the history of the world, and ere the sun set on the morrow many of these heroes--the lancashire fusiliers, royal fusiliers, middlesex, etc.--would be lying dead on the field of battle, their lives sacrificed that civilisation might live. at last i found a friend, and sitting down to our box-table we had a meal together. afterwards i wandered out, and entered several other dug-outs, where friends were resting. they all seemed anxious for the morning to come. i met the mining officer. "i say; let me check my watch by yours," i said. "as the mine is going up at . i shall want to start my machine about half a minute beforehand." "right-o!" he said. we then checked watches. i bade him good night, and also the others, and the best of luck. "same to you," they cried in general chorus. "i hope to heavens you get through with it, and show them all at home in england how the boys fight. they will then realise what war really means. good night, old man." "good night," i replied, and then found my way back to the shelter. i rolled myself in a blanket, and tried to sleep. the night was very cold. i lay shivering in my blanket and could not get warm. the guns were continually crashing out. shells were bursting just outside with appalling regularity. suddenly they seemed to quieten down, as if by some means the germans had got to know of our great plans and were preparing for the blow. presently everything was comparatively quiet, except for the scurrying of countless rats, running and jumping over my body, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. i expect i must have dozed off to sleep, for when i awoke day was breaking, and the din of the gun-fire was terrific. innumerable worlds seemed to be crashing together, and it sounded as if thousands of peals of thunder had concentrated themselves into one soul-terrifying roar. an officer looked in at the entrance at that moment. "hullo!" he said. "are you the 'movie-man'?" "yes," i said, sitting up. "what's up?" "well, i'm hanged; i'm glad i've found you. do you know, i asked several johnnies down the line if you were in the trenches and they laughed at me; asked me if i had been drinking; they thought i was pulling their leg. 'a movie man in the trenches,' they said, in tones of amazement; 'not likely!' i told them that you were here last night, and that you are here to film the attack. well, anyway, this is what i have come for. the colonel sent me--you know him--to see if you would film a company of our men in occupation of sunken road. they occupied it during the night without a single casualty, by tunnelling for about fifty yards through the parapet, under 'no man's land'; then sapped up and into the road. it's a fine piece of work," he said, "and would make a good picture." "rather," i said; "i'll come. it will be splendid from the historical point of view. can you let me have a guide, to show me the quickest and best way?" "yes, i will send one of our pioneers; he will guide you," he said. "let me know how you get on, won't you? and, if possible, when you return call in and see the colonel. he will be frightfully bucked." "right-o!" i said. "by gad! it's bally cold. my teeth won't hold still. push that man along, and i'll get off." "au revoir," he called out as he left. "see you later." [illustration: in the sunken road at beaumont hamel, just before zero hour, july st, . my experiences in getting into this place at . a.m. remain the most vivid of all] [illustration: in a trench mortar tunnel, during the battle of the somme, at beaumont hamel, july st, ] the guide turned up a few minutes afterwards; he took the tripod, i the camera. i started off and entered king street, making my way towards the firing trench. i have described in previous chapters what it was like to be under an intense bombardment. i have attempted to analyse my feelings when lying in the trenches with shells bursting directly overhead. i have been in all sorts of places, under heavy shell-fire, but for intensity and nearness--nothing--absolutely nothing--compared with the frightful and demoralising nature of the shell-fire which i experienced during that journey. i had only just reached king street, when it started on that section. bosche was fairly plastering the whole trench, and smashing down our parapets in the most methodical manner. four men passed me, with horrible wounds; another was being carried on the shoulders of his comrades, one arm being blown clean off, leaving flesh and remnants of cloth hanging down in a horrible manner. the shells fell in front, overhead and behind us. i bent low and rushed through traverse after traverse, halting when a shell burst in the trench itself round the next bend, sending a ghastly blast of flame and choking fumes full in my face. at one point i halted, hardly knowing which way to go; my guide was crouching as low as possible on the ground. the further i went, the worse it got; shrieking, splitting shells seemed to envelop us. i looked back. the same. in front, another burst; the flames swept right into my face. if i had been standing up it would have killed me without a doubt. to go back was as dangerous as to advance, and to stay where i was--well, it was worse, if anything. truth to tell, i had gone so far now that i did not like turning back; the picture of our men in sunken road attracted me like a magnet. "go on," i shouted to the guide. "we'll get through somehow. are you game?" "yes, sir," said he. we ran round the next traverse, and had to scramble over a heap of débris caused by a shell a few moments before. "look out, sir! there are some dead men here, and the parapet has practically disappeared. get down on your stomach and crawl along." phut-bang! the shells crashed on the parapet with the rapidity of machine-gun fire. i went down, and crawled along over the dead bodies of some of our lads killed only a few minutes before. it couldn't be helped. purgatory, in all its hideous shapes and forms, could not possibly be worse than this journey. it seemed years getting through that hellish fire. "how much more?" i yelled out. "we are quite near now, sir; about twenty yards." "rush for it, then--rush." i did, and my guide pulled up quickly at the entrance of what seemed like a mine. "incline in here, sir," he said, and disappeared. i followed. never in all my experience had i welcomed cover as i did at that moment. "hold on a bit," i said, "for five minutes' breathing space." the tunnel was no more than two feet six inches wide and five feet high. men inside were passing ammunition from one to the other in an endless chain and disappearing into the bowels of the earth. the shaft took a downward trend. it was only by squeezing past the munition bearers that we were able to proceed at all, and in some places it was impossible for more than one to crush through at a time. by the light of an electric torch, stuck in the mud, i was able to see the men. they were wet with perspiration, steaming, in fact; stripped to the waist; working like trojans, each doing the work of six men. the journey seemed endless. i could tell by the position that i was climbing. my guide was still in front, and letting me know of his whereabouts by shouting: "straight ahead, sir! mind this hole!" the latter part of the shaft seemed practically upright. i dragged my camera along by the strap attached to the case. it was impossible to carry it. we were nearing daylight. i could see a gleam only a few feet away. at last we came to the exit. my guide was there. "keep down low, sir. this sap is only four feet deep. it's been done during the night, about fifty yards of it. we are in 'no man's land' now, and if the germans had any idea we were here, the place would soon be an inferno." "go ahead," i said. it was difficult to imagine we were midway between the hun lines and our own. it was practically inconceivable. the shell-fire seemed just as bad as ever behind in the trenches, but here it was simply heavenly. the only thing one had to do was to keep as low as possible and wriggle along. the ground sloped downwards. the end of the sap came in sight. my guide was crouching there, and in front of him, about thirty feet away, running at right angles on both sides, was a roadway, overgrown with grass and pitted with shell-holes. the bank immediately in front was lined with the stumps of trees and a rough hedge, and there lined up, crouching as close to the bank as possible, were some of our men. they were the lancashire fusiliers, with bayonets fixed, and ready to spring forward. "keep low as you run across the road, sir. the bosche can see right along it; make straight for the other side." with that he ran across, and i followed. then i set my camera up and filmed the scene. i had to take every precaution in getting my machine in position, keeping it close to the bank, as a false step would have exposed the position to the bosche, who would have immediately turned on h.e. shrapnel, and might have enfiladed the whole road from either flank. i filmed the waiting fusiliers. some of them looked happy and gay, others sat with stern, set faces, realising the great task in front of them. i had finished taking my scenes, and asked an officer if the colonel was there. "no, but you may find him in 'white city.' he was there about an hour ago. great heavens," he said, "who would have believed that a 'movie-man' would be here, the nearest point to bosche lines on the whole front. you must like your job. hanged if i envy you. anyway, hope to see you after the show, if i haven't 'gone west.' cheero," and with that he left me. packing up my camera, i prepared to return. time was getting on. it was now . a.m. the attack was timed for . . as i wanted to obtain some scenes of our men taking up their final positions, i told my guide to start. "duck as low as possible," i said, "when you cross the road." "we can't go yet, sir; munitions are being brought through, and, as you know, there isn't room to pass one another." i waited until the last man had come in from the sap, then, practically on hands and knees, made for the sap mouth. "cheer up, boys," i shouted to the men as i parted from them, "best of luck; hope to see you in the village." "hope so, sir," came a general chorus in reply. again i struggled through the narrow slit, then down the shaft and finally into the tunnel. we groped our way along as best we could. the place was full of men. it was only possible to get my tripod and camera along by passing it from one to another. then as the men stooped low i stepped over them, eventually reaching the other end--and daylight. the "strafe" was still on, but not quite so violent. our parapets were in a sorry condition, battered out of all shape. returning through king street, i was just in time to film some of the men fixing bayonets before being sent to their respective stations in the firing trench. the great moment was drawing near. i admit i was feeling a wee bit nervous. the mental and nervous excitement under such conditions was very great. every one was in a state of suppressed excitement. on the way i passed an officer i knew. "are you going over?" i said. "rather," he replied, "the whole lot of us. some stunt, eh!" "don't forget," i said, "the camera will be on you; good luck!" bidding my man collect the tripod and camera, i made for the position on jacob's ladder. but i was to receive a rude shock. the shelling of the morning had practically blown it all down. but there was sufficient for a clearance all around for my purpose, and sufficient shelter against stray bits of shrapnel. i prepared to put up my camera. not quite satisfied, i left it about thirty yards away, to view the situation quickly, as there were only twenty minutes to go. hardly had i left the machine than a "whizz-bang" fell and struck the parapet immediately above the ladder, tumbling the whole lot of sandbags down like a pack of cards. it was a lucky escape for me. the position was absolutely no use now, and i had to choose another. time was short. i hastily fixed my camera on the side of the small bank, this side of our firing trench, with my lens pointing towards the hawthorn redoubt, where the mine--the largest "blown" on the british front--was going up. it was loaded with twenty tons of a new explosive of tremendous destructive power, and it had taken seven months to build. gee, what an awakening for bosche! my camera was now set ready to start exposing. i looked along the trench. the men were ready and waiting the great moment. one little group was discussing the prospects of a race across "no man's land." "bet you, jim, i'll get there first." "right-o! how much?" "a day's pay," was the reply. "take me on, too, will you?" said another hero. "yes. same terms, eh? good enough." "say bill," he called to his pal, "pay up from my cash if i 'go west.'" "shut up, fathead; we have to kill huns, 'strafe' them." i turned away to speak to an officer as to the prospects. "very good," he said. "i hope they don't plaster our trenches before all the men get out. they are as keen as mustard. never known them so bright. look at them now; all smoking." our guns were still pounding heavily, and the din and concussion was awful. to hear oneself speak it was absolutely necessary to shout. "you are in a pretty rocky position," some one said to me. "fritz will be sure to plaster this front pretty well as soon as our men 'get over.'" "can't help it," i said; "my machine must have a clear view. i must take the risk. how's the time going?" "it's 'seven-ten' now," he said. "i am going to stand by. cheero; best of luck!" i left him, and stood by my machine. the minutes dragged on. still the guns crashed out. the german fire had died down a bit during the last half-hour. i glanced down our trenches. the officers were giving final instructions. every man was in his place. the first to go over would be the engineers, to wire the crater. they were all ready, crouching down, with their implements in their hands. time: . a.m.! heavens! how the minutes dragged. it seemed like a lifetime waiting there. my nerves were strung up to a high pitch; my heart was thumping like a steam-hammer. i gave a quick glance at an officer close by. he was mopping the perspiration from his brow, and clutching his stick, first in one hand then in the other--quite unconsciously, i am sure. he looked at his watch. another three minutes went by. would nothing ever happen? chapter xiv the day and the hour a mighty convulsion signalises the commencement of operations--then our boys "go over the top"--a fine film obtained whilst shells rained around me--my apparatus is struck--but, thank goodness, the camera is safe--arrival of the wounded--"am i in the picture?" they ask. time: . a.m. my hand grasped the handle of the camera. i set my teeth. my whole mind was concentrated upon my work. another thirty seconds passed. i started turning the handle, two revolutions per second, no more, no less. i noticed how regular i was turning. (my object in exposing half a minute beforehand was to get the mine from the moment it broke ground.) i fixed my eyes on the redoubt. any second now. surely it was time. it seemed to me as if i had been turning for hours. great heavens! surely it had not misfired. why doesn't it go up? i looked at my exposure dial. i had used over a thousand feet. the horrible thought flashed through my mind, that my film might run out before the mine blew. would it go up before i had time to reload? the thought brought beads of perspiration to my forehead. the agony was awful; indescribable. my hand began to shake. another feet exposed. i had to keep on. then it happened. [illustration: the opening of the great battle of the somme, july st, . at . a. m. this huge mine loaded with tons of aminol which took months to make, was sprung under the german trenches at beaumont hamel] the ground where i stood gave a mighty convulsion. it rocked and swayed. i gripped hold of my tripod to steady myself. then, for all the world like a gigantic sponge, the earth rose in the air to the height of hundreds of feet. higher and higher it rose, and with a horrible, grinding roar the earth fell back upon itself, leaving in its place a mountain of smoke. from the moment the mine went up my feelings changed. the crisis was over, and from that second i was cold, cool, and calculating. i looked upon all that followed from the purely pictorial point of view, and even felt annoyed if a shell burst outside the range of my camera. why couldn't bosche put that shell a little nearer? it would make a better picture. and so my thoughts ran on. the earth was down. i swung my camera round on to our own parapets. the engineers were swarming over the top, and streaming along the sky-line. our guns redoubled their fire. the germans then started h.e. shrapnel began falling in the midst of our advancing men. i continued to turn the handle of my camera, viewing the whole attack through my view-finder, first swinging one way and then the other. then another signal rang out, and from the trenches immediately in front of me, our wonderful troops went over the top. what a picture it was! they went over as one man. i could see while i was exposing, that numbers were shot down before they reached the top of the parapet; others just the other side. they went across the ground in swarms, and marvel upon marvels, still smoking cigarettes. one man actually stopped in the middle of "no man's land" to light up again. the germans had by now realised that the great attack had come. shrapnel poured into our trenches with the object of keeping our supports from coming up. they had even got their "crumps" and high-explosive shrapnel into the middle of our boys before they were half-way across "no man's land." but still they kept on. at that moment my spool ran out. i hurriedly loaded up again, and putting the first priceless spool in my case, i gave it to my man in a dug-out to take care of, impressing upon him that he must not leave it under any circumstances. if anything unforeseen happened he was to take it back to headquarters. i rushed back to my machine again. shells were exploding quite close to me. at least i was told so afterwards by an officer. but i was so occupied with my work that i was quite unconscious of their proximity. i began filming once more. the first lot of men, or rather the remainder of them, had disappeared in the haze and smoke, punctured by bursting shells. what was happening in the german lines i did not know. other men were coming up and going over the top. the german machine-gun fire was not quite so deadly now, but our men suffered badly from shell-fire. on several occasions i noticed men run and take temporary cover in the shell-holes, but their ranks were being terribly thinned. still more went over, and still a stream of men were making for the mine crater; they then disappeared in the smoke. the noise was terrific. it was as if the earth were lifting bodily, and crashing against some immovable object. the very heavens seemed to be falling. thousands of things were happening at the same moment. the mind could not begin to grasp the barest margin of it. the german shells were crashing all round me. dirt was being flung in my face, cutting it like whipcord. my only thought was whether any of it had struck my lens and made it dirty, for this would have spoiled my film. i gave a quick glance at it. it was quite all right. fearful fighting was taking place in the german trenches. the heavy rattle of machine-guns, the terrible din of exploding bombs, could be heard above the pandemonium. our men had ceased to flow from our trenches. i crept to the top of the parapet, and looked towards the left of the village of beaumont hamel. our guns were bursting on the other side of the village, but i could distinguish nothing else as to how things were going. i asked an officer who was standing close by. "god knows," he replied. "everything over there is so mixed up. the general said this was the hardest part of the line to get through, and my word it seems like it, to look at our poor lads." i could see them strewn all over the ground, swept down by the accursed machine-gun fire. a quick succession of shell-bursts attracted my attention. back to my camera position. another lot of our men were going over the top. i began exposing, keeping them in my camera view all the time, as they were crossing, by revolving my tripod head. shell after shell crashed in the middle of them, leaving ghastly gaps, but other men quickly filled them up, passing through the smoke, and over the bodies of their comrades, as if there were no such thing as a shell in all the world. another spool ran out, making the fourth since the attack started. i gave it in charge of my man, with the same instructions as before. i loaded again, and had just started exposing. something attracted my attention on the extreme left. what it was i don't know. i ceased turning, but still holding the handle, i veered round the front of my camera. the next moment, with a shriek and a flash, a shell fell and exploded before i had time to take shelter. it was only a few feet away. what happened after i hardly know. there was the grinding crash of a bursting shell; something struck my tripod, the whole thing, camera and all, was flung against me. i clutched it and staggered back, holding it in my arms. i dragged it into a shrapnel-proof shelter, sat down and looked for the damage. a piece of the shell had struck the tripod and cut the legs clean in half, on one side, carrying about six inches of it away. the camera, thank heaven, was untouched. calling my man, we hastily found some pieces of wood, old telephone wire and string, and within an hour had improvised legs, rigid enough to continue taking scenes. i again set up my camera. our gun-fire was still terrible, but the germans had shortened their range and were evidently putting a barrage on our men, who had presumably reached the enemy's front trenches. nobody knew anything definitely. wounded men began to arrive. there was a rush for news. "how are things going?" we asked. "we have taken their first and second line," said one. an officer passed on a stretcher. "how are things going?" "god knows," he said. "i believe we have got through their first line and part of the village, but don't know whether we shall be able to hold out; we have been thinned shockingly." "have you been successful?" he asked me. "yes, i've got the whole of the attack." "good man," he said. first one rumour then another came through. there was nothing definite. the fighting over there was furious. i filmed various scenes of our wounded coming in over the parapet; then through the trenches. lines of them were awaiting attention. scenes crowded upon me. wounded and more wounded; men who a few hours before had leaped over the parapet full of life and vigour were now dribbling back. some of them shattered and broken for life. but it was one of the most glorious charges ever made in the history of the world. these men had done their bit. "hullo," i said to one passing through on a stretcher, "got a 'blighty'?" "yes, sir," he said; "rather sure blighty for me." "and for me too," said another lad lying with him waiting attention, "i shan't be able to play footer any more. look!" i followed the direction of his finger, and could see through the rough bandages that his foot had been taken completely off. yet he was still cheerful, and smoking. a great many asked me as they came through: "was i in the picture, sir?" i had to say "yes" to them all, which pleased them immensely. still no definite news. the heavy firing continued. i noticed several of our wounded men lying in shell-holes in "no man's land." they were calling for assistance. every time a red cross man attempted to get near them, a hidden german machine-gun fired. several were killed whilst trying to bring in the wounded. the cries of one poor fellow attracted the attention of a trench-mortar man. he asked for a volunteer to go with him, and bring the poor fellow in. a man stepped forward, and together they climbed the parapet, and threaded their way through the barbed wire very slowly. nearer and nearer they crept. we stood watching with bated breath. would they reach him? yes. at last! then hastily binding up the injured man's wounds they picked him up between them, and with a run made for our parapet. the swine of a german blazed away at them with his machine-gun. but marvellous to relate neither of them were touched. i filmed the rescue from the start to the finish, until they passed me in the trench, a mass of perspiration. upon the back of one was the unconscious man he had rescued, but twenty minutes after these two had gone through hell to rescue him, the poor fellow died. during the day those two men rescued twenty men in this fashion under heavy fire. [illustration: the roll call of the seaforths at "white city," beaumont hamel, july st, ] [illustration: fagged out in the "white city" after we retired to our trenches, july st, . some of the incomparable th division] chapter xv roll-call after the fight a glorious band of wounded heroes stagger into line and answer the call--i visit a stricken friend in a dug-out--on the way to la boisselle i get lost in the trenches--and whilst filming unexpectedly come upon the german line--i have a narrow squeak of being crumped--but get away safely--and later commandeer a couple of german prisoners to act as porters. the day wore on. the success of the fighting swayed first this way, then that. the casualties mounted higher and higher. men were coming back into our trenches maimed and broken; they all had different tales to tell. i passed along talking to and cheering our wonderful men as much as i could. and the germans, to add to this ghastly whirlpool of horror, threw shell after shell into the dressing station, killing and wounding afresh the gallant lads who had gone "over the top" that morning. they seemed to know of this place and played upon it with a gloating, fiendish glee worthy only of unspeakable savages. as i was passing one group of wounded, i ran against my doctor friend of the night before. "busy day for you?" i said. "my word, yes," he replied. "they are coming faster than i can attend to them. i am just off to see p----. he's caught it badly." "serious?" i asked. "yes, rather; in the back. he's in the dug-out." and the doctor rushed away. i followed him. p---- was lying there on a stretcher looking ghastly. the doctor was bending over him. poor old chap. only that morning he had hooked me out to film the sunken road scenes as full of life and hope as anyone could conceive. now he was on his back, a broken wreck. in the trenches there were hundreds of cases as bad, or even worse, but they did not affect me. there were far too many for the mind to fully grasp their meaning. but down here in this dark dug-out, twenty feet below the earth, the sombre surroundings only illuminated by a guttering candle in a bottle, i was far more affected. it was natural though, for one always feels things more when some one one knows is concerned. p---- was the first to speak. "hullo, old man," he said in a husky, low voice. "you've pulled through?" "yes," i replied. "but 'touchwood'! i'm so sorry. anyway, you're all right for 'blighty,'" and to cheer him up i continued in a bantering strain: "you knew how to manage it, eh? jolly artful, you know." his face lighted up with a wan smile. "yes, malins, rather a long 'blighty,' i'm afraid." two stretcher-bearers came in at that moment to take him away. with difficulty they got him out of the trench, and grasping his hand i bade him good-bye. "i'm glad you got our boys, malins. i do so want to see that film," were his last words. "i'll show it to you when i get back to england," i called after him, and then he disappeared. the fighting was now beginning to die down. the remnants of four regiments were coming in. each section was accumulating in spaces on their own. i realised that the roll-call was about to take place. i filmed them as they staggered forward and dropped down utterly worn out, body and soul. by an almost superhuman effort many of them staggered to their feet again, and formed themselves into an irregular line. in one little space there were just two thin lines--all that was left of a glorious regiment (barely one hundred men). i filmed the scene as it unfolded itself. the sergeant stood there with note-book resting on the end of his rifle, repeatedly putting his pencil through names that were missing. this picture was one of the most wonderful, the most impressive that can be conceived. it ought to be painted and hung in all the picture galleries of the world, in all the schools and public buildings, and our children should be taught to regard it as the standard of man's self-sacrifice. i stayed in the trenches until the following day, filming scene after scene of our wounded. i learned that nothing more was to be attempted until later, when fresh divisions were to be brought up. knowing this i decided to leave this section of the trenches. but the ghastly scenes of which i was witness will always remain a hideous nightmare in my memory, though i thank god i had been spared to film such tremendous scenes of supreme heroism and sacrifice in the cause of freedom. i got safely back through the trenches to ----, where brigade h.q. told me of an urgent message from g.h.q. i was to report as soon as possible. on my way i called on general ----, who was delighted to hear i had successfully filmed the attack, the record of which would show the world how gloriously our men had fought. reaching advanced g.h.q. i reported myself. all were pleased to see me safe and sound, and to hear of my success. i was told that lively things were happening at la boisselle. i heard also how successful our troops had been in other parts of the line. fricourt and mametz and a dozen other villages had fallen to our victorious troops. this news put new life into me. at la boisselle they said we had pushed through, and fighting was still going on. i decided to leave for that district right away. passing through albert, i halted the car at the top of becourt wood. from this point i had to walk. in the distance i could see hundreds of shells bursting, and guns were thundering out. i gave one camera to my orderly and another had the tripod. taking the second camera myself, i started off. we threaded our way through the wood and out into the trenches. shells were falling close by, but by hugging the parapet we got along fairly well. the communication trench seemed interminable. "where the deuce am i?" i asked an officer in passing. "i want to get to our front trenches." "you want to go the other way. this trench leads back to ----." this was anything but cheering news. i had been walking for about an hour, always seeming to just miss the right turning. truth to tell i had failed to provide myself with a trench map, and it was my first time in this section. the bursting shells were filling up the trenches, and i was becoming absolutely fogged. so, in sheer desperation--for the bombardment was getting more intense and i was afraid of losing pictures--i climbed on to the parapet to look round. what a scene of desolation. the first thing i saw was a dead german. that didn't help to cheer me up overmuch. making a slight detour i stopped to fix the hun front line if possible. our own i could see. but no matter where i looked the bosche line was apparently non-existent. yet our shells were smashing into the ground, which seemed to be absolutely empty. i set up my camera and started to expose. while doing so i happened to glance down, for i must explain that i was on a slight mound. which was the most surprised--the bosche or myself--i do not know, for less than a hundred yards away was the german line. i stopped turning. immediately i did so bullets came singing unpleasantly past my head. i dropped flat on the ground, which luckily for me was slightly protected by a ridge of earth. i dragged the camera down on top of me and, lying flat, the bullets whizzed by overhead. the bosche must have thought he had got me, for in a few moments fire ceased. i wriggled towards the trench and dropped like a log into the bottom, dragging my camera after me. one of my men had followed, and seeing me drop, did the same. he came tumbling head first into the trench. "that was a near squeak, sir," he said. "yes, come on, they will probably start shelling us. cut through here. i noticed some german prisoners coming this way. i must get them. where's the other man? keep him close up." reaching a trench through which the german prisoners were being led, i hurriedly fixed my camera and filmed them shambling in, holding their hands up, their nerves completely shattered by the intensity of our terrific bombardment. some were covered with wounds, others were carrying our wounded tommies in on stretchers. it was an extraordinary sight. ten minutes before these men were doing their utmost to kill each other. now, friend and foe were doing their best to help each other. shells were dropping close by. one fell in the midst of a group of prisoners and, bursting, killed fourteen and wounded eleven. the others were marched on. whether i had been spotted or not, i do not know, but german shells were crumping unpleasantly near. i was just thinking of moving when another burst so close that it made me quickly decide. i looked round for my men. one was there; the other was missing. "get into a dug-out," i yelled. "where is l----?" "don't know, sir," he said. he dived into a dug-out at the first shell which burst near. at that moment another "crump" crashed down and exploded with a crunching roar, throwing a large quantity of earth all around me. one after another came over in quick succession. "where the devil is that fellow?" i said to ----. "he's got my aeroscope. when brother fritz has smoothed down this little 'strafe' i will try and find him." "he was in that section, sir, where bosche crossed." for over half an hour the crumping continued, then it practically ceased. the bosche evidently thought he had distributed us to the four winds of heaven. i emerged from my shelter and hurriedly ran along the trench to find my man. he was nowhere to be found. several dug-outs had been smashed in, and in one place the water in the trench was deep red with blood, and wading through this was anything but pleasant. at that moment a telephone man came up. "can you tell me, sir, if there is a machine-gun position hereabouts? i have been sent to run a wire." i was just replying when a crump came hurtling over. "duck," i yelled, and duck we did. i tried to cover the whole of my body under my steel helmet, and crouching low on the ground, the crump burst just on the parapet above, showering huge lumps of dirt which clattered upon us. "you had better get out of this," i said, and suiting the action to the word i attempted to run, when another crump burst, this time in the traverse close behind. well, which of us ran the fastest for cover i don't know, but i was a good second! the non-appearance of my other man worried me. he was nowhere to be found. it occurred to me that as he did not find me on emerging from his dug-out, and as it was coming on to rain, he had returned to the car thinking he might find me there. packing up my camera, therefore, i started off, passing more prisoners on the way. i promptly collared two of them to carry my tripod and camera, and as we proceeded i could not restrain a smile at the sight of two german prisoners hurrying along with my outfit, and a grinning tommy with his inevitable cigarette between his lips, and a bayonet at the ready, coming up behind. it was too funny for words. when i reached the car my lost man was not there. i enquired of several battle-police and stretcher-bearers if they had seen a man of his description wandering about, and carrying a leather case, but nobody had seen him. after having a sandwich, i decided to go again to the front line to find him. i could not leave him there. i must find out something definite. on my way down i made further enquiries, but without result. i searched around those trenches until i was soaked to the skin and fagged out, but not a trace of him could i discover; not even my camera or pieces of it. the only thing that could have happened, i thought, was that he had got into a dug-out, and the entrance had been blown in by heavy shell-fire. retracing my steps i examined several smashed dug-outs. it was impossible to even attempt to lift the rubble. with gloomy thoughts i returned again to the car, and on my journey back left instructions with various men to report anything found to the town major at ----. i stayed the night in the vicinity in the hope of receiving news; but not a scrap came through. again next day, and the next, i hunted the trenches, unsuccessfully, and finally i came to the conclusion that he had been killed and decided to post him as missing. i had arrived at this decision whilst resting on the grass at the top of becourt wood and was making a meal of bully and biscuits when, looking up, i saw what i took to be an apparition of my missing man walking along the road and carrying a black case. i could scarcely believe my eyes. "where the devil have you been?" i asked. "i was just on my way back to post you as missing. what has happened?" "well, sir, it was like this. when that shell burst i dived into a dug-out, and was quite all right. then another shell burst and struck the entrance, smashing it in. i have been all this time trying to get out. then i lost my way and--well, sir, here i am. but your camera case is spoilt." so ended his adventure. thinking that the films i had obtained of the somme fighting should be given to the public as quickly as possible, i suggested to g.h.q.--and they fully agreed--that i should return to england without delay. so packing up my belongings i returned to london next day. little time was lost in developing and printing the pictures, and the military authorities, recognising what a splendid record they presented of "the great push," had copies prepared without delay for exhibition throughout the length and breadth of the land; in our dependencies over seas, and in neutral countries. they were handled with wonderful celerity by mr. will jury, a member of the war office committee, and put out through the business organisation over which he so ably presides. it is sufficient here to record the deep and abiding impression created by the appearance of the films on the screen. people crowded the theatres to see the pictures; thousands were turned away; and it has been estimated that the number of those who have seen these official war films must run into many millions. [illustration: the germans make a big counter attack at la boisselle and ovillers. july rd and th, ] [illustration: men of scotland rushing a mine crater at the deadly "hohenzollern redoubt"] the somme film has proved a mighty instrument in the service of recruiting; the newspapers still talk of its astounding realism, and it is generally admitted that the great kinematograph picture has done much to help the people of the british empire to realise the wonderful spirit of our men in the face of almost insuperable difficulties; the splendid way in which our great citizen army has been organised; the vastness of the military machine we have created during the last two and a half years; and the immensity of the task which still faces us. his majesty the king has declared that "the public should see these pictures"; and mr. lloyd george, after witnessing a display of the film, sent forth the following thrilling message to the nation: "be up and doing! see that this picture, which is in itself an epic of self-sacrifice and gallantry, reaches every one. herald the deeds of our brave men to the ends of the earth. this is _your_ duty." a thrilling message truly, and i am proud indeed to think that i have been permitted to play my part in the taking and making of this wonderful film. chapter xvi editing a battle film the process described in detail--developing the negative--its projection on the screen--cutting--titling--joining--printing the positive--building up the story--it is submitted to the military censors at general headquarters--and after being cut and approved by them--is ready for public exhibition. in view of the immense and widespread interest aroused by the appearance of the somme film, it may perhaps be permissible to depart for a spell from the narration of my story, in order to explain briefly, for the benefit of those interested, how such a picture is prepared, and the various processes through which it must necessarily pass before it is ready for public exhibition. the process is technically known as "editing," and it must be admitted that this part of the work more nearly approaches the art of the newspaper editor than any other i know. indeed, i am not sure that the functions of the film editor--at least in the case of a picture such as the somme film--do not call for a greater exercise of discretion, diplomacy and tact; for so many interests have to be taken into account; so much has to be left out, for so much is at stake. time and thought is doubly intensified in editing or cutting up the film in all its various scenes and assembling them in their right order with suitable sub-titles. immediately films arrive in london they are sent by the war office to the works, and there in a long dark-room, with many compartments, the film is wound upon wooden frames, about three feet by four feet. each section as it is unwound from the roll is numbered by a perforated machine, to save the unnecessary handling that would otherwise be caused if one had to wade through all the small sections to join in the original lengths in which they are received. the frames are then taken into the developing-room, where they are placed in tanks of developing mixture, warmed to a temperature of about sixty-five degrees. it is there that the technique of a developing expert asserts itself; he can either make or mar a film. during development the picture is carefully rinsed, and eventually it is ready for fixing. it is taken out, washed in a bath of pure water, and then dropped into an acid fixing bath and there allowed to remain until fixation is complete, usually a matter of about fifteen minutes. the films are then taken to the washing-room, where they are placed in huge tanks, taking from fifty to one hundred frames, and each one holding one hundred and twenty feet of films. jets of water run continually over them, and in an hour they are taken out and sent to the drying-room, where the film is rewound whilst wet upon very large drums, about thirty feet long and seven feet in diameter. an electric motor is then started, and the drum revolves at an ever-increasing speed. drum after drum is loaded in the same way, until the whole of the film is in position and the whirling continues until the negative is perfectly dry. cleanliness in every possible respect is absolutely essential during the process of development, until the film is dry once more. the most minute speck of dust or foreign matter might adhere to the wet emulsion permanently disfiguring it. therefore to avoid this the utmost care must be maintained throughout, and the negative is now ready to be projected on the screen for the first time in order to see that it is technically perfect in quality, and to decide upon the possibilities of a big feature film, or a series of short ones. for simplicity's sake we will assume that we are dealing with a subject such as the battle of the somme, approximately five thousand feet in length. as the film is projected, notes are taken of each scene in strict rotation. the negative, as in the ordinary process of photography, is quite the reverse to the film shown in the picture theatre. the black portions of the picture as we see it on the screen are white, and all whites are black. it therefore calls for a highly trained eye to be able to follow the film. only now do i find out whether the scenes i have taken live up to my expectations. sometimes yes--sometimes no. one great drawback is that the sounds are not there! when the projection is finished the whole of the negative is taken to the cutting and joining-room. i take every reel, and each scene is cut out separately and titled by means of a label fastened to the section by an elastic band. so the process goes on until i have the whole of the film cut up and registered. i often go through each scene again separately and closely scrutinise it, cutting out all blemishes, black stops, uninteresting sections of the scene, and many other faults which unavoidably present themselves. before going further i should say that the film is "taken" in lengths of four hundred feet, and they are always kept at that length and in a separate tin box. even when they are cut up the sections go back into the same tin. each box is taken in turn and numbered one, two, three, four, five, six, and so on. number one contains ten sections, representing ten scenes. each is labelled and every title is copied on a sheet of foolscap, and each section numbered and credited to box one. the process continues in this way until the whole negative is registered. meantime i am mentally building up my film story. in story form it must grip the interest of the general public, and yet i have to keep to strict military correctness. i think of my main title. that in itself is a great thing. it has to epitomise the story of the whole film. it has to be short and it must "hold." the title once decided upon, the first reel must deal with preparatory action. i then take the lists prepared as described and call for my sections. for instance, number twenty section, box fourteen; number twelve section, box six; and so on, gradually building up the first reel. the sub-titles must be appealing and concise, and in phraseology that can be easily understood by all. eventually reel number one is finished. all the sections are joined together, with spaces marked for the titles. the same process continues with the other reels. number two must finish their story so far as preparatory action goes. you are then ready for the thrill, and the harder you can hit that thrill into reels three and four the greater the ultimate success of the film. reel five finishes the story. but after seeing a battle film through full of suffering and agony, as it unavoidably must be to be genuine, you must not leave the public with a bitter taste in their mouth at the end. the film takes you to the grave, but it must not leave you there; it shows you death in all its grim nakedness; but after that it is essential that you should be restored to a sense of cheerfulness and joy. that joy comes of the knowledge that in all this whirlpool of horrors our lads continue to smile the smile of victory. therefore the film must finish with a touch of happiness to send you home from the picture theatre with a light heart--or at least as light a heart as circumstances permit. the film is now edited, and it goes into the printer's hands. a positive print is made from it on film stock, and after the printing the copies are returned to the dark-room and the process of developing is gone through again, as in the case of a negative. the print is then dried and joined up in its right order, and so divided that it makes five reels. the titles by this time have been corrected from the military point of view by the war office, and are printed for insertion in their appropriate position. the length of reading matter controls the length of the title to be printed. in some instances it will take ten seconds to read a title. ten feet of film is therefore necessary for insertion between the scenes to explain them. in other cases three feet of titling suffices. the film is then shown to the war office officials, and once they have approved it, it is packed in a safe and sent to general headquarters in france. here it is again projected in a specially constructed theatre, before the chief censor and his staff, and it may happen that certain incidents or sections are deleted in view of their possible value to the enemy. these excisions are carefully marked and upon the return of the film to london those sections are taken out and kept for future reference. the film is now ready for public exhibition. chapter xvii the horrors of trones wood three times i try and fail to reach this stronghold of the dead--which has been described as "hell on earth"--at a dressing station under fire--smoking two cigarettes at a time to keep off the flies--some amusing trench conversations by men who had lost their way--i turn in for the night--and have a dead bosche for company. i have just come from england after seeing the somme film well on its way to the public. it has caused a great sensation. i really thought that some of the dead scenes would offend the british public. and yet why should they? it is only a very mild touch of what is happening day after day, week after week, on the bloody plains of france and belgium. bloody? yes, inevitably so. there never was such dearly bought land since creation. the earth in the somme district has been soaked with the blood of men. sit out on a field a mile or two from our front line any morning early, when the mist is just rising. sit out there on the ground which our boys have fought for and won. the place reeks with the horrible stench of countless decaying bodies, and every minute adds to their number. but the british public did not object to these realistic scenes in the film. they realised that it was their duty to see for themselves. they had been told by the press; they had been told by parliament; they had been told by lecturers what was happening, but to no purpose. they must be shown; they must see with their own eyes. and the kinematograph camera performed this service. has it justified itself? i put that question to all who have seen the film. what effect did it have upon you? did you realise till you saw it what this vast battle-front was like? did you realise what our army was doing; how our wonderful soldiers--your husbands, your sons, your brothers--were driving the huns back; how they were going to their death with a laugh upon their faces and a cigarette between their lips, fighting and dying like true britons? that those who came back wounded and broken still had that smile? yes: the truth has at last dawned upon you. with that knowledge new resolutions were born within you; resolutions that bade you never to slack for an instant in your endeavour to bring success to our arms. trones wood! that name had been drummed into my ears for days. it seemed to have a fascination for me. i asked several men to describe the place. "quite impossible, sir; there baint anything like it on earth, and if hell is at all like it then i have been there. it's dead; just dead--dead--dead! and the smell--awful." "is fritz strafing there much?" "yes, sir, he's at it all day: there's not room for a cat to hide in, so why fritz is dropping his souvenirs there heaven knows; i don't." from the description the place seemed rather satisfactory from a scenic point of view, so i made up my mind to try and film it, as i wanted scenes of heavy bombardment which i could get if fritz was concentrating upon the wood, for the hun is a tolerably safe person to deal with if he has a target to fire at; he is so methodical. going up by my car as far as the top of camoy valley, i left it there near a dressing station. [illustration: filming the king during his visit to france in . he is accompanied by president poincarÉ, sir douglas haig, general joffre and general foch] "strafing!" i was out for "strafing," and by all appearances i was likely to get it hot and strong before long. i had only just stopped when a shell came hurtling overhead, falling about one hundred and fifty yards behind the dressing station. i went over to a doctor who was tending some wounded men--our own and germans. "has fritz been sending you these souvenirs very often?" i enquired. the doctor rose, and mopping his forehead, grinned and replied: "yes; the blighter won't let us alone. why doesn't he play cricket? he must know this is red cross. that sign there," pointing to a large red cross lying on the ground, "is large enough to be seen by the men in mars. only this morning he put one bang through the roof of our dug-out, rewounding a lot of our chaps lying there. by the way, are you leaving your car there?" "yes," i replied. "well, you had better say good-bye to it; several of our ambulances have been strafed there." "well," i said, "can't be helped; it must take its chance. i'm going to take a few scenes of you at work. where did these bosches come from?" "this morning, from guillemont; our boys had a bit of a stunt on and landed a few of the beggars." i filmed various incidents showing the treatment of wounded prisoners. they received the same careful attention as our own men; whatever they asked for they had. several padres were kneeling down beside our boys, taking down messages to be sent to their relatives. stretcher after stretcher with its human freight of briton and hun was deposited on the ground. immediately doctors and orderlies were upon their knees tending to their wants with a gentleness that was wonderful. while i was there several shells fell and exploded only a short distance away. i left the dressing station and paused upon a mound near a tree stump, the top of which had been carefully split off by shell-fire. i stood looking in the direction of trones. the bosches were "strafing" it pretty thoroughly. away across at montaubon village the same thing was happening. they were fairly watering the place with h.e. and shrapnel. our guns were rattling out as well, and i am glad to say that it sounded to me as though ours were at least ten to their one. well, the scenes had to be obtained. i admit the job looked anything but pleasant. "well, here goes!" i said, and putting on a cigarette, i trudged off with my apparatus across the open, making a bee-line midway between montaubon and bernafay wood. i gave both places a wide berth, thereby steering clear of possible bosche shells. how hot it was. perspiration was literally pouring from me. i kept on over the ground captured from the germans. the smell in places was almost unbearable. i puffed away at my cigarette, thereby reducing the stench to a minimum. several shells came whizzing overhead in the direction of the dressing station i had just left. with a grinding crash they exploded. "shrapnel, woolly bears," i said under my breath. they seemed to burst right on top of them too. i thought of all those poor wounded tommies lying helpless on their stretchers. another--then another--came hurtling over. the splitting crash of the burst can only be appreciated by those who have been in close proximity to a german h.e. woolly bear exploding. it gives one rather a sickening sensation. another came over. this time it burst nearer. "gee! they're dropping the range." i hastily grabbed my tripod and hurried off at a tangent. proceeding for a distance of about five hundred yards i turned off again and made tracks for my original point. in front, at a distance of about seven hundred yards, one of our forward field batteries of -pounders opened fire. i at first thought they were french mm. owing to the extreme rapidity of fire. from my position i could not see the guns, but stretching across the country a rough line of brown earth was thrown up, which i afterwards found out was one of the old german lines. the guns were cunningly concealed in the trench. thinking that it would make rather a good scene i decided to film it in action. i may add that i have previously been rather wary about having much to do with forward artillery positions. on three previous occasions i have been badly "strafed" by brother fritz. he has the uncommonly irritating habit of putting his whizz-bangs much too near to be pleasant, with the result that i have more than once been compelled to take my camera and self off to the more congenial quarters of a dug-out, from which place, you will agree, one cannot obtain very interesting pictures. reaching the batteries i unlimbered myself of my gear and approaching the c.o. in charge told him who i was and what i wanted. he was quite pleased to see me and said that he was just about to give fritz a good dose of "iron rations," firing in salvos. quickly fixing up my camera i filmed the scenes from various points of view. the men were stripped to the waist, jumping out the shells as fast as they could be handled. while i was filming the scene brother fritz replied with whizz-bangs thick and fast. they are perfect devils, and it is practically impossible to hear them coming until they burst. i turned my machine round upon the spot near which they were dropping. several times they got within the range of my camera, and i continued to turn upon them until two came much too close, so thinking discretion the better part of valour, i hastily disappeared into the doubtful shelter of a broken-down hun trench. then they came over, several smothering me in dust as they exploded close by. having obtained all the pictures i required i thanked the c.o. and went on my way. my clothes were absolutely saturated with perspiration as i shambled away towards the top end of bernafay wood. i looked back at the battery. bosche was still "strafing." i vowed i would never go near any forward guns again; but good resolutions are made to be broken, and my lust for pictures is too strong within me. moving was now difficult. the weight of my camera outfit seemed to be getting heavier. i could only get along at a very slow pace. the strap around my chest seemed to squeeze the very breath out of my lungs. but worse was to come. the huns began shelling the section with shrapnel in a searching manner, and several times i collapsed into a shell-hole, in the hope of obtaining a little cover. but there is very little shelter from shrapnel. on several occasions i felt like throwing away my steel helmet; the weight seemed abnormal; but prudence warned me and i clung to it. the fire was now too bad to proceed in the open. if there were any trenches or ditches i availed myself of their protection. the heat in the trenches was terrific, and to add to the horrors of the stench and heat there were millions of flies. filthy brutes! they seemed to cling to one like leeches, and, my arms being full, i could not keep them off my face. several times i almost decided to turn back, asking myself if it was worth while. but when i looked at trones wood in the distance, and the heavy shells bursting all round, i gritted my teeth and decided to push on. thinking that more smoke might help to keep off the flies i lighted two cigarettes and puffed away at them, one in each corner of my mouth. i'm sure i must have looked a most extraordinary specimen of humanity at this moment. loaded with kit, perspiring like a bull; my steel helmet cocked on one side of my head; puffing away like a chimney at two cigarettes, and millions of flies buzzing all around me. picture me if you can. i was proceeding like an automaton along the trench when suddenly i came upon an officer who, i afterwards found out, was going up to fix his next gun positions. he was sitting on a sandbag swearing like hades, and trying to disperse the clouds of flies which were settling upon him. he looked up as i approached, then suddenly burst into a peal of laughter. i stood still and grinned, not daring to open my mouth to laugh for fear of losing my cigarettes. then i dropped my tripod and leaned against the trench side to rest. his laughter suddenly developed into a coughing and spluttering, spitting and swearing, which in itself was strong enough to drive all the flies in existence away. "bust the things!" he spluttered. "i got a mouthful of them! they might have just come off some dirty bosche. got a drink on you?" "yes," i said, and handed him my water-bottle. he rinsed out his mouth. "i do believe it's worth risking shrapnel rather than tolerate these vile things!" he remarked. "but excuse my laughter; you did look funny coming along there." "yes, i expect i did," i said, still puffing away at my cigarettes. "i'd smoke a dozen at once if i could. anything to keep the flies away." "well," he said, "i'm stumped. have you one to spare?" i handed him my case. he lighted up and both of us, puffing as hard as we could, made quite a healthy volume of smoke. from above it must have looked as if a small fire was raging. we had sat there alternately puffing and chatting and killing flies by the hundreds for about ten minutes. i told him i wanted to get some scenes of trones. he politely told me i ought to have brought my keeper out with me, but as he was going in that direction he would help me on the way to being killed by carrying my tripod. we started off. the shelling was getting unpleasantly near. phoot-bang! we both ducked, my head getting a nasty knock against the tripod top. for the moment i thought i had been struck by the whizz-bang. presently we reached a junction in the trench, and as my friend's road lay in an opposite direction we parted, and i trudged on alone. i was brought to a standstill by a mound of earth which completely blocked the way. by all appearances the shell that had caused it could have only come over a few minutes before, for a thin wisp of smoke was still curling up from the débris. "well," i thought, placing my kit on the ground, "it's got to be done; so over i go." here the air was completely free from flies. evidently the gas from the bursting shell had choked them off for a time. jove! i was glad. it was like heaven; and my tongue was beginning to burn rather badly through fiercely smoking two cigarettes at once. cautiously i crept up to the top of the parapet! what a sight! shells were falling thick and fast over trones and towards baentin-le-grand. i must film this, bosche or no bosche! so hastily fixing up my tripod, i fastened on the camera and began exposing. "excellent," i thought; "i've got it." another shell came along. this time it was evidently a . , and was right in the centre of my view, about one hundred and fifty yards away! another one. rotten! just out of my limits. phut-bang! phut-bang! i grabbed my camera and fell with it on the opposite side of the mound. i let it lie there, and dashing back into the other section of trench grabbed my bags and returned. whizz-bangs followed; whizz-bangs in front and behind! i crouched as low as possible and replacing the camera in its case hung it over my back and, still bending low, hurried away dragging my tripod behind me. the trench was blocked by a batch of men returning. they were crouching down for cover. the officer in charge asked me what in the world i was doing. "thunder," he said, "if i knew the 'movie' man had been here i would have gone the other way. you've evidently drawn fire by that contraption of yours. where are you going?" "to trones wood," i said. the look of blank amazement on his face was amusing. "my dear chap," he said, "are you serious?" "well," i replied, "i had intended going there till a moment ago, but the strafing seems to get worse." shrapnel was now bursting overhead, a piece hitting one of the men close by. "where's he hit?" enquired the officer. the poor fellow was lying down. "in the shoulder, sir," one of the others shouted back. "seems rather bad." "two of you bring him through and get ahead to the dressing station as quickly as possible. keep your heads down." then turning to me the officer said: "look here, i've just come from the wood, and, by gad, it's fair hell there! the place is a charnel-house. it's literally choked with corpses; heaps of them; and we dare not bring them in. we've tried even at night, but the shelling prevents us. the place reeks. and the flies! they're awful. it's more than flesh and blood can stand! to put your head up means certain death and--well, you see what your camera did here. you can imagine what it would be like over there, can't you?" "yes, i see, but of course if i had known any men were about i wouldn't have put my machine up. i know there is always the possibility of drawing fire. it has happened quite a number of times to me!" "if you respect your life don't go any further. the shell-fire is impossible, and the sight over there is too ghastly for words." so i decided to relinquish my visit for the time being. a call was made to proceed. "half a minute," i said, "the trench had been blown in about fifty yards down, wouldn't it be better to clear it away rather than take these men over the top?" the officer decided that it was. the men worked away with a will, and quickly replaced the earth in the hollow of the trench wall from which it had been blown. again we trudged on. the flies were beginning to annoy us once more. i put on a couple of cigarettes. all the men had ransacked odds and ends from their pockets, and the result was a line of men smoking as hard as they could, and enveloped in a haze of bluish white smoke. but the flies refused to budge. smoke had no effect on them, and i'm inclined to think that nothing short of a . would do the trick. not until we were out in the open were we free from them. on two further occasions i tried to enter trones wood, and both times the conditions were if anything worse. the merest sign of a camera put up over a parapet would have instantly brought a host of shells clattering round; therefore, on the third try, i decided to abandon the trip until a later date. but those attempts will always remain in my memory as a ghastly nightmare. the essence of death and destruction, and all that it means, was horribly visible everywhere. i have been there since. i reached the place just before the final cleansing, and brother fritz, just to let us know that he existed, and that he had a spite against us, persisted in flinging his shrapnel around, thereby keeping me well on the run. he did not give me the slightest chance to get pictures, nor to meditate on the surroundings; in fact the only meditation i indulged in was to wonder whether the next shrapnel bullet would strike my helmet plumb on the top or glance off the rim. then thinking of george grave's remark, i called fritz a "nasty person," with a few extra additions culled from the "trench dictionary." being a fine night i decided to stay in the vicinity. an officer of a pioneer battalion kindly offered me a share of his dug-out--one of fritz's cast-offs. i gladly accepted, and over a cup--or rather a tin--of tea, we exchanged views on various subjects. about ten o'clock i went above to terra firma and watched the shells bursting over the german lines. myriads of star-shells or verey lights shot high in the sky, lighting up the whole country-side like day. the sight was wonderful, and silhouetted against the flashes i could see countless bodies of men tramping on their way like silent phantoms. here and there i watched a shell burst. i could see and hear that it had dropped into a section of those men, adding to the number of that great army of heroes who had already "gone west." but into those gaps, through which the blasting shells had torn their way, stepped other men. a sharp word of command was rapped out, then on again to take up their battle position, leaving the dead behind to be reverently buried on the morrow. the wounded were brought away by the stretcher-bearers, and as one lot passed me i heard a voice from the darkness murmur, "bill, it's a blighty." i wandered on in the direction of our line. near a junction of by-roads i heard some funny remarks passed by ration parties trying to find the way to their sections. to pick one's way in the dark over strange ground littered with débris is not an easy task. the exact language i heard would hardly bear repeating. one party had evidently bumped into another. "d---- and ---- who are you? cawn't yer see, mate, i'm taking up company rations? blimy, but 'ow the 'ell i am going to find the way--blowed if i know. do you know where ---- company is? i'm taking up sandbags. lost me ---- way. 'ave yer passed a dead 'orse? i knowed i passed it coming up. good night, mate." both men went off into the darkness, swearing like troopers. another man came up. he was whistling a homely song, but it came to an abrupt conclusion, for he evidently stumbled over some obstacle. compliments began to fly, and he told the bosche in plain language what he thought of him for leaving it there. his remarks were too pointed for expression in cold print. the next to come along was an engineering officer. he could faintly discern me in the darkness. "hullo," he said. "are you the ----?" "no," i replied. "i'm sorry i can't help you. i haven't the least idea where they are. what's wrong?" "i have to run out some wires to-night, but bothered if i know where they are. missed my way near the wood. some silly ass sent me wrong." "well," i said, "most of the troops i have seen have gone in that direction," pointing the way. he disappeared. apparently he was held up a minute or two later by some one else, for in the distance i heard a voice, "do you know where ---- company is, sir?" "no, i don't," in a rather irritated tone. "i can't find my own blooming way." this sort of thing went on for over an hour; first one then another. whether all of them eventually found their various points heaven only knows! i had wandered so far, owing to my interest in other people, that i had some difficulty in retracing my steps to the dug-out. eventually i arrive there about one o'clock. i had been given up for lost. i told ---- of my experiences. "that kind of thing happens practically every night. they manage to find their way somehow. come along; let's turn in. look out for your head as you crawl through. don't mind the rats. cover your head well up. they won't touch your face then." i crawled in on to my bed. then i noticed a peculiar and decidedly unpleasant smell. "have you got any corpses here?" i asked him. "yes, i believe so," he said. "you see the other entrance has been blown in. it's the other end of your bed, and i believe some bosches were buried in the débris. never mind, stick it; they won't bite." "pleasant dreams," i mumbled as i drew my blanket well around my face; in a few minutes the presence of dead bosche ceased to trouble me. i slept. chapter xviii filming at poziÈres and contalmaison looking for "thrills"--and how i got them--i pass through "sausage valley," on the way to pozières--you _may_ and you _might_--what a tommy found in a german dug-out--how fritz got "some of his own" back--taking pictures in what was once pozières--"proofs ready to-morrow." things, from my point of view, were slackening down. plenty of preparatory action was taking place, and here and there small local engagements, but the fact that they were local made it very difficult for me to get to hear of them. none of the corps commanders knew exactly when or where the nibble would develop, or, if they did know, they were naturally chary of giving me the information. on occasions too when i did know i had not sufficient time to make my arrangements, i had to be content with scenes which unfolded themselves after the action had taken place. this was getting rather monotonous. the aftermath of one attack was to all intents and purposes an exact replica of the previous one, except that the surroundings were different. there was the return of the attackers; the bringing in of prisoners, the wounded, the dead; and to vary these scenes to make my pictures generally interesting required a lot of thought and a careful choice of view point. in the course of the "push," which began in july, there were hundreds, i might almost say thousands, of incidents that to the eye were of enthralling interest, but to have filmed them with the idea of conveying that interest on the screen would have been so much wasted effort. even the kinematograph has its limitations. over my head all the time, like a huge sword, hung the thought of british public opinion, and the opinion of neutral countries. they would accept nothing unless there was great excitement in it; unless the pictures contained such "thrills" as they had never seen before, and had never dreamed possible. once i had secured that thrill i could then--and only then--take the preparatory scenes, depicting the ordinary life and action of the men and the organisation which are necessary to run the war. such scenes--interesting as they undoubtedly are--without that "thrill" would have fallen flat, would have been of no use, from the exhibition point of view, and i had always to bear that fact in mind. i have spent many sleepless nights wondering how and where i was to obtain that magnetic thrill, that minute incident, probably only ten per cent of which would carry the remaining ninety per cent to success. one that would positively satisfy the public. i had been filming a lot of stuff lately, but when i looked through my list, excellent as the scenes were--many of which i would probably never be able to get again--they struck me as lacking "thrill." that was what i required. so i set out to get it. the australians had just captured pozières, and hearing that the bosche were continually "strafing" it i decided to make for that quarter with the object of getting a good bombardment. if possible, i would also get into the village itself where there ought to be some very good pictures, for the capture had only taken place two days previously. pozières then it should be. leaving my base early in the morning i made my way through becourt wood and beyond, up "sausage valley"--why that name i don't know. the whole area was crowded with men of the australian division. as there was no road i took my car over the grass, or rather all that was left of it. the place was covered with shell-holes. driving between, and more often than not into them, was rather a tiresome job, but it saved several miles of tramping with heavy stuff. "sausage valley" during this period was anything but healthy. i was warned about it as i left an australian battery where i had stayed to make a few enquiries. a major told me the place was "strafed" every day, and i soon found that this was so when i arrived. several "crumps" fell in the wood behind me, and two on the hill-side among some horses, killing several. if i saw one dead horse i must have seen dozens; they were all over the place. but everyone was much too busy to bury them at the moment. the stench was decidedly unpleasant, and the flies buzzed around in swarms. i soon had a couple of cigarettes alight. what a boon they were at times. after much dodging and twisting i halted the car close to a forward dressing station. while i was there several shells dropped unpleasantly near, and i could not restrain my admiration for the medical staff who tended the wounded, quite oblivious of the dangers by which they were surrounded in so exposed a position. i obtained several very interesting scenes of the wounded arriving. i waited awhile to watch the bosche shelling before going over the ridge to pozières. i could then tell the sections he "strafed" most. i would be able to avoid them as much as possible. i watched for fully an hour; the variation in his target was barely perceptible. on one or two occasions he "swept" the ridge. i decided to make a start after the next dose. strapping the camera on my back, my man taking the tripod, we started off. there was a light railway running towards contalmaison. i followed this until i got near the spot brother fritz was aiming at, hugging a trench at the side of a by-road. the bank was lined with funk-holes, which came in very useful during the journey, and i had to seek their shelter several times, but the nearest shell fell at a junction between that road and a communication trench. just this side lay a very much dead horse. the shell came over. down i went flat on my stomach. my man dived into a hole. the shell exploded, and the next thing i remember was a feeling as if a ton of bricks had fallen on top of me. i managed to struggle up and make quickly for the trench, my man following; and you may be quite sure i took care that i was well out of line of the next before i eased up. beyond a few scratches on the camera-case and a torn coat, i was quite sound. i was told of a hun battery of mm. guns on the left-hand side of the valley leading to pozières, so i decided to make for that spot. i enquired of a man as to the whereabouts of them. "well, sir," he said, "you may come to them if you keep straight on, but i shouldn't advise you to do so as you have to cross the open. bosche has a pretty sharp eye on anyone there; he knows the lay of the battery and he just plasters it. you _might_ get round at 'dead man's corner,' on the contalmaison road. it's pretty bad there, but i think it's the best place to try, and once you are round the corner you _may_ be all right." "well, which way do i take?" "down this way, then turn to your left at the corner; the battery is about two hundred yards along on the hill-side." "but, man alive," i said, "they're strafing it like blazes. look!" they were, too, and -inch shells were dropping wholesale. "no, i think i will take the risk and run over the open. are there any dug-outs at the battery?" "yes, sir, jolly good ones; forty feet deep; regular beauties. evidently made up their minds to stay the winter. electric light, libraries, and beds with real spring mattresses. my, sir, but they were comfortable. and what do you think i found there, sir?" "heaven knows," i replied. "well, sir, several ladies' fringe nets and hair-pins." "the devil you did. well, fritz knows how to make himself cosy." with that remark we parted, tommy having a broad grin on his face. "you will see the place where you get out of this ditch, sir," he called out; "a shell has blown it in; strike off on your left straight ahead. you'll see them in front of you." the shelling was getting very unpleasant, and i had to keep low in the trench the whole of the time. at length we reached the point where we had to get over the top. "well, come on, let's chance it," i said to my man. i saw the battery in the distance before getting over. up we went and bending low raced for the spot. on the way i passed several dead bodies, all bosche, and numbers of pieces blown to bits by our shell fire. a whizz-bang came over whilst we were crossing. down we went into a shell-hole. another, and another came over. murderous little brutes they were too. seven of them. then they ceased. we immediately jumped up again and reached our objective. then getting under cover of some twisted ironwork, which once formed the roofing of the emplacement, i took breath. "anyway," i thought, "here i am." in a few minutes i had a look round. what an excellent view of pozières, about eight hundred yards away on my left. on the right was contalmaison, which had only been taken a short time previously. the bosches were shelling the place pretty frequently. i set up the camera and waited. away on the opposite hill shells were falling thickly. i started filming them and got some interesting bursts, both high explosive and h.e. shrapnel. now for pozières. the enemy must have been putting -inch and -inch stuff in there, for they were sending up huge clouds of smoke and débris. i secured some excellent scenes. first pozières, then contalmaison. my camera was first on one then on the other. for a change bosche whizz-banged the battery. i could see now why he was so anxious to crump it, for lying all around me in their carriers, were hundreds of gas shells. i was in fact standing on them. they were all unused, and if fritz got a good one home, well good-bye to everything. one time i thought i would seek the shelter of a dug-out, but the fire swept away in the opposite direction. by careful manoeuvring i managed to film the german guns there. every one of the four was quite smashed up. an excellent example of artillery fire, and by the date upon them they were of the latest pattern. in all there were three batteries in that small area, making twelve guns. but out of the twelve sufficient parts were found intact to make one good one, so that fritz would get "some of his own" back in a way that he least expected; for there were thousands of rounds of ammunition found in the dug-outs beneath the gun pits. how to get into pozières was the next problem. i had, while filming, been making mental notes as to the section which fritz did not "strafe," and that place, by all that's wonderful, was the actual thing he was undoubtedly trying for--the road. by hugging the bank-side, along which here and there i could spot a few funk-holes, i managed to get into the chalk-pit. here i filmed various scenes, but bosche, as usual, kept me on the jump with his shrapnel, forcing me to take hurried shelter from time to time. there is one thing i shall always thank fritz for, and that is his dug-outs. if he only knew how useful they had been to me on many occasions i am sure he would feel flattered. from the chalk-pit to pozières was no great distance. the ground was littered with every description of equipment, just as it had been left by the flying huns, and dead bodies were everywhere. the place looked a veritable shambles. believe me, i went along that road very gingerly, picking my way between the shell bursts. just before i reached the place the firing suddenly ceased. the deadly silence was uncanny in the extreme; in fact i seemed to fear it more than the bombardment. it seemed to me too quiet to be healthy. what was bosche up to? there must be some reason for it. i took cover in a shallow trench at the roadside. along the bottom were lying several dead bosches, and a short distance away fragments of human remains were strewn around. the place was desolate in the extreme. the village was absolutely non-existent. there was not a vestige of buildings remaining, with one exception, and that was a place called by the germans "gibraltar," a reinforced concrete emplacement he had used for machine-guns. the few trees that had survived the terrible blasting were just stumps, no more. fritz's sudden silence seemed uncanny, but taking advantage of his spell of inactivity i hastily rigged up the camera and began exposing. in a few minutes i had taken sufficient, and packing up i hurried down the road as fast as i could. i reached the chalk-pit safely and then, cutting across direct to the gun pits, i took up my original position and awaited fritz's good pleasure to send a few more crump to provide me with scenes. but not a shell came over. before leaving this section i thought i would film contalmaison, a name immortalised by such fighting as has rarely been equalled even in this great war. to get there it was necessary to go to "dead man's corner." the road was pitted with shell-holes, and dead horses lay about on both sides. bosche was still uncannily quiet. i was beginning to think i should just manage to get my scenes before he interfered with me. but no! either he had finished his lunch or had some more ammunition, for he started again. one came over and burst in the village in front of me, with a noise like the crashing of ten thousand bottles. i took shelter behind a smashed-up limber, and waited to see where the next would fall. it burst a little further away. good enough, i thought. here goes before he alters his range. jumping up i ran and scrambled on to the ruins of a house, and took some fine panoramic views of the village, first from one position then from another. some of the scenes included a few of our men in possession. altogether a most interesting series, including as it did both pozières and contalmaison. it was the first time they had been filmed since their capture. at that moment i heard another crump coming over. it seemed to be unpleasantly near, so i made a running dive for a dug-out entrance, from which poked the grinning face of an officer. "look out," i yelled. crash came the crump. "near enough anyhow," i said, as a piece flew shrieking past close overhead. "are you the 'movie' man? i'm pleased to meet you," he said. "did you get me in that last scene?" "yes," i said. "proofs ready to-morrow." and with a laugh i hurried down the road. chapter xix along the western front with the king his majesty's arrival at boulogne--at g.h.q.--general ----'s appreciation--the king on the battlefield of fricourt--within range of the enemy's guns--his majesty's joke outside a german dug-out--his memento from a hero's grave--his visit to a casualty clearing station--the king and the puppy--once in disgrace--now a hospital mascot. that evening i reported at headquarters. "well, malins," said colonel ----, "i have a special job for you. will you be on the quay at boulogne to-morrow morning by twelve o'clock? captain ---- is going down; he will make all arrangements for you there; he will also tell you who it is that's coming. start at eight o'clock to-morrow morning. it is very important; so don't fail to be there." leaving the colonel i met captain ---- outside. "who's coming?" i asked. "don't know," he said. "tell you to-morrow." "is it the king?" i asked. "well," he said, "as a matter of fact it is. he arrives to-morrow. i shall have the full programme in the morning, and will give you a copy." what a film! my first thought was whether he would visit the battlefield. what scenes i conjured up in my imagination. to see britain's king on the battlefield with his troops; to see him inspecting the ground; to see him in trenches lately captured from the germans. my imagination began to run away with me. no, i thought, it will be just the ordinary reviews and reception. but i was wrong. the scenes that i had pictured to myself i was soon to witness. on the morrow the captain, the still picture man and myself, left g.h.q. for boulogne. arriving at the quay i looked around for any signs of preparation, but the whole place was as usual. the captain called at the a.m.l.o. "do you know what time the king is due?" he asked. the a.m.l.o. in tones of amazement ejaculated a long-drawn-out "what; never heard of his coming." "well, he is," said the officer. "he's arriving at midday." "i was never informed," said the other. "i will ring up the m.l.o." he did so, and after a short time the information came through. "the king will not arrive to-day; he will be here to-morrow at a.m. his sailing was altered at the last moment." that night i turned in at the hôtel folkestone, making arrangements for my car to take me and my apparatus to the quay at . in the morning. the morning fortunately was beautifully bright. i sincerely hoped it would continue. what excellent quality it promised in the films. i compared it with the weather during the last visit to france of the late lord kitchener; unfortunately it rained all the time. i arrived at the quay. the french officials were gathered there, and lined up was a guard of honour, formed by the north staffordshire regiment. every man had been through many engagements during the war. i fixed up the camera. the boat had already drawn up by the quay-side. there was a hushed whisper from several officials standing by: "there he is." i looked and saw the king gaily chatting to the naval officer in charge. [illustration: his majesty the king, with president poincarÉ, in france, . his majesty graciously consented to pose for me] i wondered whether his majesty would like being photographed, therefore i carefully kept my camera under cover of a shelter close by. at that moment the king's equerry came ashore. i asked him what time his majesty was due to land. "another half an hour yet," he said, "the governor of boulogne and other french officials are just going aboard to be introduced." i arranged some wheeled railings in such a manner that the opening was close by my camera, thereby making sure that the king would pass very near me. the moment arrived. my camera was in position. at that moment the king came down the gangway--he was in field-marshal's uniform--followed by his suite, including lord stamfordham, sir derek keppel, lieutenant-colonel clive wigram, and major thompson. i started turning as he stepped on the shores of france. he gravely saluted. passing close by he reviewed the guard of honour, giving them a word of praise as he went. i filmed him the whole of the time, until he reached his car, bade adieux to the many officers present, and drove away to g.h.q. i had made an excellent start. the landing was splendid. now to follow. the king was going to g.h.q., breaking his journey to lunch with sir douglas haig on the way. i knew i should have ample time therefore to get well ahead and film the arrival at general headquarters. arriving at g.h.q. i took up my stand near the entrance to the building. the prince of wales and other officers were there. i noticed that the prince, as soon as he saw me, turned and said something to a friend near by. he evidently remembered my two previous attempts to film him. his majesty arrived. the prince of wales came to the salute, then his majesty--not as a king, but as a father--embraced his son. i should have obtained a better view of that incident, but unluckily an officer side-stepped and partly covered the figures from my camera. i obtained many scenes during the day of his majesty visiting, in company with general sir douglas haig, various headquarter offices, where he studied in detail the general position of the armies. i noticed that sir douglas did not look upon my camera very kindly. he was rather shy of the machine, though latterly he has looked with a more sympathetic eye upon it. on the second day of the king's visit i started out and proceeded to an appointed place on the main road, where the king's car would join us. the weather was very dull. it was causing me much concern, for to-day of all days i wanted to obtain an excellent film. the cars pulled up. we had about fifteen minutes to wait. i fixed up my camera ready to film the meeting with general sir henry rawlinson. while waiting, the general came over to me and began chatting about my work. "i hear," he said, "that you filmed the attack of the th division at beaumont hamel on the st july, and have been told of the excellence of the result." he seemed much impressed by what i told him of the possibilities of the camera. a patrol signalled the king's arrival. his car drew up; his majesty alighted and heartily greeted the general. i filmed the scenes as they presented themselves. all aboard once more--the king leading--we started on our journey for the battlefield of fricourt. having hung about until the last second turning the handle, it was a rush for me to pack, and pick them up again. my car not being one of the best, i had great difficulty in keeping up with the party. the news of the king's arrival and journey to fricourt seemed to have spread well ahead, for everywhere numbers of troops were strewn along the roadside, and even far behind as i was, i could hear the echoing cheers which resounded over hills and valleys for miles around. finally the cars came to a halt at an appointed place near the ruins of the village and once beautiful woods of fricourt, well within range of the enemies' guns. the spot where the king alighted was known as the citadel, a german sandbag fortification of immense strength. it was arranged in the form of a circle, with underground tunnels and dug-outs of great depth. in various sections of the walls were machine-gun emplacements, and the whole being on the top of the hill, formed a most formidable obstacle to the advance of our troops. i may add that the hill is now known as "king george's hill." the king and his party had already alighted when i arrived to set up my camera, and hurrying forward was very difficult work, especially as i had to negotiate twisted masses of enemy barbed wire entanglements. but eventually, after much rushing, and being very nearly breathless, i got ahead, and planted my machine on the parapet of an old german trench and filmed the party as they passed. to keep ahead after filming each incident was very hard work. it meant waiting here and there, jumping trenches, scrambling through entanglements, stumbling into shell-holes, and at times fairly hanging by my eyebrows to the edge of trenches, balancing my camera in a way that one would have deemed almost impossible. but i am gratified to think that i managed to keep up with the king, and i succeeded in recording every incident of interest. at a point on the hill-top the king halted, and general ---- described the various movements and details of the attack and capture of the village, the king taking a very keen interest in the whole procedure. i continued turning the handle. i did not allow a single scene to pass. such a thing had never been known before. throughout it all the guns, large and small, were crashing out, and the king could see the shells bursting over the german lines quite distinctly. the guide, who was a lieutenant in the engineers, suddenly called attention to an old german trench. the prince of wales first entered and examined from above the depths of an old dug-out. with a jump i landed on the other side of the trench and sticking the tripod legs in the mud i filmed the scene in which his majesty and the prince of wales inspected the captured german trenches. the party halted at the entrance to another dug-out. the guide entered and for some moments did not reappear, the king and the general meanwhile standing and gazing down. suddenly a voice echoed from the depths: "will you come down, sir?"--this remark to the king. his majesty laughed, but did not avail himself of the invitation. all the party joined in the laughter, and all those who have seen that picture on the screen of his majesty's visit to his troops, will recall the incident to which i refer. many of the london papers in their articles, referring to the film, wondered what the joke was that the king so thoroughly enjoyed outside a german dug-out. the party passed on, but some difficulty was experienced when they tried to get out of the trench again. the king was pulled out by the prince of wales, and another officer, but some members of the party experienced a difficulty which provided quite an amusing episode. at times i had to stop and change spools. then the party got well ahead, and on several occasions his majesty, with his usual thoughtfulness and courtesy, hung back and debated on various things in the trenches, in order to allow me time to catch them up again. his majesty passed over old mine craters, and stood with his deer-stalking glasses, resting against a tree which had been withered during the fighting, watching the bombardment of pozières. he made sympathetic enquiries by the side of a lonely grave surmounted by a rough wooden cross, on which the name and number of this hero were roughly inscribed. a shrapnel helmet, with a hole clean through the top, evidently caused by a piece of high-explosive shell, rested upon the mound. the king stooped and picked up a piece of shell and put it in his pocket. it was now time for his majesty's departure. gathered near his car was a crowd of tommies, ready to give their king a rousing cheer as he drove away. i filmed the scene, and as the car vanished over the brow of the hill, three more were called for the prince of wales. hurriedly picking up my kit i chased away after them. on the way masses of anzacs lined both sides of the road, and the cheers which greeted his majesty must have been heard miles away. the scene made a most impressive picture for me. at that moment a battalion of anzacs just out of the trenches at pozières were passing. the sight was very wonderful, and the king saw with his own eyes some of his brave colonials returning from their triumph, covered with clay, looking dog-tired but happy. his majesty was now going to view some ruins near the front, but unfortunately, owing to burst tyres, i could not keep up with the party, and by the time i got on the move again it would have been impossible for me to reach the place in time to film this scene. therefore, knowing that he was due at no. c.c.s. or "casualty clearing station," i made hurried tracks for it. a most interesting picture promised to result. i arrived at the c.c.s. and was met by the c.o. in charge. "hullo, malins," he said, "still about? always on the go, eh? the last scenes you took here came out well. i saw them in london on the r.a.m.c. film. what do you want now?" "well, sir," i said, "i am chasing the king, and some chase too, my word. i lost him this morning when my old bus broke down. but up to the present i have obtained a most excellent record. topping day yesterday on the battlefield of fricourt. i wouldn't have missed it for anything." half an hour later the royal car drew up. the king and the prince of wales alighted, and were conducted around the hospital by the c.o. i did not miss a single opportunity of filming, from his majesty's talk to some wounded officers, to his strolling through the long lines of hospital tents and entering them each in turn. at one point my camera was so close to the path along which the king passed, that the prince of wales, evidently determined not to run into my range again, quickly slipped away and crossed higher up between the other tents. an officer standing by me remarked with a laugh, "the prince doesn't seem to like you." a touching incident took place when the king was on the point of leaving. he stooped down and tenderly picked up a small puppy, and gently caressed and kissed it, then handed it back to the colonel. this scene appears in the film, and illustrates his majesty's affection for dumb animals. i had just finished turning, when an officer came up to me and said in a low tone: "that's funny." "what's funny?" i asked. "why that incident. do you know that dog only came in here yesterday, and he has done so much mischief through playing about, that at last the c.o. determined to get rid of him. but we won't now. i shall put a red, white, and blue ribbon round his neck and call him george. he shall be the hospital's mascot." before i had time to reply his majesty prepared to leave, so running with my camera i planted it in the middle of the road and filmed his departure, amid the cheers of the officers and men of the hospital. chapter xx king and president meet an historic gathering--in which king and president, joffre and haig take part--his majesty and the little french girl--i am permitted to film the king and his distinguished guests--a visit to the king of the belgians--a cross-channel journey--and home. i heard that night that the king was going to meet m. poincaré, the french president, at the house of sir douglas haig, and very possibly general joffre might be there, as well. in the morning there was an excellent light, the sun was blazing; and at a.m. sharp we started off, the royal car leading. by cutting across country i was able to save a considerable distance as i wished to get there first, in order to film the arrival. the château was a typical french one, not very large, but situated in a charming spot, seemingly miles away from such a thing as war. everything was as peaceful indeed as if we were at home in the midst of the beautiful surrey hills. yet in this scene of profound peace the rulers of england and france, with the leading generals, were meeting to discuss the future policy of the greatest and most bloody war of all time. i took my stand on a grass patch in a position that commanded views of both the main gates and the entrance to the house. lining the drive from the main gates were men of sir douglas haig's regiment, the th lancers, standing to attention, their lance points glistening in the sun. the sentries at the gates came smartly to the salute as the royal car, in which were the king and sir douglas haig, drew up. i started turning as he entered the gates. at that moment a little french girl ran out with a bunch of flowers and presented them to the king, who, smiling, stopped and patted her cheek, passed a remark to sir douglas, and then proceeded down the lines of troops, and entered the house, the prince of wales following close behind. shortly afterwards a signal was given. his majesty and sir douglas came down the steps and reached the gates as the car, bringing m. poincaré, the french president, and general joffre, drew up. what a scene it would make. m. poincaré came first, and was warmly greeted by the king. he was immediately followed by general joffre, and an incident then occurred which took "papa" joffre unawares. for the moment he was perplexed. the same little french maid ran out with another bunch of flowers and offered them to the general. "no, no," he said, "not for me, give them to the president." but the child thought otherwise. she intended that papa joffre, the idol of france, should have them. he must have them. but no; the general, taking the child gently by the arm, led her to where m. poincaré was speaking to the king and sir douglas haig, and drew their attention to the child. they all smiled, and were greatly amused by the incident. then the little one gave her flowers to the president, who taking them, stooped and kissed her forehead, and the little one satisfied with her success ran away. the president, not knowing what to do with the flowers, looked around for an officer to take them to his car, but general joffre, anticipating the desire, called up his a.d.c. who took them away. the party then moved into the house. general foch also entered with the prince of wales. after the lunch and conference, word was sent in to colonel wigram who endeavoured to persuade the king and m. poincaré to pose for a short scene on the balcony. word came back that they would do so. to fix my camera up on the balcony was the work of only a few seconds. the king came out through the french window, followed by m. poincaré. they were both smiling and seemed to be very interested in the coming experience. "where do we go?" said the king. "would your majesty stand over there?" i said, pointing to one end of the terrace. they stood there side by side, king and president laughing and chatting. while i turned on them, general joffre came out. "come along, joffre, you stand here," said his majesty, "and you there," he said laughingly to general foch. sir douglas haig then came out and stood at the end of the line. for fully a minute they stood there, making a scene, the like of which i had never dreamed. king, and president, and generals, who held in their hands the destiny of the world. i continued turning, until his majesty, thinking i had enough, withdrew, laughing and chatting by the camera, followed by general joffre, sir douglas haig, and general foch. by this time my spool had run out, so quickly changing i got round to the front of the house to film the royal party leaving. after they had all gone, i heard that mr. lloyd george was on his way up from paris. how late he was, one officer was saying: "we expected him before this." hearing that i decided to wait. about half an hour later, up he came in a great hurry, and i just managed to film him as he left his car and entered the building. to-day was sunday. his majesty attended divine service with some of the troops stationed near by, in a small country church perched high up on the hill-side. quiet and contentment pervaded everything; not even the sound of a gun was heard. a visit to his majesty, king albert of belgium, was the next item on the programme. the king and prince of wales and their suite entered their respective cars and, amidst the cheers of the civilian populace, we left the village on the hill. the red and gold of the little royal standard on the king's car glittered bright in the morning sun. away we went. how my old "bus" did go; every ounce was being obtained from it; she fairly rocked and roared on the tails of the high-power machines ahead. i knew the road only too well; many a time in the early part of the war had i traversed it, and passed through these self-same gates. on we tore to where, in an unostentatious little villa, lived the king and queen of the belgians. by the time i arrived king george had alighted, and the belgian guard of honour was playing the national hymn. i hurried through the villa gates, ignoring the guards stationed there who tried to hinder me. i wanted to film the meeting. but i was too late, for by the time i had my machine on the stand the two kings had passed along the line of troops, crossed the sand-dunes and entered the villa. i had unfortunately missed the meeting by a few minutes, but i vowed i wouldn't move far away from them during the afternoon. i heard that after lunch king george, assisted by prince alexander of teck, was going to award decorations and medals to belgian officers, and during the afternoon i obtained many good scenes. the queen was there, and with her the two princes and little princess josephine. they were all most interested in the proceedings. i filmed the king visiting a -inch howitzer battery. i noticed specially how keen he was in enquiring about every little detail. not a single thing seemed to miss his eye, from the close examination of the gun's breech, to inspecting the dug-outs of the men. he then left, and knowing he was going to inspect the canadians i hurried off in order to get there ahead. when i arrived the canadian generals and staff were there waiting. here i met many old friends of the st. eloi battle and, curiously enough, it was at this very spot that i filmed the scene of the northumberland fusiliers, or fighting fifth, returning from battle, fagged out, but happy. general burstall was there, and as soon as he saw me he came up and said: "hullo, malins, you here? why i thought you would have been killed long ago." "no, sir," i said, "i don't think i am much of a corpse, though really brother fritz has tried very hard to send me west." "you must have a charmed life," he said. "have you come to film our show?" "yes," i replied. "the king will be along shortly. ah! here he comes now." and down the road, stretching away in the distance, a line of cars came tearing along in our direction. everybody came to attention. i got ready my camera. the king drew up, and from that moment, until he passed through the camp, lined with thousands of cheering canadians, i filmed his every movement. [illustration: her majesty, the queen of the belgians, taking a snap of me at work while filming the king] [illustration: the prince of wales speaking with belgian officers at la panne, belgium] the five days' continuous rush and tear was beginning to tell on me. i was feeling fagged out. but to-morrow his majesty was sailing again for england. that night, through a member of the headquarter staff, i enquired of colonel wigram if it was at all possible for me to accompany the king on his boat across the channel. it would make a most excellent finish to my film, i pleaded, and it would show the people at home and neutrals that the british navy still held the seas secure, and that our king could go on the seas where and when he liked, and to film his majesty on board, among his naval officers, what a splendid record to hand down to posterity. colonel wigram immediately saw the possibilities of such a finish, and agreed to allow me to accompany them. very jubilant, i thanked him and promised to be at the boat by midday. in my hurry and anxiety to obtain permission i had entirely forgotten to enquire at which port the boat was sailing from--calais or boulogne. i rushed back to find colonel wigram, but unluckily he had gone. i enquired of the intelligence officers present, but they did not know. i therefore decided that the only thing to do was to start off early in the morning and go to boulogne, and then on to calais, if the boat was leaving from there. early next morning, with my kit, i rushed away to boulogne, but on my arrival i found out that the king was not leaving from there, but from calais. off to calais i went. how the time was going. ill luck seemed to dog me on the journey, for with a loud noise the back tyre burst. to take it off and replace it with a new one was done in record time. then on again. how the old "bus" seemed to limp along. "how many miles is she doing?" i asked the chauffeur. "nearly fifty to the hour, sir, can't get another ounce out of her. i shouldn't be surprised if the engine fell out." "never mind, let her have it," i yelled. down the hills she rocked and swayed like a drunken thing. if there had happened to be anything in the way--well, i don't know what would have happened; but there would have been "some" mess! anyway, nothing did happen, and i arrived at the dock in due course. no, the boat had not gone, but by the appearance of every one there, it was just on the point of moving off. to get on to the quay i had to pass over a swing bridge; a barrier was across it, and soldiers on duty were posted in order to send all cars round, some distance down, over the next bridge. knowing that if i went there i should be too late, i yelled out to the man to allow me to pass. "no, sir," he said. "you must go the other way." well, what i said i don't know, but i certainly swore, and this evidently impressed the fellow so much that he removed the barrier and allowed me to pass. i literally tumbled out of the old "bus," and shouting to l---- to bring along my tripod, i rushed to where the boat was lying against the quay. all the french, british, and belgian officials were lined up, and the king was shaking hands as a parting adieu. whether it was right or not i did not stop to think. i swept by and rushed up the gangway as the king turned with a final salute. so close a shave was it that i barely had time to screw my camera on the stand ere the prince of wales saluted the king and went ashore. the gangway was drawn away and, amid salutes from the officers and allied representatives, the boat left the quay. i had filmed it all. not an incident had passed me. the king with the admiral in charge of the ship, entered the cabin, and only then did i have a moment's respite to realise what a narrow squeak i had had. we were just leaving the harbour. the sea looked very choppy, and just ahead were seven torpedo boats waiting to escort us across. i went up on to the top deck, and obtained some very interesting scenes of these boats taking up their positions around. then the king came up and mounted the bridge. how happy he looked! a king in every sense of the word. who, if they could see him now, could ever have any doubts as to the issue of the war? i filmed him as he stood on the bridge. in mid-channel the sea was getting rather rough, and to keep my feet, and at the same time prevent the camera from being bowled overboard, was rather a task, and this compelled me at times to call in the help of some blue-jackets standing near by. at last the white cliffs of old england hove in sight, and to make my film-story complete i filmed the cliffs, with dover castle perched high above like the grim watch-dog it is. and then, as the boat drew into the harbour, i got near the gangway in order to land first and film his majesty as he came ashore. i managed to do this, and entering the royal special (by which i was permitted to travel) i reached victoria in due course with what, in my humble judgment, was one of the finest kinematograph records that could possibly be obtained of an altogether memorable and historic journey. chapter xxi the hush! hush!--a weird and fearful creature something in the wind--an urgent message to report at headquarters--and what came of it--i hear for the first time of the "hush! hush!"--and try to discover what it is--a wonderful night scene--dawn breaks and reveals a marvellous monster--what is it? i had been busy in london preparing the film of the king's visit to his troops in france, when i received an urgent message to report immediately at general headquarters--most important. i reported to captain ----. "can you get away in the morning, malins? the boat train leaves early." "if there is something doing i wouldn't miss it for worlds!" i replied. "it's quite evident there is," he said, "or they wouldn't want you so urgently." "i've only got to get my supply of film stock," i said; "i'll manage it during the night somehow, and meet you at charing cross in the morning." no, i certainly was not going to miss a fight, for undoubtedly another offensive was about to take place. that night i managed to get sufficient film stock together. in the morning we proceeded to france. the following morning at general headquarters i got the news. reporting to colonel ----, he told me of the coming attack. "do you want to get it?" he said. [illustration: the first "tank" that went into action, h.m.l.s. "daphne." sept. , ] "yes, sir, i do; and from the first line if possible. i want to improve on the battle of the somme film. what time does it come off?" "i don't know; but if you will call on--mentioning a captain at the headquarters of one of the corps--he will be able to put you right on the section of the attack." with that information i left, and packing my apparatus left for headquarters. the captain was there. "you are the 'movie' man, eh? come in. now tell me what you want." "where is the attack taking place, and at what time?" i asked. "look here," he said, unfolding a map, "this is our objective," pointing to a certain place. "we are going to get up to the yellow line, and i suggest that you go to ---- brigade headquarters. they are in a wood just below ---- redoubt. i will ring up the general and tell him you are coming. he will give you all the information and assistance you require. they know the ground more intimately than we do back here. you are prepared to stay up there, of course?" "of course," i said. "i always carry my blanket with me." "well it comes off on the fifteenth, rather early in the morning. the general will give you zero hour." "do you know the exact time?" i said. "do you think it will be too early for me--so far as the light is concerned?" i added hurriedly, with a laugh. "well no. i think you will just manage it," he said. thanking him i hurried off to brigade headquarters. they were in an old german dug-out of huge dimensions. there were three distinct floors or rather corridors, one above the other. the galleries wound in and around the hill-side, and the bottom one must have been at the depth of eighty feet. scottish troops were in the trenches, which were being held as support lines. i entered the dug-out, and around a long table was seated the general and his staff. "general ----, sir?" i enquired. "yes," he said; "come in, will you? you are 'movies,' aren't you? they have just rung me up. have some lunch and tell me what you want." during lunch i explained my mission. "well," he said, "i am glad you are giving us a show. there is no need to tell you what the scottish battalion have accomplished." lunch finished, the general with the brigadier-major went into details as to the best position from which i could see the show. "i want, if possible, to get an unobstructed view of the brigade front." "'---- trench,' is the place," he said. "what do you say? you know it." "i think, sir, that's as good as anywhere, but it's strafed rather badly." "how far is that from the bosche front line?" we measured it on the map. it was eight hundred yards. "too far off; i must get much closer," i said. "isn't there a place in our front trench?" "there's a machine-gun position in a sap head," said an officer. "i am sure that would suit you, but you'll get strafed. bosche cannot fail to see you." "what time is zero hour?" i asked the general. "at . ," he said. great scott, i thought, . summer time--real time . , and in september only one chance in a million that the sky would be clear enough to get an exposure. certainly if the mornings were anything like they had been during the last week it would be an absolute impossibility. [illustration: the battlefield of "ginchy." i was hurled into the trench in the foreground by the bursting of a german shell, and awoke many hours later with shell shock and realised i had been lying beside a dead german all night. he had been there i should say about three weeks] [illustration: reserves watching the attack at martinpuich. sept. th, ] anyway there was just a chance, and i decided to take it. therefore i suggested that i should go up very early in the morning to our front line, getting there about four o'clock. there would just be sufficient light for me to have a look round, that is if brother fritz wasn't too inquisitive. i could then fix up the camera and wait. "what time does the barrage start?" i asked. "ten minutes to zero. it's going to be very intense, i can tell you that." "well, sir, there is one special point i would like you to clear up for me if possible. what the deuce is the 'hush! hush!'?" at that question everyone in the place laughed. "hush! hush! not so loud," one said, with mock gravity. "you mean the tanks." "i am just as wise as ever. anyway, whether they are called the 'hush hushers' or 'tanks,' what the dickens are they? everyone has been asking me if i have seen the 'hush! hush!' until i have felt compelled to advise them to take more water with it in future. at first i thought they were suffering from a unique form of shell-shock." "i haven't seen them," he said. "all i know is that we have two of them going over with our boys. this is their line; they will make straight for the left-hand corner of the village, and cross the trenches on your left about two hundred yards from the point suggested. they are a sort of armoured car arrangement and shells literally glance off them. they will cross trenches, no matter how wide, crawl in and out shell-holes, and through barbed wire, push down trees and...." i turned to the general. "i certainly suggest, sir, that ---- should go to hospital; the war is getting on his nerves. he will tell me next that they can fly as well." the general laughed. but quite seriously he told me it was all true. "then i hope i shall be able to get a good film of them," i said, "especially as this will be the first time they have been used." finally it was agreed that ----, who was going up to the front line to observe for the division, should act as my guide, and take me up in the morning at three o'clock. "we shall have to start about that time," he said; "it will be possible to go there for quite a good distance over the top of the ridge. it will save trudging through '---- trench,' and there's sure to be a lot of troops packed in it. in any case it will take us about three-quarters of an hour." "and i want at least an hour to look round and find a suitable spot; so three o'clock will suit me very well." "hullo!" i said, as i heard the crack of a . crump burst just outside the dug-out. "can't bosche let you alone here?" "no," he said, "he strafes us sometimes. he put quite a lot in here the other day, and one went clean through our cook-house, but no damage was done, beyond spoiling our lunch. if he anticipates our show in the morning, he will be sure to plaster us." at night i watched the effect of the flashes from our guns. they were rattling off at quite a good pace. what a gorgeous night! dotted all round this skeleton of what was once a wood, but now merely a few sticks of charred tree trunks, and in and out as far as the eye could see, were scores of tiny fires. the flames danced up and down like elves, and crowded round the fires were groups of our boys, laughing and chatting as if there was no such thing as war. now and then the flash of the big howitzers momentarily lighted up the whole landscape. what a scene! having seen as much of the war as i have done, and having been practically through the campaign from the very outset, it may surprise you that i had not used myself to such sights. possibly i ought to have done, but the fact remains that i cannot. these night scenes always appeal to me. every scene is so different, and looking at everything from the pictorial point of view i wished with all my heart i could have filmed such a wonderful scene. but even had i been able to do so i could not have reproduced the atmosphere, the sound of the guns, the burst of the shells, the glare of the star-shells, the laughter of the men--and some of them were swearing. the impenetrable blackness was accentuated by the dancing flames from the fires. it was a sight to dream about; and almost involuntarily reminded one of a scene from the _arabian nights_. it was now midnight. my guide told me to follow him. "we'll go down below and find a place in which to snatch a little sleep." down a long flight of stairs we went, along corridors, then down another flight and round more corridors. the passages seemed endless, until at last we came to a halt beside the bunk-like beds fastened on the wall. "what an extraordinary place; how deep is it?" "about sixty feet," said my companion. "the place is like a rabbit warren." "well, i'm glad you are with me, for i should never find my way out alone." and i rolled my blanket round me and went to sleep. i was awakened by my guide. "come on," he said; "time we moved off." i quickly got out of my blanket. jove, how cold it was! my teeth chattered like castanets. "it's like an ice-house down here; let's go out and see if any of the men have any fire left. might be able to have a little hot tea before we go. i have some biscuits and odds and ends in my satchel." "will you let me have a man to help me with my tripod?" "certainly, as a matter of fact i arranged for one last night." up we went. along the corridors men were lying about in their blankets, fast asleep. holding a piece of guttering candle in my hand, and shaking like a leaf with cold, i stepped between the sleeping men; but it was anything but an easy task. during the journey i missed my companion. by a lucky accident i managed to find an exit, but it was nowhere near the one i entered last night. ah, here's a fire, and quickly getting the water on the boil, made some tea; then shouldering the camera, and ---- helping me, by taking one of the cases, we started off. it was still very dark, but the sky was quite free from clouds. if only it would keep like that i might just get an exposure. we proceeded as fast as the innumerable shell-holes and old barbed wire would allow, and made straight for the ruins of ----, then crossing the road we followed the communication trenches along the top. it was still pitch dark. i looked at my watch. it was . . the trenches were full of life. men were pouring in to take up their positions. bosche put a few shells over near by, but fortunately nobody was touched. he was evidently nervous about something, for on several occasions he sent up star-shells, in batches of six, which lighted up the whole ridge like day, and until they were down again i stood stock still. [illustration: over the top at martinpuich, sept. , . i photographed this scene at . in the morning] [illustration: two minutes to zero hour at martinpuich, sept. , , then "over the top"] day was breaking in the east. a low-lying mist hung over the village. i hoped it would not affect my taking. we were now in the trenches, and daylight was gradually beginning to appear. "it's got to light up a lot more if i'm going to be able to film," i said. "but thank heaven the sky is cloudless. that's the one chance." all at once it seemed as though the sky lightened. actinic conditions improved considerably, and i was just congratulating myself on my good fortune when---- "what's that, sir?" said the man at my side, who had been peering through a periscope. gingerly i raised myself above the parapet and peered in the direction in which his finger pointed. for a moment i could discern nothing. then, gradually out of the early morning mist a huge, dark, shapeless object evolved. it was apparently about three hundred yards away. it moved, and judging by the subdued hum and a slight smoke which it emitted--like the breath of an animal--it lived! i had never seen anything like it before. what was it? chapter xxii the juggernaut car of battle a weird-looking object makes its first appearance upon the battlefield--and surprises us almost as much as it surprised fritz--a death-dealing monster that did the most marvellous things--and left the ground strewn with corpses--realism of the tank pictures. what in the world was it? as we stood there peering at the thing, we forgot for the moment that our heads were well above the parapet. we were too fascinated by the movements of the weird-looking object to bother about such a trifle as that! and the bosche trenches were only two hundred yards away! for the life of me i could not take my eyes off it. the thing--i really don't know how else to describe it--ambled forward, with slow, jerky, uncertain movements. the sight of it was weird enough in all conscience. at one moment its nose disappeared, then with a slide and an upward glide it climbed to the other side of a deep shell crater which lay in its path. i stood amazed and watched its antics. i forgot all about my camera, and my desire to obtain a picture of this weird and terrifying engine of destruction. like everyone else, its unexpected appearance on the scene first surprised and then held me under its strange influence. so that was the "hush! hush!"--the juggernaut car of battle. one of the tanks, the secret of whose appearance, and indeed of whose very existence, had been guarded more carefully than all the treasures of the indies. truly bosche was in for a big surprise. [illustration] all this time i had scarce taken my eyes off the ugly-looking monster. it waddled, it ambled, it jolted, it rolled, it--well it did everything in turn and nothing long--or wrong. and most remarkable of all, this weird-looking creature with a metal hide performed tricks which almost made one doubt the evidence of one's senses. big, and ugly, and awkward as it was, clumsy as its movements appeared to be, the thing seemed imbued with life, and possessed of the most uncanny sort of intelligence and understanding. it came to a crater. down went its nose; a slight dip, and a clinging, crawling motion, and it came up merrily on the other side. and all the time as it slowly advanced, it breathed and belched forth tongues of flame; its nostrils seemed to breathe death and destruction, and the huns, terrified by its appearance, were mown down like corn falling to the reaper's sickle. presently it stopped. the humming ceased. the spell was broken. we looked at one another, and then we laughed. how we laughed! officers and men were doubled up with mirth as they watched the acrobatic antics of this mechanical marvel--this wellsian wonder. now the metal monster was on the move again. it was advancing on the german position. the bosche machine-guns got busy and poured a very hail of shells and bullets upon the oncoming death-dealer. it made no difference. the tank pursued its way, unperturbed by all the racket of the exploding metal on its sides. shells seemed to glide off it quite harmlessly. bullets had no effect upon this extraordinary apparition. fritz must have thought the devil himself had broken loose from hell and was advancing to devour him. the huns scurried to their funk-holes and craters, their hiding-places, and their trenches like so many rabbits. still the tank advanced, pausing now and then, astride a particularly wide crater, and sweeping the surrounding pit-scarred ground with its machine-guns. up popped a german head. zip went a bullet; and down went the head for the last time. how many germans were crushed in their holes in that first advance goodness only knows. presently the monster stopped again. there was a pause. nothing happened. a minute--two minutes went by. still nothing happened. the germans began to regain their courage. heads popped up all over the place. enemy troops began to edge nearer and nearer to it, in spite of the hail of bullets from our trenches. then they began to swarm round the strange creature the like of which they had never seen before. to do them justice, these germans showed exceptional courage in the face of unknown and altogether exceptional danger. mr. tank meanwhile was not a bit disconcerted by their attentions, and continued to breathe forth flames of fire, which did great havoc in the ranks of the sightseers. but once their curiosity was satisfied the huns did their level best to damage the brute. they fired at it; they bombarded it; they shelled it; they clambered over it. all to no purpose. presently that ominous humming, snorting sound reached us again, and the monster began to move away. where it had stood the ground was strewn with the dead bodies of german soldiers, and i was told afterwards that over three hundred corpses were counted to the credit of the first tank that ever crossed "no man's land." meanwhile our boys had been busy. following in the wake of the tank, they had cleaned up quite a lot of ground, and all the time, with my camera on them, i had secured a series of fine pictures. i don't think i ever laughed so heartily at anything as i did on the first day that i saw the tanks in action, and officers and men all agree that they never saw a funnier sight in all their lives. but whilst they amused us they put the fear of the devil into fritz, and whole parties of men ran forward, hands up, waving their handkerchiefs, and shouting "kamerad," and gave themselves up as willing prisoners in our hands. the tanks have been one of the big surprises and big successes of the war. chapter xxiii where the village of guillemont was an awful specimen of war devastation--preparing for an advance--giving the bosche "jumps"--breakfast under fire--my camera fails me just before the opening of the attack--but i manage to set it right and get some fine pictures--our guns "talk" like the crack of a thousand thunders--a wonderful doctor. after the battle of martinpuich the nature of my work brought me in contact with many stirring incidents, which, if put on record here, would be merely repeating to a certain degree many of my previous experiences, therefore i do not intend to bore my readers by doing so. from one section of our front to the other i was kept continually on the move. on the th september an attack was timed for twelve o'clock noon for morval and lesboeufs, and the guards, london scottish, norfolks, suffolks and many other regiments were to take part. the day before i visited our front in that section to obtain preliminary scenes. the london scottish were preparing to leave to take up their battle positions. from one front to the other i hurried, obtaining scenes of the other regiments on the way up. i stayed during the night with an officer of an -pounder battling on the left of guillemont. the bosche was "strafing" the place pretty badly. i will not say i slept comfortably, for shells came crashing over much too closely to do so; in fact, i was up all night. [illustration: the highland brigade going over the top at martinpuich. september th, ] on several occasions i really thought my last minute had come. the noise was deafening, the glare and flash although beautiful was sickening. our guns were pouring out a withering fire, and the ground quivered and shook, threatening to tumble the temporary shelter about my ears. one shell, which came very near, burst and the concussion slightly blew in the side of the shelter; it also seemed to momentarily stun me; i crouched down as close to earth as possible. i will admit that i felt a bit "windy," my body was shaking as if with ague; a horrible buzzing sensation was in my head, dizziness was coming over me. i dare not lose control of myself, i thought; with an effort i staggered up and out of the shelter, clutching my head as the pain was terrible. i dropped down into an old german trench and sat in the bottom. in a few minutes my head pains eased down slightly, but my nerves were still shaky. at that moment one of the battery officers came along. "hullo! you got clear then?" he said. "yes, only just, by the appearance of things." "i saw it drop near by where we left you and felt quite certain it had done you in. feel all right?" "yes," i said, "with the exception of a thick head. i will get my camera stuff down here. lend me your torch, will you?" i took it out and found my way back to the shelter. fritz was now jumping over shrapnel, so, believe me, i did not hang about on my journey. our guns continued their thundering and fire was literally pouring from their mouths. i got down in the trench, as close as possible, sat on my camera-case and so passed the remainder of the night, thinking--well, many things. towards dawn the firing gradually died down until, comparing it with the night, it was quite peaceful. i got out of my trench and sat up on the parapet. my head was still throbbing from the concussion of the night, and having no sleep made me feel in rather a rotten state. "how's the head, old chap?" asked an officer i knew who came up to me at that moment. "better," i replied, "but needs improvement." "we are just making some tea; come and join us." "jove, rather! it may stop this jumping." a slight mist was hanging over the shell-pocked ground, it was gradually rising, as i had seen it on previous occasions, and the horrible stench from the putrifying dead seemed to rise with it. as far as the eye could see in every direction the ground had been churned up by the fearful shell-fire. the shell-holes met each other like the holes in a sponge. not a blade of grass or green stuff existed; the place which once marked a wood was now a space with a twisted, tangled mass of barbed wire and, here and there, short wooden stumps, slashed, split, and torn into shreds--the remains of once beautiful trees. the village of guillemont literally does not exist, in fact, it is _an absolute impossibility to tell where the fields ended and the village began_. it is one of the most awful specimens of the devastating track of war that exists on the western front. the village had been turned by the bosche into a veritable fortress; trenches and strong points, bristling with machine-guns, commanded every point which gave vantage to the enemy. but, after much bloody fighting, our troops stormed and captured the place and the german losses must have been appalling. many had been buried, but the work of consolidating the ground won and pressing on the attack does not permit our men thoroughly to cleanse the square miles of ground and bury the bodies and fragments that cover it. unknowingly, when i had hurried for cover in the trench, the night before i had been within twelve feet of a party of five dead bosches, and the atmosphere in the early morning was more than i could tolerate, so picking up my camera, etc., i took up fresh quarters. a snorting, crunching sound struck my ears and looking on my left i observed a tank ambling forward to take up its position for the coming show. it was emitting clouds of bluish-grey smoke from its exhaust which gave it a rather ghostly appearance in the mist.... now and again as it came to a very deep shell-hole it stopped to poise itself on the rim and then gently tipped its nose downwards, disappearing, to rise like a huge toad on the other side, and then continue its journey. more troops were coming up in platoon to take up their position in supports, ammunition carriers were taking up fresh supplies of bombs, red cross men were making their way forward--not a sound was to be heard from them and the whole place was now a line of silent movement. all the main work and preparation was to finish before the last shadow of night had been chased away by the light of the rising sun, before the setting of which many of the boys would lay down their lives that justice and civilisation might triumph over the false doctrine of blood and iron and barbarism--_german kultur_. * * * * * "come along, malins, your cup of tea is ready," shouted an officer. i left my camera under cover of a fallen tree trunk and crossed to a covered shell-hole which answered to the name of dug-out. anyway, apart from shrapnel or a direct hit from an h.e., we were comparatively safe, being below ground level. along the centre was a rough plank on two boxes and grouped either side were several other officers of the battery. we all of us soon forgot about the previous night's efforts of fritz in a gorgeous repast of _bacon_, fried bread, and tea. bosche was now fairly quiet; he was "strafing" the ridge in front with an occasional h.e.; some of our batteries on my right were still at it. it was now quite daylight; our aeroplanes were flitting across the sky, diving low to obtain better observation of the enemy, and incidentally getting "strafed" by his anti-aircraft guns which did not interest them in the least. "what time is zero-hour?" i asked. "twelve-thirty," was the reply. "we start our intense at twelve o'clock, every gun we have in this section is going to fairly give bosche jumps; in fact he will have to find a 'better 'ole.'" this remark caused considerable laughter. "i am going to get my scenes from 'ginchy telegraph'; it seems a very likely spot by the map. shall i get there about eleven o'clock and fix up?" "good," said one. "i will lend you an orderly to act as guide if it's any benefit to you." thanking him, i gladly accepted the offer. breakfast over, i collected my apparatus and stood to watch the sections which fritz "strafed" the most. by practising this method it has made it possible for me to do my work in comfort on previous occasions. i noticed there were one or two points which he "strafed" methodically, therefore i judged it safe to make direct for my point over the top, then enter a communication trench just on this side of the ridge. by this time my guide came up, so sharing my apparatus, we started off. the distance to ginchy telegraph was about one kilometre. shrapnel was playing upon both roads leading from guillemont, h.e. was bursting on my right in lueze wood, or "lousy wood," as it is called here, also in delville wood on my left. after a very tiring tramp over shell-holes and rubble i eventually reached my post. from this point i could see practically the whole of our section between lesboeufs and morval, but i immediately found out to my annoyance that the slight breeze would bring all the smoke back towards our lines. the resulting effect would not be serious enough to in any way hinder our operations, but photographically it was disastrous, and even if photographed the effect would not be impressive in the slightest degree, merely a wall of smoke which to the public would appear unintelligible. but in that seemingly useless cloud were falling thousands of shells of all calibres, tearing the earth into dust, the german line into fragments, forming a living and death-dealing curtain of blazing steel behind which our men were advancing. but adverse wind conditions were not all, for when i had taken the camera out of its case i found that by some means or other the lens mounts had received such a knock as to throw it out of alignment. how it happened i cannot think, for the case was intact, the only possible explanation being that i must have dropped it the night before when i took shelter in the trench and in my dazed condition did not remember doing so. it was quite impossible to repair it even temporarily in time to obtain the opening attack, so i hurried away and took shelter behind some ruins on the south-west side of the village. it was now close on twelve; our intense bombardment would shortly begin, and i worked feverishly at the repair to the camera, perspiring at every pore. suddenly, like the terrific crack of a thousand thunders, our fire on the german position began. bursting from the mouths of hundreds of british guns it came, the most astonishing, astounding, brain-splitting roar that i had ever heard. in a few moments it reached a crescendo; everyone near by was transfixed with awe. hundreds of shells went shrieking overhead. the air was literally alive with blazing metal. imagine, if you can, being in the midst of five hundred drums. at a given moment every drummer beats his drum with ever-increasing force without a fraction of a moment's respite. add to this the most soul-splitting crash you have ever heard and the sound as of a gale of wind shrieking through the telegraph wires. it will give you a little idea of what it was like under this bombardment. it seemed to numb one's very brain. what it must have been like in the german position is beyond me to conceive. we were certainly giving fritz a jump. at last my camera was finished. looking in the direction of bouleaux wood i could see our men still pouring forward over the open. i raced towards them as hard as possible and filmed them going across first one section then the other; bosche shells were falling near them, knocking a few out but missing most, first one line then the other. bosche was dropping large "coal boxes" all along our supports. two tanks coming up provided me with several interesting scenes as fritz was pestering them with his attentions but without injury. i obtained a scene of two heavy "crumps" bursting just behind one of them, but the old tank still snorted on its way, the infantry advancing close behind in extended formation. throughout the remainder of the day i was kept well on the move, filming the many-varying scenes of battle, either whilst they were in progress or immediately afterwards. prisoners came pouring in from all directions, first a batch of two hundred and then odd stragglers, then further batches. the guards seemed to have had a rather good bag, as i noticed that most of the bosches were brought in under care of guardsmen. one tommy came in the proud possessor of six. from the immediate fighting ground i made my way towards trones wood, upon the outskirts of which the guards had their dressing station. many of our men were there, lying about in all directions on stretchers, waiting to be taken away to the casualty clearing station. i filmed many scenes here of our wonderful men suffering their physical torments like the heroes they were. one, in particular, sitting on a box making a cigarette, had a broad smile on his face, though the _whole of his elbow was shot completely away_. another came in, helped along by two other men; he was a raving lunatic, his eyes ghastly and horrible to look upon, and he was foaming at the mouth, and gibbering wildly. "shell-shock," said the doctor, close beside me; "bad case too, poor chap! here, put him into this ambulance; three men had better go with him to look after him." "do you get many cases like that?" i asked the doctor. "yes," he said, "quite a few, but not all so bad as that." wounded were still pouring in, both ours and german. the bosche was shelling the ground only a short distance away and i managed to film several of our wounded men being dressed whilst shells were bursting in the near background. another man was brought in on a stretcher. i looked closely at him when he was set on the ground. he had been knocked out by shell-fire. a piece of shrapnel was buried in his jaw, another large piece in his head, and, by the bloodstains on his tunic, about his body also. he was groaning pitiably. the doctor bending down had a look at him, then stood up. "it's no use," he said, "he's beyond human aid; he cannot last many minutes. place him over there," he said to the stretcher-bearers. the men gently lifted the poor fellow up, and less than three minutes afterwards one came up to the doctor. "he's dead, sir." "just tell the padre then, will you, and get his disc and name and have his belongings packed up and sent home." and so the day drifted on. the sun was blazing hot; every man there was working like a demon. perspiring at every pore, each doctor was doing the work of four; the padre was here, there and everywhere, giving the wounded tea and coffee, and cheering them up by word and deed. towards evening there came a lull in the attack. it had been a great success; all our objectives had been gained; the wounded drifted in in lessening numbers. an elderly doctor in his shirt sleeves had just finished binding up the stump of a man's leg, the lower part of which had been torn away by a piece of shell. he stood up, mopped his forehead, and, after bidding the carriers take the man away, he lay on the ground practically exhausted, dried blood still upon his hands and arms and scissors held loosely in his fingers; he closed his eyes to try and doze. "that doctor is a marvel," said an officer to me. "he snatches a few moments sleep between his cases. now watch!" another stretcher-party was coming in, and it was set down. an orderly went up to the doctor and lightly touched him on the shoulder. "another case, sir," he said. the doctor opened his eyes and quickly rose to his feet. the wounded man's head was bound round with an old handkerchief, matted with blood which had dried hard. warm disinfectant was quickly brought and the doctor proceeded to gently loosen the rough bandage from the head, revealing a nasty head wound, a gash about three inches long and very swollen. "what do you think of that?" he said, holding out something in his hand to me, "that's from this lad's head." i looked and saw that it was a piece of his shrapnel helmet about two inches square, it had been driven into the flesh on his head, fortunately without breaking the skull. the wound was quickly dressed and the doctor again lay down to snatch a few more moments' respite. "this will go on all night," said the padre, "and all day to-morrow. have a cup of tea at my canteen, will you?" having had nothing to eat or drink all day i accepted the invitation. on the opposite side of the wood was a small shack built of old lumber, and every man before he left by ambulance received a cup of tea or coffee and biscuits. "i find the boys greatly appreciate it," he said. i joined him in a cup of tea. "don't you think it's a good idea?" "excellent," i replied, "like heaven to a lost soul." "look round here," he said, pointing away in the distance. "did you ever see such a ghastly travesty of nature, the whole country-side swept clean of every green and living thing, beautiful woods and charming villages blown to the four winds of heaven, and _this_ might have been our own beautiful sunny downs, our own charming villages. the british public should go down on its knees every day of the week and thank god for their deliverance." the sun was now setting, and having obtained all the scenes i required, i decided to make my way back. we were still shelling the german lines very hard, and the bosche was putting over a few of his h.e. and high shrapnel, but fortunately none came within a hundred yards of us. i bade adieu to the doctors and the padre. "i hope we shall see the films in town," they said. "it's a pity you can't introduce the sounds and general atmosphere of a battle like this. good-bye, best of luck!" they shouted. i left them and made my way across to the battery to thank the captain. when i arrived i met one of the subalterns. "where's ----?" i asked. "i am afraid you won't see him," he replied. "why?" half suspecting some bad news. "well, he and four others were killed shortly after you left." i turned slowly away and walked off in the direction of guillemont. a hundred yards further on i came upon a scene which afforded some relief to the tragedies of the day. a short bantam-like british tommy was cursing and swearing volubly at a burly german sitting on the ground rubbing his head and groaning like a bull. tommy, with a souvenir cigar in his mouth, was telling him in his best cockney english to get a move on. "what's the matter?" i said. "well, sir, it's like this. this 'ere cove is my own prisoner and 'e's been giving me no end of trouble, tried to pinch my gun, sir, 'e did, so i 'it 'im on 'is head, but 'e ain't 'urt, sir, not a bit, are yer, fritz? come on." and fritz, thinking discretion the better part of valour, got up, and tommy strutted off with his big charge as happy as a peacock. chapter xxiv fighting in a sea of mud inspecting a tank that was _hors de combat_--all that was left of mouquet farm--a german underground fortress--a trip in the bowels of the earth--a weird and wonderful experience. after our successful attack and capture of lesboeufs and morval on september th, , beyond consolidating our gains there was comparatively little done in the way of big offensives until the capture of mouquet farm and thiepval and the capture of beaumont hamel--that fortress of fortresses--on november th, and i devoted the interval to recording the ground won. one interesting incident occurred when i filmed mouquet farm situate between pozières and thiepval. looking at the farm from the strategical point of view, i feel quite confident in saying that only british troops could have taken it. it was one of the most wonderful defensive points that could possibly be conceived, and chosen by men who made a special study of such positions. the whole place was thickly planted with machine-guns, so cunningly concealed that it was impossible to observe them until one was practically at the gun's mouth. to get here it was necessary to go down a long steep glacis, then up another to the farm. the germans, with their network of underground passages and dug-outs, were able to concentrate at any threatened point with their machine-guns in such a manner that they would have our troops under a continual stream of lead for quite one thousand yards without a vestige of cover. the farm had been shelled by our artillery time after time, until the whole ground for miles round was one huge mass of shell-craters, but the germans, in their dug-outs forty and fifty feet underground, could not be reached by shell-fire. i will not go into details of how the place was eventually taken by the midlanders--it will remain an epic of the war. the weather was now breaking up. cold winds and rain continually swept over the whole somme district, invariably accompanied by thick mists. i wanted to obtain a film showing the fearful mud conditions, which we were working hard and fighting in and under. and such mud! you could not put the depth in inches. nothing so ordinary; it was feet deep. i have known relief battalions take six hours to reach their allotted position in the front line, when, in the dry season, the same journey could be accomplished in an hour; and the energy expended in wading through such a morass can be imagined. many times i have got stuck in the clayey slime well above my knees and have required the assistance of two, and sometimes three men to help me out. to turn oneself into a lump of mud, all one had to do was to walk down to the front line; you would undoubtedly be taken for a part of the parapet by the time you arrived. i asked a tommy once what he thought of it. "sir," he replied, "there ain't no blooming word to describe it!" and i think he was right. on one journey, when filming the carrying of munitions by mule-back--as that was the only method by which our advanced field-guns could be supplied--while they were being loaded at a dump near ---- wood, the mud was well above the mules' knees, and, in another instance, it was actually touching their bellies. in such conditions our men were fighting and winning battles, and not once did i hear of a single instance where it affected the morale of the men. we cursed and swore about it; who wouldn't? it retarded our progress; we wallowed in it, we had to struggle through miles of it nearly up to our knees; we slept in it or tried to; we ate in it, it even got unavoidably mixed up with our food; and sometimes we drank it. and we tolerated it all, month after month. if it was bad for us, we knew it was far worse for the bosche, for not only had he to live under these conditions, but he was subjected to our hellish bombardment continually without rest or respite. thus it was i filmed mouquet farm and other scenes in the neighbourhood. i went to pozières and then struck across country. on my way i passed a tank which, for the time being, was _hors de combat_. it naturally aroused my interest. i closely inspected it, both inside and out, and, while i stood regarding it, two whizz-bangs came over in quick succession, bursting about thirty feet away. the fact immediately occurred to me that the tank was under observation by the bosche and he, knowing the attraction it would have for enquiring natures, kept a gun continually trained upon it. i had just got behind the body of the thing when another shell dropped close by. i did not stop to judge the exact distance. i cursed the mud because it did not allow me to run fast enough, but really i ought to have blessed it. the fact that it was so muddy caused the shell to sink more deeply into the ground before exploding, its effective radius being also more confined. when i got clear of the tank, the firing ceased. i mentally vowed that, for the future, temporarily disabled tanks near the firing-line would not interest me, unless i was sure they were under good cover. i continued my journey to the farm, but kept well below the top of the ridge. at one section, to save my dying a sailor's death, duck-boards had been placed over the mud to facilitate easier travelling. it made me feel like going on for ever, after ploughing for hours through mud the consistency of treacle. eventually i arrived on the high ground near mouquet. many of our field-gun batteries had taken up their position near by: they had turned old shell-holes into gun-pits--occasionally a burst of firing rang out, and bosche was doing his level best to find them with his . crump. here i managed to obtain several very interesting scenes. the farm, as a farm, did not exist; a mass of jumbled-up brickwork here and there suggested that once upon a time, say b.c., it might have been. in due time i reached the place. a machine-gun company were in possession, and i found an officer, who offered to show me over the bosche's underground fortress. i entered a dug-out entrance, the usual type, and switching on my electric torch, proceeded with uncertain steps down into the bowels of the earth. the steps were thick with mud and water; water also was dripping through all the crevices in the roof, and the offensive smell of dead bodies reached me. "have you cleaned this place out?" i called to my friend in front. "yes," he said. his voice sounded very hollow in this noisome, cavernous shaft. and it was cold--heavens how cold! ugh! "there was one gallery section; where it leads to we cannot find out, but it was blown in by us and evidently quite a few bosches with it; anyway, we are not going to disturb it. there is a possibility of the whole gallery collapsing about our ears." "we are at the bottom now; be careful, turn sharp to the left." "why this place must be at least forty feet deep." "yes, about that. this gallery runs along to more exits and a veritable rabbit warren of living compartments. see these bullet-holes in the side here," pointing to the wooden planks lining the gallery. "when our men entered the other end the bosche here had a machine-gun fixed up and so they played it upon anybody who came near; lit up only by the gun flashes it must have been a ghastly sight. it must have been the scene of devilish fighting judging by the number of bullet-holes all over the place. there are plenty of bloodstains about, somebody caught it pretty badly." i followed my guide until eventually we came to a recessed compartment; it was illuminated by two german candles stuck in bottles, and a rough wooden table with two chairs, evidently looted from the farm when the bosche arrived. we made our exit from another shaft and came out at a spot about one hundred yards from the place we had entered. this will give you some idea of the way the ground was interlaced with subterranean passages, and this, mind you, was only one tunnel of many. it was quite pleasant to breathe comparatively fresh air again after the foul atmosphere down below. bosche was more lively with his shell-fire and they were coming much too near to be pleasant. i fixed up my machine and filmed several very good bursts near some guns. he was evidently shooting blind, or by the map, for they dropped anywhere but near their objectives. anyway it was his shoot and it was not up to us to correct him. chapter xxv the eve of great events a choppy cross-channel trip--i indulge in a reverie--and try to peer into the future--at headquarters again--trying to cross the river somme on an improvised raft--in peronne after the german evacuation--a specimen of hunnish "kultur." since i left france in december many changes had taken place; tremendous preparations for the next great offensive were in progress. we shall now see the results of all our hard and bloody work, which began on the somme on july st, . i think i can safely say that we have never relaxed our offensive for a single day. granted the great pressure has not been kept up, but in proportion to the weather conditions the push has been driven home relentlessly and ground won foot by foot, yard by yard, until, in february, , the germans retired behind their bapaume defences. just how far they are going back one cannot decide. the fact remains that the enemy is falling back, not for strategical reasons, as he is so anxious for his people and neutrals to believe, but because he is forced to by the superiority of our troops and our dominating gun-power. the beginning of the end is at hand, the eve of great events is here; the results of this year's fighting will decide the future peace of the world, the triumph of christianity over barbarity, of god over the devil. i received instructions to proceed again to france. "the capture of bapaume is imminent, you must certainly obtain that," i was told, "and add another to your list of successes." so i left by the midday boat-train; the usual crowds were there to see their friends off. a descriptive writer could fill a volume with impressions gathered on the station platform an hour before the train starts. scenes of pathos and assumed joy; of strong men and women stifling their emotions with a stubbornness that would do justice to the martyrdom of the early christians in the arenas of rome. i arrived at folkestone; the weather was very cold and a mist hung over the sea, blotting everything out of view beyond the end of the breakwater. the train drew up alongside and it emptied itself of its human khaki freight, who, with one accord, made their way to the waiting steamboats, painted a dull green-grey. all aboard: quickly and methodically we passed up the gangway, giving up our embarkation tickets at the end and receiving another card to fill up, with personal particulars, as we stepped on board. this card was to be given up upon one's arrival at boulogne. gradually the boat filled with officers and men; kits and cars were hoisted aboard, life-belts were served out; everybody was compelled to put them on in case of an accident. everything was aboard; the three boats were ready to leave; the two in front, one an old cross-channel paddle boat, the other one of the later turbine class--but still no sign of leaving. "what are we waiting for?" i asked a seaman near by. "we must wait until we get permission; the mist is very thick, sir--going to be a cold journey." with that he left. i buttoned my warm great-coat well round my throat, pulled my cap firmly down over my ears and went to the upper deck and peered out into the thickening sea-mist towards the harbour entrance. i went to the deck-rail and leaned over. crowds of sea-gulls cawed and wheeled round, seemingly hung suspended in the air by an invisible wire. the gulls fascinated me; one second they were in the air motionless on their huge outstretched wings, then suddenly, seeing either the shape of a fish coming to the surface, or a crumb of bread floating, one of the birds would dart down, make a grab with its beak at the object, skim the surface of the water, then gracefully wing its way upwards and join its fellows. i turned my gaze again seawards: the mist was drawing nearer, threatening to envelop our boats in its embrace. how cold it was! the upper deck was now full of officers, busily putting on their life-belts--i had secured mine to my kit-bag, ready to put it on when required. at that moment an officer came up to me. "have you a life-belt?" he said, "if so would you mind putting it on? i have to go all round the boat and see that everybody has one." "right," i said, and so i donned my life-belt, and passing along the deck stood underneath the captain's bridge and gazed around. the men in the two boats ahead of us were singing lustily, singing because they were going back to the land of bursting shells and flying death, laughing and singing because they were going again out to fight for the empire. as i stood there, gazing into the mist and hearing the continuous roar of the sea beating upon the rocks behind me, a review of the events passed through my mind which have happened to me, and the countless scenes of tragedy and bloodshed, of defeat and victory that i had witnessed since i first crossed over to france in october, . i recalled my arrival in belgium; the wonderful rearguard actions of the belgian troops; the holding up of the then most perfect (and devilish) fighting machine the world had ever known, by a handful of volunteers. the frightful scenes in the great retreat through belgium lived again; the final stand along the banks of the ypres canal; the opening of the dykes, which saved the northern corner of france; the countless incidents of fighting i had filmed. then my three months with the french in the vosges mountains, the great strain and hardships encountered to obtain the films, and now, after eighteen months with the british army on the western front, i was again going back--to what? how many had asked themselves that question! how many had tried as i was doing to peer into the future. they had laid down their lives fighting for the cause of freedom. "but, although buried on an alien soil, that spot shall be for ever called england." i was quickly recalled to the present by the flashing of a light on the end of the harbour jetty. it was answered by a dull glare seawards; everybody was looking in that direction; and then.... a sudden clanging of bells, a slipping of ropes from the first boat, a final cheer from the men on the crowded decks, and, with its bow turned outwards from the quay, it nosed its way into the open sea beyond. the second boat quickly followed, and then, with more clanging of bells and curt orders to the helmsman, she slid through the water like a greyhound, and, with shouts of "good luck!" from the people on the quay, we were quickly swallowed up in the mist ahead. the boats kept abreast for a considerable time and then, our vessel taking the lead, with a torpedo boat on either side and one ahead, the convoy headed for france. the journey across was uneventful. it was quite dark when we backed into harbour at boulogne; flares were lit and, as the boat drew alongside the quay, the old familiar a.m.o. with his huge megaphone shouted in stentorian tones that all officers and men returning on duty must report to him at his offices, fifty yards down the quay, etc., etc., etc. his oration finished, the gangway was pushed aboard and everybody landed as quickly as possible. _i_ had wired from the war office earlier in the day to g.h.q., asking them to send a car to meet the boat. whether _they_ had received _my_ message in time i did not know--anyway i could not find it, so, that night, i stayed at boulogne, and the following evening proceeded to g.h.q. to receive instructions. here i collected my apparatus and stood by for instructions. news of our continued pressure on the german line of retreat was penetrating through. first one village, then another fell into our hands. the fall of peronne was imminent. my instructions were to proceed to peronne, or rather the nearest point that it was possible to operate from. i journeyed that night as far as amiens, and arriving there about midnight, dog tired, went to my previous billet in the rue l'amiral cambet, and turned in. early next morning i reported to a major of the intelligence department, who told me our troops had entered peronne the previous night. rather disappointed that i had not been there to obtain the entry, i made tracks for that town. i took by-roads, thinking that they would be more negotiable than the main ones, and, reaching the outskirts of the village of biaches, i left the car there and prepared to walk into peronne. i could see in the distance that the place was still burning; columns of smoke were pouring upwards and splashing the sky with patches of villainous-looking black clouds. strapping my camera upon my back, and bidding my man follow with my tripod, i started off down the hill into biaches. then the signs of the german retreat began to fully reveal themselves. the ground was absolutely littered with the horrible wastage of war; roads were torn open, leaving great yawning gaps that looked for all the world like huge jagged wounds. on my right lay the château of la maisonnette. the ground there was a shambles, for numerous bodies in various stages of putrefaction lay about as they had fallen. i left this section of blood-soaked earth, and, turning to my left, entered the village, or rather the site of what had once been biaches. i will not attempt to describe it; my pen is not equal to the task of conveying even the merest idea of the state of the place. it was as if a human skeleton had been torn asunder, bone by bone, and then flung in all directions. then, look around and say--this was once a man. you could say the same thing of biaches--this was once a village. i stayed awhile and filmed various scenes, including the huge engineers' dump left by the germans, but, as the light was getting rather bad, i hurried as fast as possible in the direction of peronne. i wandered down the path of duck-boards, over the swamp of the somme, filthy in appearance, reeking in its stench, and littered with thousands of empty bottles, that showed the character of the drunken orgies to which the huns had devoted themselves. i reached the canal bank. lying alongside was the blackened ribs of a barge. only the stern was above water and it was still smouldering; even the ladders and foot-bridges were all destroyed; not a single thing that could be of any use whatsoever had been left. i trudged along the canal bank; bridge after bridge i tried, but it was no use, for each one in the centre for about ten or twelve feet was destroyed--and, stretched between the gap, i found a length of wire netting covered over with straw--a cunning trap set for the first one across. not a bridge was passable--they were all down! peronne lay on the other side and there i must get before the light failed and while the place was still burning; if i had to make a raft of old timber i made up my mind to get there. returning to the bank i placed my camera upon the ground and with the help of three men gathered up some rusty tin cylinders, which, earlier in the campaign, had been utilised as floats for rafts. i had fished out of the river three planks, and laying them at equal distance upon the cylinders, i lashed them together and so made a raft of sorts. with care i might be able to balance myself upon it and so reach the other section of the bridge and then a rope at either end would enable my man and tripod to be pulled across. the idea was excellent, but i found that my amateur lashing together with the strong current that was running made the whole plan quite impossible, so, after being nearly thrown into the river several times, and one of the floats coming adrift and washing away, and then doing a flying leap to save myself being hurled into the water upon a trestle which collapsed with my weight, i decided to give up the experiment and explore the river bank further down in the hope of getting across. eventually, after going for about two kilometres, i reached the ruins of the main bridge leading into the town. this, also, was blown up by the retreating huns, but, by using the blocks of stone and twisted iron girders as "stepping-stones," i reached the other side. the old gateway and drawbridge across the moat were destroyed; the huge blocks of masonry were tossed about, were playthings in the hands of the mighty force of high explosives which flung them there. these scenes i carefully filmed, together with several others in the vicinity of the ramparts. [illustration: lord kitchener's last visit to france. he is very interested in the care of the wounded] the town was the same as every other i had filmed--burnt and shell-riven. the place as a habitable town simply did not exist. german names were everywhere; the names of the streets were altered, even a french washerwoman had put up a notice that "washing was done here," in german. street after street i passed through and filmed. many of the buildings were still burning and at one corner of the grande place flames were shooting out of the windows of the three remaining houses in peronne. i hastily fitted up my camera and filmed the scene. when i had finished it was necessary to run the gauntlet, and pass directly under the burning buildings to get into the square. showers of sparks were flying about, pieces of the burning building were being blown in all directions by the strong wind. but i had to get by, so, buttoning up my collar tightly, fastening my steel shrapnel helmet on my head, and tucking the camera under my arm, i made a rush, yelling out to my man to follow with the tripod. as i passed i felt several heavy pieces of something hit my helmet and another blazing piece hit my shoulder and stuck there, making me set up an unearthly yell as the flames caught my ear and singed my hair. but, quickly shooting past, i reached a place of safety, and setting up the camera i obtained some excellent views of the burning buildings. standing upon a heap of rubble, which once formed a branch of one of the largest banking concerns in france, i took a panoramic scene of the great square. the smoke clouds curling in and around the skeleton walls appeared for all the world like some loathsome reptile seeming to gloat upon its prey, loath to leave it, until it had made absolutely certain that not a single thing was left to be devoured. with the exception of the crackling flames and the distant boom of the guns, it was like a city of the dead. the once beautiful church was totally destroyed. in the square was the base of a monument upon which, before the war, stood a memorial to france's glorious dead in the war of . the "kultured" germans had destroyed the figure and, in its place, had stuck up a dummy stuffed with straw in the uniform of a french zouave. could ever a greater insult be shown to france! not content with burning the whole town, the huns had gone to the trouble of displaying a huge signboard on the side of a building in the square on which were these words: "don't be vexed--just admire!" think of it! the devils! chapter xxvi an uncanny adventure exploring the unknown--a silence that could be felt--in the village of villers-carbonel--a cat and its kittens in an odd retreat--brooks' penchant for "souvenirs"--the first troops to cross the somme. lieutenant b----, the official "still" photographer, and i have been companions in a few strange enterprises in the war, but i doubt whether any have equalled in strangeness, and i might say almost uncanny, adventure that which i am about to record. in cold type it would be pardonable for anyone to disbelieve some of the facts set forth, but, as i have proved for myself the perfect application of the well-known saying that "truth is stranger than fiction," i merely relate the facts in simple language exactly as they happened, and leave them to speak for themselves. it was early morning on march th, , when the germans began their headlong flight towards their cambrai, st. quentin, or "hindenburg" line. when b---- and i hastened along the main st. quentin road, troops and transports were as usual everywhere. we passed through the ruined villages of foscaucourt and estrées and brought our car to a standstill about two kilometres from the village of villers-carbonel, it being impossible owing to the fearful road conditions to proceed further. we left the car and started off to explore the unknown. on either side of the road i noticed many troops in their trenches; they were looking down at us as if we were something out of the ordinary, until i turned to him and said: "is there anything funny about us? these chaps seem to be highly interested in our appearance, or something. what is it?" "i don't know," he said, "let's enquire." so, going up to an r.a.m.c. officer, who was standing outside his dug-out, i asked him if there was any news--in fact i enquired whether there was a war on up there, everything seemed to be so absolutely quiet. "well," he said, "there was up to about three hours ago; bosche has fairly plastered us with . and whizz-bangs. these suddenly ceased, and, as a matter of fact, i began to wonder whether peace had been declared when your car came bounding up the road. how the devil did you manage it? yesterday evening the act of putting one's head over the parapet was enough to draw a few shells; but you come sailing up here in a car." "this is about the most charming joy-ride i have had for many a day," i replied, "but let me introduce myself. i am malins, the official kinematographer, and my friend here is the official 'still' picture man. we are here to get scenes of the german retreat, but it seems to me that one cannot see bosche for dust. that is villers-carbonel, is it not?" i said, pointing up the road in the distance. "yes," he replied. "right," i said, "we are going there and on our way back we'll tell you all the news." with a cheery wave of the hand he bade us adieu, and we started on our journey. the once beautiful trees which lined the sides of the road were torn to shreds and, in some instances, were completely cut in half by shell-fire and the trunks were strewn across the road. these and the enormous shell-holes made it difficult to proceed at all, but, by clambering over the huge tree trunks, in and out of filthy slime-filled shell-holes, and nearly tearing oneself to pieces on the barbed wire intermingled with the broken branches, we managed at last to reach the village. not a sound was to be heard. i turned to my companion. "this is an extraordinary state of affairs, isn't it? in case there are any bosche rearguard patrols, we'll keep this side of the ruins as much as possible." the village was practically on the top of a ridge of hills. i stood under the shadow of some tree-stumps and gazed around. what a scene of desolation it was. i got my camera into action and took some excellent scenes, showing what was once a beautiful main road: broken trees flung over it in all directions like so many wisps of straw, and an unimaginable mass of barbed wire entanglements. then, swinging my camera round, i obtained a panoramic view of the destroyed village. dotted here and there were the dead bodies of horses and men: how long they had lain there heaven knows! while examining the ruins of a building which used to be a bakehouse i received a startling surprise. i was bending down and looking into an empty oven when, with a rush and a clatter, a fine black cat sprang at my legs with a frightened, piteous look in its eyes, and mewed in a strange manner. for a moment i was startled, for the animal clung to my breeches. the poor creature looked half-starved. in its frenzy, it might bite or scratch my leg or hand. blood-poisoning would be likely to follow. i gently lowered my gloved hand and caressed its head. with a soft purr it relaxed its hold of my leg and dropped to the ground. feeling more comfortable i unfastened my satchel and, taking out some biscuits, gave them to the poor brute. it ravenously ate them up. my second surprise was to come. a faint scratching and mewing sound came from behind some bread bins in a corner and, as i looked, the black cat sprang forward with a biscuit in its mouth in the direction of the sound. i followed and gently moved the bin aside. the sight there almost brought tears into my eyes. lying upon some old rags and straw were three tiny kittens. two were struggling around the mother cat, mewing piteously and trying to nibble at the biscuit she had brought. the other was dead. the mother cat looked up at me with eyes which were almost human in their expression of thanks. i took out some more biscuits, and breaking them up in an empty tin i picked up from the floor, i poured some water from my bottle on to them, placed it beside the starving group and, leaving a handful near the mother cat, i made their retreat as snug as possible. making our way again to the main road i stood by some ruins and looked away in the distance where the germans had disappeared. what a difference. here were green fields, gorgeous woods, hills, and dales with winding roads sweeping away out of sight. it reminded me of the feeling moses must have experienced when he looked upon the promised land. here were no shell-torn fields, no woods beaten out of all semblance to anything, no earth upon which thousands of men had poured out their blood; but, here in front of us, a veritable heaven. "come along," i said, "let's explore. if there are any bosches about they'll soon let us know of their presence. let's get on to that other ridge; the somme river should be there somewhere." we left the village and cautiously followed the road down one hill and up the next. the germans had disappeared as completely as if the earth had swallowed them up. not a soul was to be seen; we might have been strolling on the surrey hills! i gradually reached the brow of the next ridge. the sight which met my eyes was the most stimulating one i had ever seen from a picture point of view. there, in front of us, at a distance of six hundred yards, was the river somme--the name which will go down to history as the most momentous in this the bloodiest war the world has ever known. there it glistened, winding its way north and south like a silver snake. "come along," i said, "i shall get the first picture of the somme," and we raced away down the road. in calmer moments at home i have admitted that we were mad. nobody in their right senses would have done such a thing as to rush headlong into country which might have been thick with enemy snipers and machine-guns. but the quietness of the grave reigned--not a rifle-shot disturbed the silence. evidence of the german retreat met our gaze as we ran down the road. on either side were discarded material and, in a quarry on the left, a german red cross sign was stuck up on a post, and several dug-outs were burning--smoke was pouring up from below, showing that the hun was destroying everything. i was brought to a standstill at the sight of a mass of wreckage near the river. smoke was issuing from it. i looked on my map and saw that it was the village of brie; a small section was this side of the river, but the main part was on the other side. the whole place had been completely destroyed, partly, i ultimately found out, by our gun-fire, and the remainder burnt or blown up by the germans. the river had developed into a swampy marsh; in fact it was very difficult to say precisely where the river and canal finished and the marshes began. i again got my camera into action and filmed, for the first time, the somme river which was directly in our line of advance. the bridges were blown up; huge masses of stone and iron, twisted and torn and flung into the morass of weeds and mud and water, forming small dams, thus diverting the river in all directions. several scenes on this historic spot i filmed, then, wishing to push forward, i attempted to cross the broken bridges. by careful manoeuvring i managed to cross the first, then the second, but a large gap blown in the roadway about forty feet across, through which the water rushed in a torrent, brought me to a standstill, so reluctantly i had to retrace my steps. except for the sound of rushing water the quietness was almost uncanny--the excitement of the chase was over. then i began to realise our position. we were in a section of ground which the enemy had occupied only a few hours before and had apparently abandoned--vanished into thin air! we were at least two kilometres in _front_ of our infantry, in fact we had, of our own accord--keen on obtaining live scenes for the people at home--constituted ourselves an advance patrol, armed, not with machine-guns, swords, or lances, but with cameras. there was every possibility of our being taken for germans ourselves by our men from a distance; the real advance guard coming up would undoubtedly open fire and enquire into credentials afterwards. the ruins across the bridge might hide enemy rifles; they might open fire any moment. i explained the situation to my companion, who had also presumably reached a decision very similar to my own, which was to return to the village of villers-carbonel as quickly and as carefully as possible. keeping to the side of the road we trudged back, and half-way up the hill we ran into one of the things i expected--an advance party. an officer came forward and said in astonished tones: "where the devil have you fellows come from?" "we've been getting photographs of the german retreat," i replied. "we're the official photographers and have been half-way across the somme, but owing to the bridge being blown up we have come back. the germans seem to have vanished entirely, not a sign of one about anywhere." "well, i'm ----," he said, "this is the funniest thing i've ever known. will our advance patrols constitute the official photographers for the future? if so, it will save us any amount of trouble." "well?" i said, "you can go on--devil a bosche is over there anyway." "well," he said, "these troops i am taking down will be the first across the somme." "right," i said, seeing immediately the scoop it would be for my film. "i will come back and film your men going over; it will make a unique picture." with that we retraced our steps, and laughing and chatting about our adventure, we once again reached the somme river. i fixed up my camera, and, when all was ready, a rough bridge was hastily made of several planks lashed together to bridge gaps in the fallen stonework, and i filmed the first troops to cross the somme during the great german retreat. the light was now failing, so, packing up my apparatus, and waving farewells to the c.o., i turned back again. b---- joined me; the day had been a great one for us, and we mutually agreed that it was a fitting sequel to the first british battle that had ever been filmed which i took at beaumont hamel on july st, . weary in body, but very much alive mentally, we returned via villers-carbonel to our car. on my way back i wondered how the cat and her kittens were getting on. the black cat had certainly brought me luck. chapter xxvii the germans in retreat the enemy destroy everything as they go--clearing away the débris of the battlefield--and repairing the damage done by the huns--an enormous mine crater--a reception by french peasants--"les anglais! les anglais!" stuck on the road to bovincourt. to keep in touch with all the happenings on that section of the front for which i was responsible, and to obtain a comprehensive record of events, it was necessary to keep very wide awake. movements, definite and indefinite, were taking place in scores of different places at the same moment. to keep in touch with the enemy, to work with our forward patrols, to enter upon the heels of our advance guard into the evacuated villages--and, if possible, to get there first and film their triumphal entry, film our advance infantry and guns taking up new positions, the engineers at work remaking the roads, building new bridges over the somme, laying down new railways and repairing old ones--the hundred and one different organisations that were working and straining every muscle and nerve for the common cause. only the favoured few have the remotest idea of the enormous amount of work to be done under such conditions. the road (which was no man's land yesterday morning) to the village of villers-carbonel was now swarming with men clearing away the accumulated débris of the battlefield. tree trunks were moved off the road, shell-holes were being filled up with bricks and branches, trenches, which crossed the road, were being filled in, a tank trap at the entrance to the village, the shape of a broad, deep ditch, about thirty by twenty feet wide by fifteen feet deep, was being loaded with tree trunks and earth. i filmed these scenes; then hurried as fast as possible in the direction of brie to cover the advanced work on the somme, and then to cross to the other side and get in touch with our cavalry patrols. what an extraordinary change in the place! yesterday a ghostly silence reigned; now men and material and transport were swarming everywhere. i reached the river. the engineers had thrown up light, temporary bridges--six in all. huge iron girders had arrived from back behind; they had been made in readiness for "the day." our h.q. had known that the germans in their inevitable retreat would destroy the bridges, so, to save time, duplicates were built in sections, ready to throw across the gap. i managed to arrive in time to film several squadrons of the duke of lancaster's cavalry hurrying forward to harass the enemy. cyclist patrols were making their way over. i hurried as fast as possible through the ruins of brie and on to the ridge beyond. in the distance i watched our cavalry deploying in extended order and advance towards a wood to clear it of the enemy rearguards. motor-cyclists, with their machine-guns, were dashing up the hill anxious to get into contact with the flying enemy. i filmed many scenes in this section. i looked along the road which was the main one into st. quentin; it stretched away as far as the eye could see. the condition is certainly excellent, i thought. there would be a greater possibility of obtaining exciting scenes if it were possible to proceed in my car; the only question was whether the temporary bridges across the somme were capable of sustaining the weight. the possibility of getting into villages just evacuated by the germans spurred me on, so retracing my steps, i reached the river again. "do you think the bridge will take the weight of my car?" i asked an officer in charge of engineers. "what is it?" "daimler," i replied. "well," he said, "there is a risk, of course, but our g.s. wagons have been across and also the artillery, so they may take your bus--if you don't bounce her in crossing." "right-o!" i said. "i will get it down." hurrying across i had just reached the last bridge when, with a sudden snap, one of the main beams gave way. all traffic was, of course, stopped, and engineers quickly got to work replacing the broken girder. "it will be at least another hour, sir," said a sergeant in answer to my enquiry. so there was nothing for it but to curb my impatience and wait, and i stood my apparatus down and watched the proceedings. at that moment a car came to a standstill alongside me. "what's wrong?" called out one of the occupants. "broken bridge," i said. "i'm waiting to cross with my car to get films of the villages and the occupants." "that's good," said the speaker, a captain. "i am going up to them as well. intelligence i heard from our airmen this morning that they saw civilians in one or two villages a few miles out--so i'm off to investigate. would you care to come? we shall be the first there." "yes, rather," i replied. "it will be a fine scoop for me to film the first meeting of british troops in the liberated villages. i will follow in my car." [illustration: filming our guns in action during the great german retreat to st. quentin. march, ] the bridge was again complete, so, dumping my camera aboard, i followed in the wake of the captain. up the hill we dashed and spun along the road at the top, passing beyond the outskirts of brie. we were now beyond the extreme limit of the shelling which we had subjected the germans to during their months of occupation. i was now beginning to see the sights and view the atrocious system and regularity of wilful destruction which had obviously been planned months before by the huns to carry out hindenburg's orders and make the whole land a desert. not a tree was standing; whole orchards were hewn down; every fruit tree and bush was destroyed; hedges were cut at the base as if with a razor; even those surrounding cemeteries were treated in the same way. agricultural implements were smashed. mons en chaussée was the first village we entered; every house was a blackened smoking ruin, and where the fiends had not done their work with fire they had brought dynamite to their aid; whole blocks of buildings had been blown into the air; there was not sufficient cover for a dog. the car suddenly came to a standstill; my driver jammed on his brake and i hurried forward. there, at the middle of the village cross-roads was another enormous mine-crater--one hundred feet across by about sixty feet deep. it was quite impassable, but the sight which astounded me was to see about twenty old women and children running up the road the other side of the crater shouting and waving their arms with joy. "les anglais! les anglais!" they yelled. i got my camera into position and filmed the captain and his companions as they clambered round the jagged lip of the crater and were embraced by the excited people. for the first time since their captivity by the germans they had seen "les anglais." liberators and captives met! several scenes i filmed of the enormous crater and of the cut-down fruit trees. not a single tree, old or young, was left standing. to blow up roads, and hew down telegraph poles was war, and such measures are justified; but to destroy every tree or bush that could possibly bear fruit, wilfully to smash up agricultural implements; to shoot a dog and tie a label to its poor body written in english: "tommies, don't forget to put this in your next communique--that we killed one dog. (signed) the huns." to crucify a cat upon a door and stick a cigar in its mouth, to blow up and poison wells, to desecrate graves, to smash open vaults and rob the corpses which lay there, and then to kick the bones in all directions and use the coffins as cess-pools--these things i have seen with my own eyes. is this war? it is the work of savages, ghouls, fiends. i wondered where these people had come from and where they had been as the whole village was burnt out. i enquired and found that the germans, two days before, had cleared the village of its population and distributed them in villages further back, and had then set fire to the place, leaving nothing but a desert behind, and taking with them all the men who could work and many girls in their teens to what fate one may guess. these few villagers had wandered back during the day to gaze upon the wreckage of their homes and arrived just in time to meet us at the crater. "we will get along," said my companion. "i want to visit bovincourt and vraignes before nightfall, though i am afraid we shall not do it. by making a detour round these ruins i believe we shall strike the main road further down." i followed him through the ruins and, after bouncing over innumerable bricks and beams, we reached the main road. we passed through estrées-en-chaussée. one large barn was only standing; everything was as quiet as the grave; columns of smoke were still rising from the ruins. another jamming on of brakes brought us to a standstill at a cross-roads; another huge mine-crater was in front of us and it was most difficult to see until we were well upon it. there was nothing to do but to take to the fields--our road was at right angles to the one we were traversing. i examined the ground, it was very soft, and the newly scattered earth and clay from the mine made it much worse. "if we get stuck," i thought, "there is nobody about to help us out." the captain tried and got over. i yelled out that i would follow; they disappeared in the direction of bovincourt. backing my car to get a good start i let it go over the edge of the road into the field. it was like going through pudding. the near wheels roared round without gripping. then it happened! we were stuck! a fine predicament, i thought, with prowling enemy patrols about and no rifle. "all shoulders to the wheel," i said. by digging, and jamming wood, sacking and straw under the wheels we managed, after three-quarters of an hour, to get it out. jove! what a time it was! and so on the road again. "we will get into bovincourt," i said. "let her go; i may meet the others." the feeling was uncanny and my position strange, for all i knew bosches were all around me (and later on this proved to be the case). night was falling, and ere i reached the village it was quite impossible to take any scenes. at the entrance to the village i ran into several people who crowded round the car, crying and laughing in their relief at seeing the british arrive. old men and women who could barely move hobbled forward to shake hands, with tears in their eyes. they clambered in and around the car, and it was only by making them understand that i would return on the following day that they allowed the car to proceed. the sight was wonderful and i wish i were able to describe it better. i could not find the other car, so, assuming it had gone back, i decided to return as far as brie and stay the night. as i was leaving the village a burst of machine-gun fire rang out close by followed by violent rifle-shots. "let her go," i said to my chauffeur. "i am not at all anxious to get pipped out here. my films must not fall into enemy hands." the car shot up the road like a streak; the mine-crater was ahead and the possibility of getting stuck again whilst crossing made me feel anything but easy. full tilt, i told my driver, we must trust to speed to get across. on went the lower gear; a right-hand twist of the wheel and we were on the field; the speed gradually grew less, the back wheels buzzed round but still gripped a little. "keep her going at all costs," i yelled, "if the car sticks here it will have to be left." to lighten her a little i jumped out and pushed up behind for all i was worth. mud was flying in all directions; we were nearly across; another twenty yards. with a final roll and screech she bounded off on to the road. i jumped aboard again and up the road we shot towards mons. if the hun patrols had been anywhere near they must have thought a battalion of tanks were on their track, for the noise my old "bus" made getting across that field was positively deafening. on i went through mons, into the ruins of its houses, still glowing red and, in some places, flames were licking around the poor skeletons of its once prosperous farms. one more mine-crater to negotiate; then all would be plain sailing. it was now quite dark. i dared not use lights, not, even side lamps, and going was decidedly slow and risky in consequence. i sat in the bonnet of the car and, peering ahead, called out the direction. shortly a lightish mass loomed up only a few yards distant. "stop!" i yelled. on went the brakes, and only just in time. we came to a standstill on the outer lip of a huge crater. another two yards and i should have been trying to emulate the antics of a "tank" in sliding down a crater and crawling up the other side. in my case the sliding down would have been all right, but coming up the other side would have been on the lap of the gods. a hundred men with ropes and myself--well, but that's another story. "back the car to give it a good run," i said, "and let us lighten it as much as possible," and soon all was ready. "i will go ahead and put my handkerchief over my electric light; we must risk being seen--you head direct for the glow." i went into the muddy fields. "let her go," i shouted. with a whir and a grind i could tell it had started. i stood still. it was coming nearer. ye gods! what a row. then, suddenly, the engines stopped and dead silence reigned. "it's stuck, sir," came a voice from the darkness. i went to the car and switched my lamp on to the near wheels. the car was stuck right up to the axle. "we shall never get out of this unaided," i said. "put all the stuff back inside and get the hood up; we shall have to sleep here to-night." then, to add to the discomfiture of the situation, it began to rain, and rain like fury, and in a few minutes i was wet through to the skin. the hood leaked badly and had convenient holes in alignment to one's body, whether you were sitting lengthways or otherwise inside. i had resigned myself for a dismal night out. two hours had passed when i heard the clatter of hoofs coming towards me in the distance and, by the direction of the sound, i could tell they were our men. i tumbled out and ran as fast as possible to the other side of the crater and reached there just as the horsemen arrived. "hullo!" i shouted. "hulloa!" came the reply, "who is it?" "i am badly stuck, or rather my car is--in the mud in the field here. can you hitch two or three of your horses on and help me out on to the road?" "certainly, if we can, sir." "i will guide you with my lamp--by the way, where are you going?" i said. "we are trying to get into touch with the bosche." "i have been in bovincourt," i said, "but there are none there, though i heard a lot of rifle-fire just outside the village." we arrived at the car and, quickly hitching on a rope, the engine was started up and, with a heave and a screech, it moved forward and was eventually dragged on to the road. "thank heaven," i thought. then, thanking the men, and warning them of the other delightful mine crater further down, i started off again, sitting on the bonnet. as i neared brie i switched on my lamp as a headlight and got held up by two sentries with their bayonets at the ready. they did not understand why a motor-car should be coming back apparently from the german lines, and their attitude was decidedly unfriendly till i assured them i was not a german, but only the official kinematographer out for pictures. chapter xxviii the story of an "armoured car" about which i could a tale unfold possibilities--food for famished villagers--meeting the mayoress of bovincourt--who presides at a wonderful impromptu ceremony--a scrap outside vraignes--a church full of refugees--a true pal--a meal with the mayor of bierne. to keep hard upon the heels of the retreating germans and so obtain scenes, the character of which had never been presented before to the british public, was my chief aim. i had no time for sleep. i arrived at my base wet through, the rain had continued throughout the whole of my return journey. changing into dry underwear, i refilled my exposed spool-boxes and packed up a good surplus supply, sufficient to last for several days, then packing my knapsack with the usual rations, bully and bread, condensed milk and slabs of chocolate, i was ready to start out once more. my clothes had by this time dried. daylight was breaking, the car arrived and, with all kit aboard, i started out again for the somme, wondering what the day would bring forth. i stopped on the way to pick up the "still" photographer. "where for to-day?" he asked. "bovincourt and vraignes," i replied, "and, if possible, one or two of the villages near by. i must get into them before our troops, so as to be able to film their entry. does that suggest possibilities to you?" i said, with a smile, knowing that he, like myself, would go through anything to obtain pictures. "possibilities," he said, "don't, you make my mouth water. how about food? shall we take some to the villages?" "excellent idea," i said. we stopped on the way and purchased a good supply of white bread and french sausages, thinking that these two commodities would be most useful. through foucacourt estrées and villers-carbonel the roads were lined with troops, guns, and transport of every description, all making their way forward. engineers were hard at work on the roads; shell-holes were filled in and road trenches bridged. work was being pushed forward with an energy and skill which reflected great credit upon those in charge; traffic controls were at cross roads which forty-eight hours before had been "no man's land." hun signboards were taken down and familiar british names took their place. the sight was wonderful. en route i stopped and filmed various scenes. arriving again at brie on the somme the change in affairs was astounding. the place was alive with men; it was a veritable hive of industry; new lines were being laid to replace the torn and twisted rails left by the germans; bridges were being strengthened, roads on both sides were widened, and, to make it possible to continue the work throughout the night, a searchlight was being mounted upon a platform. crossing the bridges of brie we mounted the hill and were once again upon the ridge. great gaps had been made by our men in the huge line of barbed wire entanglements which the huns had spent months of laborious work to construct. it stretched away over hill and dale on both sides as far as the eye could see. to pick up further information i stopped a cyclist officer coming from the direction of mons. "any news?" i enquired. "where is bosche?" "we were in touch with his rearguards all last night," he said. "they have made several strong points round the villages of vraignes, haucourt, and bierne. they were scouting around vraignes, but we quickly put the wind up them," he said, with a smile. "several villages were seen burning during the night and the enemy put a little shrapnel around some patrols near pouilly, but no damage was done." "vraignes, of course, is quite clear?" "yes, as far as we know. our patrols reported it clear late last evening, but possibly bosche returned during the night. we captured three bosches and they have an extraordinary tale of seeing two armoured cars yesterday evening near bovincourt, and they insist upon it although i am quite aware there were none at all near there. they say that about six o'clock they were on the outskirts of bovincourt when two armoured cars came in sight. not having a machine-gun with them they decided to hide and so took cover in the ruins of a house. later on they say they saw only one car leave in the direction of the main road. that's their tale and they seem quite serious about it." "well," i said, with a grin, "do you think this car of mine would look like an armoured car at a distance?" "well, yes, possibly, in a failing light. why?" "well, this must be one of your excellent prisoner's so-called armoured cars, because i was in bovincourt with ---- of the corps intelligence, hence the two cars. i missed him through getting stuck in the mud, and entered bovincourt about six o'clock and left by myself later as a skirmish was taking place somewhere near by, and not being armed with anything more dangerous than a camera, i decided to quit. i am much obliged to the bosche for taking this bus of mine for an armoured car." with a laugh and a cheery adieu the officer bade me good luck and pedalled off. i could not help thinking that i had had a lucky escape. on again, and reaching the first mine, the scene of the previous night's adventure, i put the car to the field at a rush and by some extraordinary means got her round. i was just entering the village when, with a shriek and a crash, a shell burst near the church. i stopped the car and, under cover of the ruins, reached a distance of about three hundred yards from where it fell. if any more were coming over i intended, if possible, to film them bursting. carefully taking cover behind a wall, i fitted up my camera. another shell came hurtling over and dropped and burst quite near the previous spot. showers of bricks flew in all directions, liberally splattering the wall behind which i was concealed. the débris cleared, up went my camera, and, standing by the handle, i awaited the next. it came soon enough, i heard the shriek nearer and nearer. i turned the handle and put my head close behind the camera with my eye to the view-finder. crash came the shell, and, with a terrific report, it exploded. the whole side of a house disappeared, and bricks, wood, and metal flew in all directions. i continued to turn when, with an ugly little whistle, a small piece of something struck my view-finder and another my tripod. luckily nothing touched the lens. i awaited the next. it was longer this time, but it came, and nearer to me than the previous one. i was satisfied. i thought if they elevated another fifty yards i might get a much too close view of a shell-burst, so scrambled aboard the car, and made a detour round the mine on to the road beyond. "those scenes ought to be very fine," i said. "it's one of those lucky chances where one has to take the risk of obtaining a thrilling scene." by the balls of white smoke i could see that shrapnel was bursting in the near distance. "that's near pouilly," i said. "we are turning up on the left, let's hope the huns don't plaster us there." reaching the village of bovincourt, the villagers were there eagerly awaiting our arrival. they again crowded around the car, and it was with difficulty that i persuaded them to let us pass into the village. cheering, shouting, and laughing they followed close behind. i stopped the car and asked an old man who, by his ribbons, had been through the war: "where is the mayor?" "there is no mayor, monsieur, but a mayoress, and she is there," pointing to a buxom french peasant woman about fifty years of age. i went up to her and explained in my best french that i had brought bread and sausages for the people, would she share them out? "oui, oui, monsieur." "i would like you to do it here, i will then take a kinematograph film of the proceeding, so that the people in england can see it." "ah, monsieur, it is the first white bread and good french sausage we have seen since the bosches came. they took everything from us, everything, and if it had not been for the american relief we should have starved. they are brutes, pig-brutes, monsieur, they kill everything." and, with tears in her eyes, she told me how the huns shot her beautiful dog because, in its joyfulness, it used to play with and bark at the children. "they did not like being disturbed, monsieur, so they shot him--poor jacques! they have not left one single animal; everything has gone. mon dieu, but they shall suffer!" i changed the painful subject by saying that now the british had driven back the bosche everything would be quite all right. with a wan smile she agreed. i set up my camera, and telling my man to hand over the food, the mayoress shared it out. one sausage and a piece of white bread to each person, men, women, and children. the joy on their faces was wonderful to behold. as they received their share they ran off to the shelter of some ruins, or up into the church, to cook their wonderful gifts. i filmed the scene, and i shall never forget it. the last of the batch had disappeared when up the road came hobbling a woman whose age i should say was somewhere about forty-five. i could see she was on the point of exhaustion. she had a huge bundle upon her back and a child in her arms, another about seven years clinging to her skirts. they halted outside the ruins of a cottage, the woman dropped her bundle, and crouching down upon it clung convulsively to the babe in her arms and burst into tears. i went up to her and gently asked her the cause. "this, monsieur, was my house. two days past the germans drove me away with my children. my husband has already been killed at the front. they drove me away, and i come back to-day and now my home, all that i had in the world, monsieur, is gone. they have burnt it. what can i do, monsieur? and we are starving." the babe in her arms began to send forth a thin lifeless wail. i helped the poor woman to her feet and told her to go to the church, and that i would bring her bundle and some food for her. god above, what despair! the grim track of war in all its damnable nakedness was epitomised in this little french hamlet. houses burnt, horses taken away, agricultural implements wilfully smashed, fruit trees and bushes cut down, even the hedges around their little gardens, their cemetery violated and the remains of their dead strewn to the four winds of heaven. their wells polluted with garbage and filth; in some cases deliberately poisoned, in others totally destroyed by dynamite. their churches used as stables for horses and for drunken orgies. all the younger men deported, and the prettiest of the girls. in some cases their clothes had been forcibly taken away from them and sacks had been given in exchange to clothe themselves with. they were robbed of every penny they possessed. but when the wonderful sound of the british guns and the tramp of our soldiers crept nearer and nearer, terrifying, relentless, and irresistible, the germans left, fleeing with their ill-gotten spoil like demons of darkness before the angels of light, leaving in their trail the picture i have unfolded to you. wishing to push on further i scouted round the outskirts of the village. in a wood a short distance away it was evident that our patrols were in contact with the huns. volley after volley of rifle-fire rang out, and now and then a burst from the machine-guns. a horseman was heading straight for me. was he british or hun? in a few minutes i could see he was one of our men--evidently a dispatch-rider. he swept down into a hollow, then up the road into the village. he was riding hard; his horse stumbled, but by a great effort the rider recovered himself. he dashed past me and, clattering over the fallen masonry, disappeared from sight. i looked around. not a sign of life anywhere, so i decided to make for vraignes about a kilometre distant south-east of bovincourt. i had previously heard from one of the villagers that there were about one thousand people left there. strapping my camera on my back i tramped away, my man following in the rear. the "still" man, who had left me after feeding the villagers, had been prowling around getting pictures. accidentally he ran into me, so together we trekked off. taking advantage of every bit of cover possible, as german snipers were none too careful as to where they put their bullets, we eventually reached the outskirts of vraignes. not a sign of germans, but crowds of civilians. things here were the same as at bovincourt, but a few more houses were left standing owing to the fire not completely doing its work. the people were in the same state. we had just got into the village, and near the mairie, when a commotion round the corner by the church attracted my attention. the men and women who had crowded around us shouting with joy, turned and rushed up the road. "vive les anglais! vive les anglais!" the cry was taken up by every one. hands and handkerchiefs were waving in all directions. "vive les anglais! vive les anglais!" "our boys are there," i said. my camera was up and turned on to the corner where the crowd stood and, at that moment, a troop of our cyclists entered, riding very slowly through the exultant people--the first british troops to enter the village. i turned the handle. the scene was inspiring. cheer after cheer rent the air. old men and women were crying with joy. others were holding their babies up to kiss our boys. children were clinging and hugging around their legs, until it was impossible for them to proceed further. the order was given by the officer in charge to halt. the men tumbled off their machines, the people surged round them. to say the men were embarrassed would be to put it mildly. they were absolutely overcome. i filmed them with the crowd around. and then an order was given to take up billets. patrols were thrown out, sentries posted, the men parked their cycles and rested. on a large double door of a barn the huns had gone to the trouble of painting in huge letters the hackneyed phrase "gott strafe england," and immediately our men saw it one of them, with a piece of chalk, improved upon it. they gathered the children round them and formed a group beneath the letters with german trophies upon their heads; i filmed them there, one of the happiest groups possible to conceive. i left them and went to find the officer in charge, and asked him for the latest news from other sections. "i couldn't say," he replied, "but my men were well in touch with them early this morning, but you seem to know more about it here than anyone else. when on earth did you arrive in the village?" "just before you," i replied. "i came from bovincourt." "well, you have got some job. i certainly didn't expect to find anyone so harmless as a photographer awaiting our arrival." the conversation was abruptly stopped by a warning shout from one of the observers on a house-top close by. "germans, sir." the officer and i rushed to a gap in the buildings and looked through our glasses, and there, on a small ridge a thousand yards off, a body of horsemen were seen approaching, riding hard, as if their very lives depended upon it. an order was immediately given to the machine-gun company who had taken up a most advantageous position and one that commanded most of the country near by. i placed my camera in such a position by the side of a wall that i could see all that was taking place and if seen myself i could easily pull it under cover. nearer and nearer they came. they were too far away to photograph. excitement was intense. were they coming into the village? if they did, i thought, in all conscience they would get a warm reception, knowing as i did the arrangements for its defence. my eyes were fixed upon them. the officer close by was on the point of giving the order to fire when a burst of machine-gun fire rang out in the distance. "our cavalry have got them," said the officer. "we have some strong posts just here, bosche has fairly run into them. look! they have their tails up." and they had, for they were running back for all they were worth in the direction of bierne. our men were positively disappointed, and i can honestly say i was myself, for the possibilities of a wonderful scene had disappeared. the tension relaxed; most of the men returned to their billets and quickly made themselves at home with the people. noticing people going into church, i went up the hill to investigate. as i entered the outer gate an officer clattered up on horseback, swung himself off and walked up to me. "hullo," he said, "i am the doctor. anything doing here?" "well," i said, "there might have been just now." i related the happenings of the last ten minutes. "have you been to bovincourt?" "yes, but the poor devils are too ill for me. i haven't sufficient stuff with me to go round." another officer ran up, "i say, doctor, for heaven's sake look in the church here. the place is packed and half of them are ill, god knows what with, and one or two are dead." "well, i will look, but i can do nothing until this evening. i have no stuff with me." we went into the church. heavens! what a sight met our eyes; the atmosphere was choking. it was like a charnel-house. crowds of old men, women, and children of all ages were crowded together with their belongings. they had been evacuated from dozens of other villages by the huns. women were hugging their children to them. in one corner an old woman was bathing the head of a child with an old stocking dipped in water. the child, i could see, was in a high fever. there must have been at least three hundred people lying about in all directions, wheezing and coughing, moaning and crying. the doctor spoke to one old woman, who had hobbled forward and sank down near a pillar. the doctor bent down and told her that he would bring medicine in the evening. everybody there seemed to hear that magic word, and scrambled forward begging for medicine for themselves, but mostly for the children. the scene was pitiable in the extreme. i asked one women where they had come from. she told me from many villages. the bosche had turned them all out of their homes, then burnt their houses and their belongings. they had walked miles exposed to the freezing cold rains and winds, they had been packed into this church like a lot of sheep without covering, without fires. she was begging for medicine for her three-months-old babe. "she will die, monsieur, she will die!" and the poor woman burst into a flood of tears. i calmed her as much as possible by telling her that everything would be done for them without delay, and that medicine, food, and comfort would be given them. i turned and left the building, for the air was nearly choking me. outside i met the doctor, who was arranging to send a cyclist back for an ambulance. "they cannot be treated here, it's impossible. i've never seen such a sight." i left him and went into the house where the cyclist c.o. had made his temporary headquarters. "i want to get on further, is there any other village near by?" "yes," he said, "there is haucourt, but i believe bosche is in part of it, or he was this morning. it's about two kilos from here. i shouldn't go if i were you unless you get further information; i am expecting another patrol in from there. if you care to wait a few minutes you may learn something." i agreed to wait, the "still" man came in just then, and he agreed to come with me. "we may as well risk it," i said. "i will take my old bus into the place. if bosche sees it he may mistake it again for an armoured car." so, packing the cameras aboard, i waited for the expected patrol to turn up. half an hour passed; no sign. daylight was waning. "i am going on," i said to the "still" man, "we cannot wait for the patrol, there's not time. will you come?" "yes," he said. i told the c.o. of my intention. "it's thundering risky," he said. "you're going into new ground again." i left vraignes and advanced at a cautious pace in the direction of haucourt. rifle-fire was proceeding in the distance, which i judged was the other side of the village. a destroyed sugar refinery on the left was still smoking. it had been blown up by the huns and the mass of machinery was flung and twisted about in all directions. in the village i stopped the car close by a crucifix, which was still standing. "turn the car round," i said to my driver, "and keep the engine going, we may have to bolt for it." then, shouldering the camera, i made my way up the main street. the place was a mass of smoking ruins; absolutely nothing was left. a huge mine had been blown up at a cross-road; all trees and bushes had been cut down. a piano, curiously enough, was lying in the roadway; the front had been smashed, and no doubt all the wires were hacked through by some sharp instrument, and the keys had all been broken. the huns had evidently tried to take it away with their other loot, but finding it too heavy for quick transport had abandoned, then wilfully destroyed it to prevent its being used by others. the place was as silent as the grave. i filmed a few scenes which appealed to me, and was on the move towards the further end of the road when two of our cyclists suddenly came into view. i hurried up to them. "any news?" i asked. "where's bosche?" the men were half dead with fatigue. their legs were caked inches thick in mud, and it was only by a tremendous effort that they were able to lift their feet as they walked. they were pushing their cycles; the mud was caked thick between the wheels and the mudguards forming in itself a brake on the tyres. fagged out as they obviously were they tried to smile at the reply one made. "yes, the bosche is about here outside the village," said one. "we had a small strong point last night over there," pointing in the distance, "myself and two pals. we were sitting in the hole smoking when nine bosches jumped in on us. well, sir, they managed to send my pal west, but that's all. then we started and six fritzes are lying out there now. the other three escaped. it made my blood boil, sir, when they did in my pal. i'm going to make a wooden cross, and then bury him. we had been together for a long time, sir, and--well--i miss my pal, but we got six for him and more to come, sir, more to come before we've finished." i thanked the man and sympathised with him over his loss and complimented him on his fight. "but it's not enough yet, sir, not enough." the two then struggled away, bent on their errand of making a cross for a pal. and as they disappeared among the ruins i wondered how many men in the world could boast of such a true friend. very few, worse luck! * * * * * the sharp crack of a rifle quickly brought me back to earth. a bullet struck the wall close by. i dived under cover of some bricks dragging my camera after me. another came over seeming to strike the spot i had just vacated. i decided to keep the ruins between myself and the gentle bosche. scenes were very scarce, no matter where one looked it was just ruins, ruins, ruins. i wandered on until i came to a long black building, evidently put up by the huns. it was quite intact, which to me seemed suspicious. it might hide a german sniper. i put my camera behind a wall then quietly edged near the building. not a sound was audible. in case anyone was there i thought of a little ruse. the door was close to me and it opened outwards, so picking up a stone i flung it over the roof, intending it to fall the other end and so create a diversion. with a sudden pull i opened the door alongside me, but with no result. i peered round the door; nobody there. i entered and found the building had been used as a stable. straw was lying all over the place; feed-bags had been hastily thrown down, halters were dotted here and there, and a uhlan lance was lying on the ground, which, needless to say, i retained as a souvenir. the rearguard of the enemy had evidently taken shelter there during the previous night and had made a hasty exit owing to the close proximity of our boys. evening was drawing on apace, so i decided to make my way back to the car. the "still" man was awaiting my return. at bovincourt i met an intelligence officer and told him of my experiences. he seemed highly amused and thanked me for the information brought. i told him that wishing to be on the spot if anything interesting happened during the night or early next morning i had decided to sleep in my car in the village. i was going to hunt up a place to cook some food. "i will take you somewhere," he said. "there is the old mayor of bierne here. he has been evacuated by the bosche. he's an interesting old fellow and you might have a chat with him. he is in a house close by with his wife. come along." we found the old man in one of the half-dozen remaining houses left intact by the huns. we entered the kitchen and my friend introduced us to paul andrew, a tall stately french farmer of a type one rarely sees. he had dark curly hair, a shaggy moustache and beard, blue eyes and sunken cheeks, sallow complexion and a look of despair upon his face, which seemed to brighten up on our entrance. i asked him if his good wife would cook a little food for us, as we wished to stay the night in the village. "monsieur," he said, "what we have is yours. god knows it's little enough--the bosche has taken it all. but whatever monsieur wishes he has only to ask. will monsieur sit down?" i bade adieu to the officer who had brought us there, had the car run into the yard, and then returned to the cosy kitchen, and sat by the fire whilst the old lady prepared some hot coffee. "these are more comfortable quarters than we expected to-night," i said. "i must make a note of all my scenes taken to-day. have you a light, monsieur andrew?" "oui, monsieur, i have only one lamp left and i hid that as the bosche took everything that was made of brass or copper, even the door handles." he brought in the lamp, a small brass one with a candle stuck in it. i proceeded with my record, then we supped on bread, sardines, and bully, sharing our white bread with andrew and his wife. they had not seen or tasted such wonderful stuff since the bosche occupation, and their eyes sparkled with pleasure on tasting it again. i had brought copies of the _echo de paris_, _journal_, _matin_ and other french papers, and these were the first they had seen for two years. the farmer declared it was like a man awakening from a long sleep. "we'll turn in," i said. gathering up my coat i opened the door. the freezing cold seemed to chill me to the bone, and it was snowing hard. i flashed on my torch and we found our way to the car. quickly getting inside, i unfolded the seats which formed two bunks, and struggling inside our sleeping-bags we were soon asleep. [illustration: the quarry from which i crawled to film the german trenches in front of st. quentin, . it was also the point of liaison between the british and french armies] i awoke with a start. it was pitch dark. i rubbed the steam from the door window and looked out; it was still snowing. i had an extraordinary feeling that something was happening, that some danger was near. if anybody had been there near the car i should have seen them; the snow made that possible. but there was not a sign of movement. i got out of my sleeping-bag, thinking that if any prowling bosche patrol ventured near i should be able to do something. nothing happened, and for quite half an hour i was on the alert. several rifle-shots rang out quite near, then quietness reigned again, and, as nothing else happened, i wriggled into my bag again and dozed. in the morning i told one of our patrol officers of my experience. "you were right," he said. "uhlan rearguard patrols sneaked in near the village, and must have passed quite close to your place. my men had some shots at them and gave chase, but owing to the confounded snow they got away." i decided that if i slept there again that night it would be with a rifle by my side. chapter xxix before st. quentin the "hindenburg" line--a diabolical piece of vandalism--brigadier h.q. in a cellar--a fight in mid-air--waiting for the taking of st. quentin--_l'envoi_. still the great german retreat continued. village after village fell into our hands; mile after mile the enemy was relentlessly pursued by our cavalry and cyclist corps. still the germans burnt and devastated everything in their path although, in some instances, there was evidence that they were shifted from their lines of defence with far more force and promptitude than they imagined we would put up against them in this particular section. the enemy had arranged his operations, as usual, by timetable, but he had failed to take into consideration the character of the british soldier, with the result his schemes had "gone agley." to save men the german high command gave orders for a further retirement to their hindenburg defences, a fortified line of such strength as had never been equalled. if this line was not impregnable, nothing could be. it was the last word in defence system and it had taken something like two years to perfect. the barbed wire, of a special kind, was formidable in its mass; three belts fifty feet deep wound about it in an inextricable mass in the form of a series of triangles and other geometric designs. the trenches themselves were constructional works of art; switch lines were thrown out as an extra precaution; in front of the most important strategical positions, machine-gun posts and strong points abounded in unlimited quantities. it was the hun's last and most powerful line of defence this side of the franco-german frontier. this "hindenburg" line stretched from a point between lens and arras where it joined the northern trench system, which had been occupied for the past two years, down to st. quentin, passing behind the town at a distance of about five kilos, with a switch line in front to take the first shock of the allies' blow when it came. behind this trench the huns thought they could safely rest and hold up the allies' advance. but, with their wonderful and elaborate system of barbed-wire defence which they anticipated would keep us out, they probably forgot one point--it would certainly keep them in--tightly bolted and barred. therefore, under such conditions, it was the side which had the predominance in guns and munitions that could smash their way through by sheer weight of metal, and force a passage through which to pour their troops, taking section by section by a series of flanking and encircling movements, threaten their line of communication, finally cracking up the whole line and compel a further extensive falling back to save their armies. against the front portion of this line we thrust ourselves early in march, , and our massed guns poured in the most terrible fire the world had ever known. lens was practically encircled--the vimy ridge was taken by assault, and dozens of villages captured, resulting in the capture of eighteen thousand prisoners and over two hundred guns. hindenburg threw in his divisions with reckless extravagance; he knew that if this section gave way all hope of holding on to northern france was gone. time and again he sent forward his "cannon fodder" in massed formation--targets which our guns could not possibly miss--and they were mown down in countless numbers; his losses were appalling. in certain places his attacking forces succeeded for a time in retaking small sections of ground we had gained, only to be driven out by a strong counter-attack. his losses were terribly disproportionate to his temporary advantage. i moved down to the extreme right of the british line; st. quentin was the goal upon which i had set my mind. in my opinion the taking of that place by a combined franco-british offensive with the triumphant entry of the troops would make a film second to none. in the first place the preliminary operations pictorially would differ from all previous issues of war films, and in the second place it would be the first film actually showing the point of "liaison" with the french and their subsequent advance--making it, from an historical, public, and sentimental point of view, a film _par excellence_. therefore in this section of the british line i made my stand. i left my h.q. early in april, . i intended to live at the line in one of the cellars of a small village situated near the bois de holnon, which had been totally destroyed. i proceeded by the main st. quentin road, through pouilly into caulaincourt. the same desolation and wanton destruction was everywhere in evidence; but the most diabolical piece of vandalism was typified by the once beautiful château of caulaincourt, which was an awful heap of ruins. the château had been blown into the somme, with the object of damming the river, and so flooding the country-side; partially it succeeded, but our engineers were quickly upon the scene and, soon, the river was again running its normal course. the flooded park made an excellent watering-place for horses. the wonderful paintings and tapestries in the library on the château had been destroyed. as i wandered among the ruins, filming various scenes of our engineers at work sorting out the débris, i noticed many things which must have been of inestimable value. every statue and ornamentation about the grounds was wilfully smashed to atoms; the flower-pots which lined the edges of the once beautiful floral walks had been deliberately crushed--in fact a more complete specimen of purposeless, wanton destruction it would be impossible to find. i filmed the most interesting sections; then continued my way through bouvais on to see the general of a division. this division was working near the french left. after a very interesting conversation this officer recommended me to call on a brigadier-general. "he is stationed at ----," he said. "i will ring him up and tell him you are on the way. he will give you all the map references of the o.p.'s in the neighbourhood. anyway, you can make your own arrangements, i suppose, about views?" "oh, yes, sir, certainly, so long as i can get very near to the place." "right. you go into all these details with general ----." thanking him i hurried away. i found the mines which bosche had exploded at all cross-roads very troublesome, and on one occasion, in endeavouring to cross by way of the field alongside, i got badly stuck; so i had to borrow a couple of horses to get me out on to the road again. i duly arrived and reported to brigadier h.q. it was the cellar of a once decent house by the appearance of the garden. i went down six steps into a chamber reeking with dampness about six feet high by ten feet square; a candle was burning in a bottle on a roughly made table, and, sitting at it, was the general closely studying details on a map. he looked up as i entered. "are you the kinema man?" he enquired. "general ---- told me you were coming; what do you want?" "well, sir," i said, "i want to obtain films of all the operations in connection with the taking of st. quentin; if you have an observation-post from which i can obtain a good view it will suit me admirably." "i am sure we can fix you up all right. but we are just going to have a meal; sit down and join us. we can then go into details." lunch was served in primitive fashion, which was unavoidable under such conditions--but we fared sumptuously, although on a rough plain table with odds and ends for platters, and boxes and other makeshifts for chairs. during the meal i went into details with the general about my requirements. he quite understood my position and thoroughly appreciated my keen desire to obtain something unique in the way of film story. "the taking of st. quentin by the allied troops, sir, would be one of my finest films." "well," he said, "the french are bombarding the suburbs and other places, so far as damage is concerned, to-day; our batteries are also giving a hand. i should advise you to go to this spot"--indicating a position on the map. "what do you think?" he turned to the brigade major. "will this do for him?" "yes, sir, i should think so." "anyway, i can soon see, if you can put me on the road to find it. but a guide would save time." "you had better take him," said the general to the brigade major; "you know the place quite well." "right, sir," he said. so, getting hold of an extra orderly to help carry my kit, we started off, up through a wood and then for the first time i viewed st. quentin. "we had better spread out here," said my guide. "bosche can observe all movements from the cathedral tower, and he doesn't forget to 'strafe' us although no harm is ever done." "he is crumping now by all appearances," i replied, noticing some crumps bursting about three hundred yards away. "yes, they are 'strafing' the place we are going to! that's cheerful, anyway. we will make a wide detour; he's putting shrapnel over now. look out! keep well to the side of the wood." we kept under cover until it was necessary to cross a field to a distant copse. "that's our o.p. we have some guns there, worse luck." "hullo, keep down," i said; "that's a burst of four." crash--crash--crash--crash! in quick succession, the fearful bursts making the ground tremble. "very pretty," i remarked. "i will get my camera ready for the next lot." they came--and i started turning one after the other; it was an excellent scene; but, as the enemy seemed to swing his range round slightly, the pieces were coming much too near to be healthy. so, hastily packing up, we made straight for the copse on the quarry top. high shrapnel was now bursting, several pieces whistling very unpleasantly near. "let's get under shelter of the trees," said the brigade major, "the trunks will give us a lot of cover." we made a run for it, and reached them safely, and, gently drawing near the outer edge, i was in full view of st. quentin. the cathedral loomed up with great prominence--and shrapnel was exploding near the tower. "that's to keep the hun observers down," he said. "we are not, of course, shelling the place to damage it at all. those fires you can see there are of bosche making; he is systematically burning the place as a prelude to retreat. my intelligence officer says that the palace of justice and the theatre are well alight, and airmen declare the town quite empty; they flew over it yesterday only about two hundred feet above the house-tops and they were not fired at once. seems to me they've evacuated the populace entirely." "jove," i said, "the french are letting them have it over there," pointing in the distance. "that is, of course, south of the town, very nearly running due east and west--it's an excellent barrage--and all h.e., too." i soon got my camera into action and, carefully concealing the tripod behind a tree trunk or rather a little to one side, i began exposing. the firing was very heavy. i continued exposing on various sections which gave me the most comprehensive idea of barrage fire. "the french are bang up against the 'hindenburg' line there, and it's pretty deep in wire--as you know," said my guide, "but i think they will manage it all right; it's only a matter of time. hullo! they are 'strafing' their confounded guns again with h.e. look out! keep down!" and keep down we did. "those . of brother fritz's are not very kind to one; we had better stay for a few minutes; he may catch us crossing the field." ten minutes went by; things were a bit quieter, so, hastily packing up, we doubled back to the road. "i never did like getting near forward gun position," i said, "but, curiously enough, my best view-points compel me on many occasions to fix up in their vicinity." we got on to the road without casualties and in time to see the h.l.i. forming up to leave at dusk for the front line, or the series of strong points which comprised it in this section. they were having the operation orders read out to them by their officer in charge. the scenes made very interesting ones for me--the men, alert and keen to the last degree, stood there in line, listening intently to the words until the end. the next morning i had a wire from h.q. asking me to take charge of two french journalists for a day or two; they were most anxious to see the british troops in action before st. quentin. towards midday they arrived--m. gustave babin, of _l'illustration_, paris--and m. eugène tardeau, of the _echo de paris_. i presented these gentlemen to the general, who kindly extended every facility to them. i took them up to the observation post from which they could look down on st. quentin. "it will be a great moment for me," said m. babin, "to obtain the first impression of the allied entry in the town." for myself the day was quite uneventful, beyond obtaining extra scenes of the preparatory work of our artillery. the heavy bombardment was continuing with unabated fury, the horizon was black with the smoke of bursting high explosives, huge masses of shrapnel were showering their leaden messengers of death upon the enemy. towards evening the weather changed for the worse. it began with a biting cold sleet, which quickly turned into snow. that night we slept in an old greenhouse which was open to the four winds of heaven. the cold was intense. i rolled myself up tight in my bag and drew my waterproof ground-sheet well over my body. it was a good job i did so for the snow was blowing in through the many fissures and cracks and settling upon me like fallen leaves in autumn. the heavy shelling continued throughout the night. several bosche shells came unpleasantly near, shaking my rickety shelter in an alarming manner. the next day the weather continued vile and the operations were indefinitely postponed. therefore there was nothing further to do but to return to h.q. st. quentin, for the present, was to me a blank, although i had continued for some time preparing all the scenes leading up to its capture. the weather was changing, the ground was drying. our line, just north of the town, was being pushed further forward. holon-selency, francilly-selency, fayet and villerete had fallen to our victorious troops, but the main attack was not yet. to obtain scenes of our men actually in the front line trenches facing the town, i made my way through savy and savy wood, in which not a single tree was left standing by the bosche. through the wood i carefully worked forward by keeping well under cover of a slight rise in the ground. i met a battalion commander on the way who kindly directed me to the best path to take. "but be careful and keep your head down. hun snipers are very active and he is putting shrapnel over pretty frequently. although it doesn't hurt us--it evidently amuses him," he said, with a smile. "there is one section where you will have to run the gauntlet--for you are in full view of the lines. keep down as low as possible." i thanked the c.o. and went ahead. the weather was now perfect--a cloudless blue sky flecked here and there by the furry white balls of our bursting shrapnel around hun aeroplanes, keeping them well above observation range. i noticed a flight of our men winging their way over enemy lines. i could hear the rapid fire of the bosche anti-aircraft guns, and see their black balls of shrapnel burst. but our birdmen went on their way without a moment's hesitation. i recalled the time when i was up among the clouds, filming the bosche lines thirteen thousand feet above mother earth. suddenly a sharp crack, crack and whir of a machine-gun rang out. a fight was going on up there; our anti-aircraft guns ceased, being afraid of hitting our own men, but the bosche still kept on. it was impossible to see the progress of the fight; the whole flock was now directly overhead. watching the "strafe" with such keen interest, this point quite escaped me until pieces of shrapnel began to fall around in alarming proportions, causing me to beat a hasty retreat out of range, though i still hung about in the hope of a bosche machine being brought down, thereby providing me with a thrilling scene. but it did not happen. the airmen disappeared in a southerly direction, still fighting until the sharp cracks of the guns droned away in the distance. in a few minutes i came in full view of one of our strong points in the shape of a disused quarry. around the inner lip our tommies had made a series of funk-holes, which looked quite picturesque in the bright sunlight. machine-gun parties were there ready for anything that might turn up; in the far corner a group of frenchmen were chattering volubly to a knot of our men. this certainly was a most interesting scene--the point of "liaison" between the two great armies, france and britain. i noticed by fresh shell-holes that bosche had a rather bad habit of annoying the place with his pip-squeaks, but generally they only resulted in scoring a blighty for more or one of the occupants--and, for others, they were a source of amusement in the shape of gambling on the spot the next one would fall. i filmed various sections here, then, having partaken of a little tea, i wended my way to the trenches. i kept low, as the tower of the cathedral was in full view. i had previously covered the aluminium head of my tripod with a sandbag to prevent it glistening in the sun. as i drew nearer to the trench, which i could now see quite distinctly, more and more of st. quentin came into view. such a picture gives one rather a queerish feeling. if a keen-eyed hun observer spotted me, with my load, he would take me for a machine-gunner or something equally dangerous. but, fortunately, nothing happened. i dropped into the trench of the ---- worcesters who were amazed and amused to see me there, as one of them said: "well, sir, i always thought all the war pictures were fakes, but now i know they're not. "will you take us, sir? we expect to go over to-night. please do, sir; our people at home will then in all probability see us. don't suppose i shall. i have an idea i shan't--but," he said, pulling himself together, "i hope so, yer know, sir." i liked the man's spirit. it caused all the others to smile. i carefully fixed up my machine and filmed them, holding our front line. "how close is this to the town?" i asked. "about nine hundred yards, sir." [illustration: our outpost line within yards of st. quentin. it was to this outpost that i crawled in daylight to obtain this scene] whether or not bosche had seen movement i don't know, but suddenly a group of four . came crashing over. everybody ducked--wise plan, rather, out here--they fell and burst about fifty yards behind us. i awaited the next lot; they came very shortly and fell in almost the same place. "before he shortens the range," i thought, "i'll move," and suiting the action to the word i moved out towards the bois de savy and was half-way there when another lot burst in my direction. this time i made for the bois de holnon, and fortunately the shells ceased. as i reached the furthest side of the bois de savy several tear shells came whistling over and burst just behind me. needless to say i had fallen flat, and, as i arose, the sweet smell of tear gas made itself evident. not intending to risk a repetition of my previous experience at beaumont hamel, i closed my eyes and ran like--well, you couldn't see me for dust. yard by yard we continued to press back the enemy. for me the film story of the taking of st. quentin is an obsession. it holds me as a needle to a magnet. and in this section, at the present, i remain--waiting and watching. my leave is fast running out, and i am nearing the end of my story. in all the pictures that it has been my good fortune to take during the two and a half years that i have been kept at work on the great european battlefield, i have always tried to remember that it was through the eye of the camera, directed by my own sense of observation, that the millions of people at home would gain their only first-hand knowledge of what was happening at the front. i have tried to make my pictures actual and reliable, above all i have striven to catch the atmosphere of the battlefield, and whilst i have dwelt as little as possible upon its horrors, i have aimed at showing the magnificent spirit which imbues our fighting men, from the highest in command to the humblest unit in the ranks. i am proud to think that the task of doing this has been mine, and in doing it, i have tried "to do my bit" for the land that gave me birth. the end index a albert, albert, king of the belgians, alexander of teck, prince, amiens, andrew paul, mayor of bierne, , anzacs, the, armentières, arras, , , aubers ridge, australians, the, , b babin, m. gustave, of _l'illustration_, bailleul, bapaume, basle, beaumont hamel, , , , , , , bécourt wood, , , belfort, belgians, queen of, , bernafay wood, , besançon, , biaches, biel, bierne, , , bizantin-le-grand, bois de holnon, , bois de savy, , boulogne, - , , bouleaux wood, bouvais, bovincourt, , , , , , - , brie, , , , , , brooks, lieut., official "still" photographer, - , burstall, general, c calais, - cambrai, canadians, the, - , camoy valley, caulaincourt, cavan, earl of, , , clarendon film co., the, contalmaison, , - d delemont, delville wood, dieppe, dijon, _dinorah_, s.s., the, dixmude, dunkirk, e estrées, , , f fayet, festubert, , foch, gen., folkestone, foscaucourt, foucacourt, francilly-selency, fricourt, , , , fromelles, furnes, , , , , , , , g gaumont co., the, george v-- his approval of somme film, arrival at boulogne, , attends divine service, on battlefield of fricourt, - being filmed, his departure from france, , greets sir h. rawlinson, at hospitals, inspects canadians, meets m. poincaré and gen. joffre, , and puppy, , visits king of the belgians, , george, david lloyd, prime minister, , , givenchy, gommecourt, gouerment, goumiers, the (algerian arabs), - , guards' division, the, , , - , - , , guillemont, , , , gully ravine, h haig, field-marshal sir douglas, , , - haucourt, hawthorn redoubt, the, , hill , hill , - hindenburg, general, "hindenburg line," the, , , , hohenzollern redoubt, the, holon-selency, j joffre, general, - josephine, princess, jury, mr. will, k keppel, sir derek, kinematograph trade topical committee, the, "king george's hill," kitchener, earl of, l la bassée, , , , la boisselle, la gorgue, la maisonnette, château of, lancashire fusiliers, the, , , lancers, th, the, lens, lesboeufs, , , london scottish, the, , loos, , , lueze wood, m malins, lieut. geoffrey h., o.b.e.-- appointed official war office kinematographer, arrested in switzerland, at battle of st. eloi, - on battlefield of neuve chapelle, - with belgian army, - , - in bombardment of furnes, with canadians, - his description of preparation of film, - experiences in aeroplane, - films battle of the somme, - with goumiers, near nieuport, - with guards' division, - his life before the war, narrow escapes of, - , - at pozières and contalmaison, - and prince of wales, , , at ramscapelle, - reported dead, spends christmas at the front, - and tanks, on tracks of retreating huns, - in trones wood, - views battle of sand-dunes, - visits ruins of guillemont and mouquet farm, - on vosges mountains, - on western front with the king, - at ypres and arras, - mametz, martinpuich, battle of, messines, , , middlesex regt., the, mons, mons en chaussée, , montaubon, morval, , , mouquet farm, , , n neuve chapelle, , , , nieuport, , nieuport bain, , norfolks, the, north staffordshire regt., the, northumberland fusiliers, the, o oost-dunkerque, ostend, p peronne, - perrontruy, petite douve, , , ploegsteert, , ploegsteert wood, , ploegstrathe, poincaré, president, - pouilly, , pozières, , , - , , r ramscapelle, , , - rawlinson, general sir h. s., , remiremont, richebourg, richebourg st. vaaste, royal engineers, west riding field co., royal fusiliers, the, , , royal welsh fusiliers, the, s st. dié, , , , st. eloi, , st. eloi, battle of, - , st. quentin, , , , , - savy, somme, river, , , - , , somme battle, film of, - , , stamfordham, lord, suffolks, the, t tanks, the, , - , , tardeau, m. eugène, of _echo de paris_, thiepval, thompson, major, tong, mr., , , trones wood, , , , , u uhlans, the, v vernilles, villerete, villers-carbonel, - , vimy ridge, vosges, the, , , vraignes, , , , w wales, edward, prince of-- his anxiety to avoid camera, , attends service on christmas day, cheered by tommies, and general foch, in german trench, , inspects gun-pits, meets king george at boulogne, takes leave of king george, wigram, lieut.-col. clive, , , y ypres, , , - , , , printed by william brendon and son, ltd. plymouth, england +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | transcriber's notes | | | | page : "wall, sir..." _sic_ | | page : afther _sic_ | | page : boche amended to bosche | | page : closing quotes added ("i will get it down.") | | page : chaussé amended to chaussée | | page : axel amended to axle | | page : was amended to saw ("later on they say they | | saw....") | | page : if amended to it ("to take it off....") | | page : evidently amended to evident | | page : moniseur amended to monsieur | | page : kilos _sic_ | | page : beeen amended to been | | page : becourt amended to bécourt | | page : les boeufs amended to lesboeufs | | page : reboubt amended to redoubt | | page : vaast amended to vaaste | | | | illustration facing page : skies amended to skis | | illustration facing page : poincarie amended to poincaré | | illustration facing page : poincarie amended to poincaré | | illustration facing page : liason amended to liaison | | | | hyphenation has generally been standardized. however, when a | | word appears hyphenated and unhyphenated an equal number of | | times, both versions have been retained | | (earsplitting/ear-splitting; everyday/every-day; | | selfsame/self-same). | +--------------------------------------------------------------+ note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustration. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h.zip) the moving picture girls at sea or a pictured shipwreck that became real by laura lee hope author of "the moving picture girls," "the moving picture girls at rocky ranch," "the outdoor girls series," "the bobbsey twins series," etc. illustrated [illustration: russ began taking many views of the pitching, tossing schooner.--_page ._] the world syndicate publishing co. cleveland, o. new york, n. y. copyright, , by grosset & dunlap printed in the united states of america by the commercial bookbinding co. cleveland, o. contents chapter page i the great marine film ii jack jepson iii something of a mystery iv the sailor's story v the mary ellen vi captain brisco vii jepson is worried viii hard work ix the rising tide x too much realism xi a revised film xii overheard xiii "all aboard!" xiv overboard xv "sail ho!" xvi the accusation xvii the storm xviii grinding away xix disabled xx in the vortex xxi wrecked xxii "mutiny!" xxiii help at last xxiv a signal of distress xxv clear skies chapter i the great marine film "well, at last a breathing period, ruth. oh, i am surely tired!" and the girl threw herself on the couch, without stopping to remove her light jacket and hat. her head sank wearily on a cushion. "oh, alice! be careful! look out!" exclaimed the other occupant of the pleasant little room, a room made habitable by the articles of tasteful adornment in it, rather than by the location of the apartment, or the place itself. there was a "homey" air about it. "i'm too tired to look out, or even look in," was the answer, as the younger girl closed her eyes. truly she seemed much "fagged," and worn out. "but, alice, dear--your hat!" "it doesn't matter, ruth. please let me rest. i thought we'd never get home." "but it isn't your old hat, alice, and----" "it's an old hat from now on!" broke in the younger girl, not opening her eyes. "it's spoiled anyhow. some of the water from that parlor scene, where mr. bunn upset the globe of gold fish, splashed on it, and the spots never will come out." "oh, alice, is your hat spoiled?" "it doesn't matter. mr. pertell is going to buy me a new one. he said it was up to the company to do that, especially as i did so well in that burning room scene the other day. there!" and the girl on the couch raised her small fist and plumped it full on the crown of the chic little toque she was wearing. "alice devere!" cried her sister, aghast. "ruth devere--lady clarissa--señorita alamondi! whatever you like, only let me--alone! i've posed and acted and otherwise contorted myself before at least five thousand feet of film today, and i'm not going to be disturbed now, just for the sake of a hat that is as good as paid for anyhow, so 'please go 'way and let me sleep,'" and alice murmured the chorus of a once popular song. ruth sighed. somehow, looking at her gentle and refined face, one understood that a sigh, from her, was the only possible answer under the circumstances. not that the girl on the couch, with closed eyes, was unrefined. but there was a wholesome air of good health about her that caused one to think of a "jolly good fellow," rather than a girl who needed to be helped on and off trolley cars. "you _are_ tired," commented ruth, after a pause. "shall i make you a cup of tea, dear? or we could go over to mrs. dalton's, if you like. you know she told us always to come in when we came from the theatre, and have tea." "no, dear, thank you. it's awfully good of you to offer, but i don't want you to trouble. i'll be all right in a few minutes. i just want to rest." "it was a tiresome day; wasn't it, dear?" "i should say so, 'and then--some,' as russ would say." "you shouldn't quote russ when he uses slang," was the older girl's rebuke. "can't help it, ruth. that just seemed to fit. but you can't feel so very rested yourself. you had some heavy parts today." "oh, i don't mind. i really was in love with that role of lady clarissa. i always did like english plays, anyhow." "well, we are getting more than our share of them this season. i wish mr. pertell would swing to a good american drama again. say, didn't we have fun at rocky ranch?" and as she asked this some of the weariness seemed to slip off alice as a discarded garment is let fall. she sat up, her eyes flashing with fun, and her cheeks that had been pale were now suffused with a heightened color. "yes, we did have fun," assented ruth. "but it was hard work, too,--especially when that prairie fire came a little too close for comfort." "that _was_ rather scary," assented alice. "but it was outdoors, and that was what i love. oh, i can just smell that wonderful air yet!" and she breathed in a long breath. a look of annoyance passed over her face, and she made a gesture of disapproval, "wrinkling" her nose. "they're having corned beef and cabbage again downstairs," she said, pointing to the apartment below them. "well, they have a right to it," ruth said, with a tolerant smile. "not when daddy hates it so," disagreed alice. "come on, let's make a cup of tea. and is there any cheese?" "cheese?" "yes," the younger girl went on. "i'm going to make a welsh rarebit. daddy just adores them, and the smell of the toast will take away the odor of that cabbage. is there any cheese?" "i think so. but i thought you were tired." "i was, but i guess thinking of the moving picture days at rocky ranch acted as a tonic. i'm rested now. there!" she tossed the hat, which she had so mistreated, on a chair, slipped off her jacket and started for the kitchen. "i _think_ there is some cheese," went on ruth, following her younger sister. "but don't make the rarebit as you did last time. it was so tough that russ said it would do very well to half sole his rubber boots." "that was because i put the milk in too suddenly. i won't do it that way this time. come on, we'll get up a nice little tea for daddy. he's sure to be tired also. they had to film that big scene of the accusation over three times before mr. pertell was satisfied." "is that so? i didn't know that, i was so busy with that english play. then father will be late." "a little. he said he'd follow us in about an hour, though. so we'll just about have it ready in time. did russ come out with you?" "no," and though she uttered but this simple word the cheeks of ruth took on a more ruddy hue. "i saw pearl waiting for him," went on alice. "but----" "you did?" cried ruth, and then she added quickly: "oh, i mean i suppose he had to go with her to film that scene in central park, near the lion's cage." "don't get jealous now," teased alice. "i said pearl waited for him, but, she is--still waiting, i guess." "what do you mean?" ruth tried to appear indifferent, but it was not an unqualified success. "i mean that russ got one of the other camera men to take his place, and go out with miss pennington," said alice with a laugh as she began cutting the bread in thin slices for toast. "but russ--" "he went up town. he told me to tell you he thought he could get that book you spoke of." "oh, i didn't want him to go to all _that_ trouble!" remonstrated ruth, looking at her sister, and then suddenly averting her gaze. "guess he doesn't call much _trouble_ where _you_ are concerned," said alice significantly, cutting up some chunks of cheese which she put in a double boiler with some lumps of butter. "he said if you wanted a book to give you some of the details of the country, where that english play was supposed to take place, you were going to have it." "it's awfully good of him," murmured ruth. "i just casually mentioned that i'd like to know something about the people of that section, and he offered to get a book he had once heard of. but i didn't want him to make such a fuss over it." "la-la-la!" chanted alice, about nothing in particular. the girls busied themselves getting tea. the kettle was soon singing on the gas stove, the crisp odor of toast had replaced the heavier one of cabbage, and the rarebit was almost ready to serve, when a step was heard out in the hall of the apartment house where the devere family had their new york home. "there's daddy!" exclaimed alice. "and just in time," added ruth, as she poured the boiling water on the tea, adding to the fragrant food perfumes that now filled the apartment. the key clicked in the lock, the door opened, and a rather imposing figure of a man entered, laying aside his hat and light overcoat, for the spring day was a bit chilly. "hello, daddy!" called alice, putting up her face to be kissed, as she came in from the kitchen with a plate of delicately browned toast. "you're just in time. and it's such a _lovely_ rarebit!" "that's good, my dear." "oh, father, how hoarse you are!" cried ruth. "is your throat bad again?" "well, this harbor dampness isn't just the best medicine for it. but i shall spray it, and it will be better." he sank somewhat wearily into a chair as he spoke, and ruth glided over to him. "daddy," she said, "you look worried. has anything happened? is anything wrong at the moving picture studio?" "no, nothing wrong, but--" it was evident that something out of the usual had occurred. even light-hearted alice sensed it. "what is it?" she asked. "oh, nothing so much," her father said in weary tones. "i suppose i shouldn't make such a fuss over it. but mr. pertell has finally decided to film the great marine drama, and that means we shall have to go out on the water, more or less. and with my sore throat that isn't just the best thing in the world for me." "a marine drama!" cried alice. "oh, i shall just love _that_!" a look of worry still clouded mr. devere's face. "father, there is something else," insisted ruth. "you haven't told us all about this sea film." "no, i--i haven't," he said. "and, to tell the truth, i'd rather we weren't going to be in that marine drama." chapter ii jack jepson hosmer devere's words and manner alike were alarming to his daughters. seldom had they seen him so moved, especially over such a seemingly simple matter as the announcement of a new moving picture drama. he and the girls, in common with the other members of the comet film company, had to portray many different scenes in the course of a season's work, and though some of it was distasteful, it was seldom objected to by anyone, unless perhaps by pepper sneed, the "grouch," or perhaps by mr. wellington bunn, an actor of the old school, who could not reconcile himself to the silent drama. "why, daddy, what is the matter?" asked alice. "i think it will be perfectly fine to have a little trip out to sea, especially now that summer is coming on." "but not if the damp salty air is going to irritate his throat," declared ruth. "oh, it isn't so much that," mr. devere said, "but you girls evidently don't know that the big scene in this drama is a shipwreck, and what follows. i am to be 'cast' in that, and so are you." "well, what of it?" asked alice. "it won't be a _real_ shipwreck; will it?" "real? of course not!" exclaimed ruth. "the idea!" "i certainly hope it won't be real," mr. devere said, "but--oh, well, i suppose i may as well admit the truth. you'll probably call me fussy and all that, and laugh at the superstition of an old actor. but you know we have our traditions, though i am free to confess that i have lost many of them since entering on this moving picture work. but i had a dream about this same shipwreck, and that was before i knew we were to be in it, for i might mention that mr. pertell has included you girls in the drama, and has prominent parts selected for you." "oh, i'm glad!" cried alice enthusiastically. "i'm not," her father said, and he did not smile. "as i said i had a dream about this drama before i knew we were to have parts in it. and in that dream i saw----" "oh, daddy! now don't tell a depressing dream before tea!" begged alice, slipping her arms about his neck, and imprinting a kiss on a spot, which, if it were not already bald, was fast becoming so. "wait until after supper--the rarebit will spoil if we don't eat it at once. wait, daddy dear!" "all right, i will," he assented with a sigh. "perhaps i may have a less gloomy view of it after a cup of tea." and while the little family party is gathered about the table, i shall take just a moment to tell my new readers something about the previous books of this series. ruth and alice devere were moving picture girls, which you have probably guessed already. that is, they were actresses for the silent film dramas that make so much for enjoyment nowadays. mr. devere was also an actor in the same company. he had been a semi-tragedian of the "old school," but his voice had failed, because of a throat ailment, and he could no longer declaim his lines over the footlights. he was in distress until it was suggested to him that he take up moving picture work. this suggestion came from young russ dalwood, who, with his widowed mother and little brother, lived across the hall from the devere family, in the fenmore apartment on one of the west sixty streets of new york. russ had invented a new attachment for a moving picture camera, and he himself was a camera operator of ability. at first mr. devere had refused to consider moving picture work, but he finally consented, and even allowed his daughters to take their parts in the silent drama. in the initial book of the series, "the moving picture girls," i related their first experiences. all was not smooth sailing. though mr. frank pertell, manager of the comet film company, was a most agreeable man, the other members of the theatrical company were like those of any other organization--some were liked, and some were not. among the former, at least from the standpoint of ruth and alice, was russ; paul ardite, who played juvenile leads; pop snooks, the property man and one who did all the odd tasks; and carl switzer, a round-faced german, who was funny without knowing it. but neither ruth nor alice cared much for laura dixon and pearl pennington, two former vaudeville actresses who thought they were conferring a favor on the cameras to pose for moving pictures. mr. bunn, an actor of the kind styled "hams", was in like case. mr. bunn was always bemoaning the fact that he had left the "legitimate" drama with a chance of playing "hamlet", to take up moving picture work. but he might have been glad--especially on paydays--for he had made more out of camera work than he could have done on the regular stage. pepper sneed was never satisfied. he was of a gloomy nature, and always looking for trouble. sometimes he found it, and for a time he was happy in saying "i told you so." but more often he proved a dismal failure as a predicter of calamities. this was the company, with others whom you will meet from time to time, in whose fortunes ruth and alice devere had cast their lots. after the girls' first introduction to the camera they went to oak farm where a series of pictures were taken, and, incidentally, a mystery was cleared up. getting snowbound was another experience for our friends, but they forgot the cruelties of winter in the happy days under the palms. and they had only recently come back from rocky ranch, where a number of western dramas had been filmed, when the little scene of our opening chapter took place. those of you who have read the previous books of this series do not need to be told much about moving pictures. and even those who select this volume as their first venture in becoming acquainted with our heroines must well know how the film pictures look from the front of the screen. to the uninitiated i might say that in making picture plays a company, somewhat like a regular theatrical organization, is gotten together. the play is decided upon, but instead of the acts taking place before an audience they are enacted before a camera and a man who acts as director, or manager. some of the action takes place out of doors, amid the surroundings of nature, but most interior scenes are "filmed," or taken, in the studio, under the brilliant glare of electric lights. the pictures are taken in succession on a narrow strip of celluloid film, of the same nature as those in any camera. the strips are of a standard length of one thousand feet, though some plays may "split," and take only half a "reel" while others will fill several. when the film has been exposed, it is developed in a dark tank, and from that one "master" film, any number of "positives" can be made for use in the projecting machines. doubtless you know that the same machine which takes the pictures does not show them on the screen. but enough of this detail. "was the rarebit good?" asked alice, smiling up into her father's face, as the supper progressed. "you may give me some more, which is the best answer in the world, my dear," he replied, smiling. "be careful!" ruth warned him. "you may have dreams, daddy!" a shadow seemed to pass over the face of the old actor. he had been jokingly gay during the meal, but now there seemed to be a sense of depression. "might as well tell us, and have it over with," suggested ruth. "we don't believe in dreams, anyhow. do we alice?" "not a bit, and i've named the corners of my bed ever so many times," and she laughed at that old sweethearts' superstition. "well, my dream was very vivid," mr. devere said. "i don't usually believe in omens, but this one impressed me. i dreamed we were all at sea, on a vessel in a storm, and, somehow, we became separated. i saw you girls going down with the ship, while i was taken up on a life raft." "well, what of it, daddy?" asked alice. "i've often had unpleasant dreams myself. probably you ate something you ought not to have taken. i'm rather sorry, now, i made this rarebit." "oh, not at all! it was excellent!" he exclaimed. "i would perhaps, have thought nothing of my dream had not mr. pertell, a short time ago, told me something of his plans for the future. he spoke of a great marine drama he had in prospect, and we are to have prominent parts in it. but i was startled when he told me that one scene--the great one, in fact--was to be a shipwreck. he has engaged an old vessel for this purpose, and he is going to sink it with all on board." "all on board!" cried ruth. "you don't mean----" "well, that's how it will appear in the camera, anyhow. you girls are to be well in front, and your swimming abilities will be very necessary, for you will have to go into the water." "i hope it is warm," murmured alice. "oh, it will be summer before we get to the shipwreck part," went on mr. devere. "but what worries me is my dream in connection with the drama. i almost told mr. pertell we would have nothing to do with it." "oh, father! you can't do that!" exclaimed ruth. she, as housekeeper, knew how much money was required in these days of the high cost of living. though mr. devere and his daughters received fair salaries, there were many expenses to be met, and if they refused present engagements they might not find it so easy to get others. "oh, of course i didn't actually turn it down," said the old actor, "but it gave me quite a turn, i must say. i haven't gotten over it yet, seeing you girls disappear under the waves." "don't think of it, daddy!" urged alice. "have some of this apple slump. mrs. dalwood sent it in." "your idea is that a man's mind is in his stomach, isn't it, daughter," laughed her father. "well, i will have some of the dessert. oh, but i almost forgot, you will have to go down an hour earlier in the morning to the studio." "why?" ruth wanted to know. "a heavy day's work on, and mr. pertell wants to sketch out the preliminary scenes of the marine drama. we are actually going to sea, i believe, and he has engaged some old sailors, or at least one so far, to give it a proper nautical flavor. it's only for tomorrow that we have to go earlier than usual." mr. devere seemed more like himself after he had told his daughters of his vision. it did not so depress him now, and the rest of the meal passed off in a much more jolly manner. in the evening russ dalwood came in from across the hall, and they played bridge whist, of which mr. devere was fond. "fancy daddy, russ," laughed alice, "wanting us to give up a chance to go to sea just because he dreamed of a shipwreck!" "oh, i didn't actually want you to give it up," her father remonstrated. "perhaps i was foolish even to mention it. but i can't forget it--i can't!" and he seemed to look through the walls of the room on some distant and fateful scene. "well, i must be getting back," russ said. "you've won the rubber, as usual, mr. devere. lots to do tomorrow, and i have a new assistant to break in, so i'll say good-night." there were busy times for all next day, in the studio of the moving picture concern. in the big room brilliant with electric lights as well as from the illumination that came through a sky-glass, there were several scenes from different dramas being filmed at the same time. when ruth and alice devere entered with their father, mr. pertell, the manager of the comet company, was engaged off to one side, evidently instructing a man in what he must do before the camera. the man was a sailor, and it needed but a glance to show that he was a real one, and not "made up" for the occasion. "you see," said mr. pertell, "you come into the shipping office, and pretend to hand over the papers. but you slip the clerk the wrong ones, and while he is examining them you reach over behind him and take the documents you want." "avast there! belay!" came the hoarse voice of the sailor. "i do that there, do i?" "yes." "steal the papers?" "well, it isn't _stealing_, exactly. it's only----" "stealin' is what i call it, and it can't be called by another name to my way of thinkin'. it won't do, sir, it won't do! jack jepson got into trouble once, but he isn't goin' to do it again. no sir! that stealin' won't do for jack jepson. you've got to get someone else to sign them articles for you. no stealin' for jack jepson!" and the figure of the old sailor turned and, with a rolling gait, he started across the big studio room. chapter iii something of a mystery "look out there!" "where you going?" "hold him back, somebody! look out, you'll spoil that scene! don't cross in front of the camera!" half a dozen frantic voices were calling to the sailor who, with dogged persistence, kept on, shaking his grizzled and gray head, and muttering over and over again: "it won't do for jack jepson! no sir! it won't do. i had one experience with trouble and i don't want any more. no sir!" evidently utterly unused to a moving picture studio, the old man kept on his way. he was headed directly toward a camera that was "filming" an elaborate ball room scene. if any figure came between the scene and the camera with the pictures it was imprinting on the sensitive celluloid film (at the rate of sixteen per second) part of the elaborate work would have to be done over again. and as one of the characters in the little play was a celebrated dancer, whose time was paid for at an almost unbelieveable sum per hour, it would mean a heavy expense. "stop him!" cried mr. pertell. "come back here!" "halt! vamoose! turn about!" paul ardite called to the worked-up traveler of the deep blue sea. this had no effect. "avast there! belay!" cried russ dalwood, who was not at that moment engaged at the crank of some camera. he used the same sea terms the old man himself had uttered, but this salt-water "lingo," or translation of the command to halt, had no effect either. then came an interruption at a most opportune time. just ahead of the sailor a scene from a wild west drama was being enacted. a group of cowboys were engaged in a quarrel in the bunk house, which had been set up in the studio. the outdoor scenes of the little play were to be made later, for it is the custom in this business to make all the scenes, taking place in one locality, at the same time, regardless of their sequence in the finished play. later the film is cut up into strips, pasted together with the proper headings, or captions, and the finished play results. and just as the old sailor, who called himself jack jepson, was about to step in front of the ball room scene camera, to the frantic horror of the operator, one of the cowboys, following out his lines, drew his revolver, and fired a blank cartridge at the "villain." in the studio the noise was like that of a small cannon. "mutiny!" yelled jack jepson, jumping in the air a foot or more. "mutiny!" but he stopped, and just in time. two steps more would have brought him in front of the clicking camera. "mutiny!" he fairly roared. "what is this! who's firin' a shot across my bows? all hands on deck t' repel boarders! avast there!" and he stood looking around in bewilderment, while the smoke from the revolver floated upward. "come here!" called mr. pertell running forward, and grasping the arm of the sailor before he could get away to step in front of any of the other moving picture machines. "you don't understand, mr. jepson. i merely want you to----" "yes, i reckon i heard you say what you wanted me to do. now look here! i don't know much about you, but you come over t' our sailors' snug harbor, an' you took some pictures. that was all right, i'm not captain there an' i haven't anything t' say. you said you wanted an old able-bodied man for certain work, an' i volunteered. i didn't know where the voyage was, but i signed on, an' come here; didn't i?" "you did," said mr. pertell. "but let me explain." "no, you listen to me, first!" exclaimed the old salt, shaking a thickened and roughened finger at the manager. "i come here, willin' to do anything from slushin' th' mast, or holystonin' th' decks t' furlin' sail in a blow. but what do i get; eh? i ask you what do i get? why an order to steal shippin' papers, that's what i get! an' that's a serious crime. i'm not goin' t' be mixed up with it. no sir! not for jack jepson!" and he tried to break away. "wait a minute!" mr. pertell begged. "you don't understand. it's only the business of stealing the papers, you know." "well, it's mighty poor business for any man t' be in; that's my opinion. i was raised honest, an', man and boy, i've lived honest for fifty years, with one exception, an' that wasn't my fault, and now----" again he made an effort to leave, which effort, if not blocked, would have once more taken him in front of some clicking camera. "oh, can't you understand!" cried the manager with a hopeless gesture. "perhaps i could explain to him," suggested ruth in a low voice. "i have plenty of time, mr. pertell, and though i don't know this gentleman----" "oh, i forgot. he's going to act with you and your sister, miss devere," said the manager. "come over and be introduced. you too, mr. devere. he's to have a part in our great sea drama, that is, if i can ever get it started. i began explaining to jepson, here, about taking the papers which have to do with the case, but he can't----" "you can't make me believe stealin's right, no matter how you go at it!" interrupted the old salt, doggedly shaking his head. "perhaps _i_ can," put in ruth with a smile, as the manager mentioned their names to the newest and, seemingly, the most refractory member of the company. "well, miss," said the sailor, "you look honest. i would believe what you'd tell me, for i know you couldn't do no wrong. perhaps i was a bit hasty, but you see this is all new to me--this play-actin', an' shootin' at folks unexpected like. i wouldn't have tried it, only the captain at the sailors' snug harbor, over on staten island, where i'm berthed, asked me as a favor to come here. but i don't like it!" "i didn't at first," said alice, joining with her sister, in an attempt to placate the old salt. "but i became used to it." "ha! you're pretty young to be in this business," said jack jepson, who evidently said what he thought. "oh, i'm older than i look," replied alice with a smile. "i just love the sea. i wish you would tell me about some of your voyages, for i'm sure you must have been on many." "that i have, miss, but this is th' queerest cruise i ever started on," and he looked around at the many scenes being enacted. meanwhile ruth had slipped to mr. pertell's side. "give me a brief outline of the play," she suggested. "i think i can make it plain to him. he is all fussed up because it's something new. you haven't time to go into details." "that's right--i haven't," agreed the harassed manager. "well, this is enough for you to know just now. there's a plot to sink a ship, and it is necessary that certain papers appear to be stolen. "i picked jepson up, as he says, at a sailors' home, over on staten island. he's a typical salt, but he balks at even a semblance of wrong-doing." "i think i can make him understand," ruth said as she took the typewritten pages of the scenario, or plot, of the drama from the manager. "i wish you would," mr. pertell said. "i've a thousand and one things to do." ruth started toward the old sailor. to her surprise her sister alice was now in earnest conversation with him. jack jepson seemed to have warmed to alice at once. and ruth heard him saying, as she approached: "well, miss, you see it was this way. there was a mutiny, an' i was accused, but i wasn't guilty. there was a mystery about it when the captain disappeared, an' that mystery hasn't been solved yet, though i'd give a good bit if it were. it's hangin' over me like a nightmare, miss. now i'll tell you all about it, if i don't tire you." "i should love to listen!" exclaimed alice, with dancing eyes and flushed cheeks. chapter iv the sailor's story ruth, on her way to explain to sailor jack jepson what was wanted of him in the matter of acting for moving pictures, paused as she saw alice and the aged salt in earnest conversation. "i think i had better defer my explanations a while," ruth told herself. "perhaps he will be in a bettor frame of mind to listen, after he has talked with alice. what a wonderful way she has of making friends!" the older girl mused as she looked at the interested and flushed face of her pretty sister. at that moment alice glanced up and caught ruth's gaze on her. "do come and listen," she called. "i'm going to hear a wonderful story, ruth dear." the old sailor looked up quickly, stopping in his progress toward a bench, whither alice was leading him. it was in a quiet corner of the studio, some distance away from the various little groups that, in three-sided rooms (before the open part of which cameras were placed, and over which big lights hissed) were going through their parts in the silent dramas. "this is my sister," alice said. "oh, yes, i remember now," jack jepson said. "there's so much goin' on that i get a bit confused. but i can see you two look alike. are you goin' to put me reefin' sails or scrubbin' decks?" he asked. "neither one," ruth said with a smile. "i told mr. pertell, our manager, that i'd explain what was wanted of you. it is very simple, and----" "i don't call it simple t' rob an' cheat!" cried jack with energy, "an' that's what he wanted _me_ to do." "i'll explain, and i think you'll find it all right," ruth went on. "my sister and i are in this business," she added, "and i don't believe you think _we_ would do anything wrong." "far be it--far be it," said the old salt, earnestly. "oh, but before you came, ruth dear," suggested alice, "mr. jepson was going to tell me----" "avast there! belay! hold on!" exclaimed the sailor, his voice ringing out through the studio, above the tones of those actors who, to give greater verisimilitude to their work were talking their parts, as well as going through them. they smiled at the old salt's energy. "wait a minute, miss," he went on in lower tones. "i didn't mean t' be so quick, but that mr. jepson business won't do. not at all!" "why, isn't that your name?" asked ruth. "i understood mr. pertell to say----" "oh, that's my name--at least the jepson part of it is. but i don't like the mister. i'm not used to it. the only time of late years when i was called mister was when i was up before the lawyers, and i didn't like it then. jest please call me jack jepson, an' 'twill sound more natural. i ask it as a favor, miss," and he looked from ruth to alice. "why of course we'll call you jack," assented the latter. "it will sound nicer anyhow, i think," she added. "now go on with your story. you said there was a mystery in it. has it anything to do with--buried treasure?" and alice leaned forward eagerly. "buried treasure? no, miss. what made you ask that?" "the idea!" exclaimed ruth with a laugh. "i'm afraid you'll think my sister very romantic, mr.--er--jack." "that's better!" he laughed. "well, i don't know much about romance. my life's been mostly hard work." "i just mentioned treasure," alice said with a little laugh, and a glance toward where miss pennington and miss dixon, having a rest from their moving picture work, were curiously eyeing the old sailor and the two girls. "well, my mystery hasn't anything t' do with buried treasure," resumed jack jepson. "it's about a mutiny that took place off th' hole in th' wall, about five years ago, an'----" "hole in the wall!" interrupted ruth. "i thought mutinies always took place on the high seas." "well, this _was_ the high seas," jack answered. "but the hole--?" "that's the name of a passage between great abaco island and eleuthera, in the west indies," the sailor replied. "i don't know why it's called that, but it is." "a queer name," murmured ruth. "go on, please," urged alice. "well, i was second mate aboard a five masted schooner engaged in the lumber business," went on jack jepson. "we were going down to south america, in ballast t' bring back a cargo of hard woods, an' off the hole in the wall th' trouble started. "some of the crew kicked on account of the grub--that's the stuff we eat on a ship," he explained. "oh, we know _something_ of such talk," said alice with a laugh. "we haven't been out west among the cowboys for nothing!" "well, some of th' hands laid it to the grub, an' others t' th' hard work of sailing th' craft," went on jack. "she was a mighty poor schooner in ballast, an' owing t' storms an' rough weather we had t' be takin' in or lettin' out reefs all th' while. it wasn't so bad up t' th' time we got off th' hole in th' wall, but from then on it was fierce! "i'd heard rumors that th' crew was goin' t' mutiny an' demand that we put in at some port, an' get better grub, an' more hands, for we was short of sailors. but i didn't pay much attention to th' underhand talk until it was too late. then, all at once, when we had got away down about off anegada, th' mutiny broke in full force. the men riz up, an' overpowered th' officers--th' captain was made a prisoner in his cabin, an' i was given my choice of joinin' th' mutineers or walkin' th' plank." "what's that?" asked ruth, a bit startled. "that's when they blindfold a man, and make him walk a plank that is put out over the bulwarks, or side of the ship," said alice. "why, if he were blindfolded i should think he'd fall off, not knowing when he came to the end," ruth remarked, with a little shudder. "he doesn't know," alice said. "that's an easy way of sending a man to his doom." "that's it, miss!" chimed in jack. "you got th' idea!" "but alice, how did _you_ know that dreadful thing?" her sister wonderingly demanded. "read it in a book. go on please, mr.--er--jack." "of course i didn't want t' walk no plank," resumed the sailor, "so i temporized. i thought maybe i could beat th' mutineers after all. so i pretended t' join 'em. things got pretty bad. many of 'em was for puttin' th' captain away--tossin' him overboard, an' there was a fight about it. matters got t' such a pass that pistols were fired, an' th' captain would have been shot, an' killed, only a fellow named mike tullane, a rough character, an' one of the leaders of th' mutiny, stepped up sudden like an' saved th' captain's life by knockin' aside th' ruffian's gun. "well, of course there was a fight then, but mike seemed t' come out all right, bein' a leader, an' havin' th' men pretty well with him. anyhow, th' mutineers were in charge of th' ship, an' off anegada, one of th' little british islands of the west indies, we were put about t' run for port. jest what was t' be done no one seemed to know. after the men got th' ship they didn't know what to do with her. "then came th' mystery. one night th' captain an' mike tullane disappeared. they was seen in th' cabin, talkin' together, an' some of th' hot-headed ones thought mike was goin' back on his pals. they was for makin' him walk th' plank. "but cooler heads made 'em wait. they said they wanted t' give mike a chance to explain. but he never got it." "do you mean they--" began alice, somewhat horrified. "i mean that night he an' th' captain disappeared," jack said. "they couldn't be found anywhere. no boat was taken, so they couldn't have gotten off in one of them craft, an' we wasn't near enough land t' make swimmin' safe. but they totally disappeared, an' that was th' mystery. whether they had a fight, an' jumped overboard together in th' darkness, no one ever knowed, for them mutineers didn't keep extra good watch. "but anyhow they was gone--mysteriously missin' as they say in the paper. that sort of took the heart out of some of th' mutineers and they got careless. first we knew a british vessel overhauled us, and, not likin' th' looks of things, began to ask questions. of course there wasn't any captain, such as there should be on a ship, an' that made it look suspicious. th' worst of it was that nobody could say where the captain was. none of us knew. "then th' story of th' mutiny came out, of course, an' it was all up. the britisher took charge of us. i was arrested as the ringleader of the mutiny, an' put in chains! an' i had no more to do with it than a baby, miss. no more than a baby!" and jack jepson looked from ruth to alice, his blue eyes expressing the indignation he had felt at the time. "an' that's th' story of th' mystery, as i said i'd tell your sister," he added turning to ruth. chapter v the mary ellen during the silence that followed the rather sudden ending of the old salt's story, ruth and alice looked at each other with wonder in their eyes. on all sides of them could be heard the clicking of the moving picture cameras, the loud directions issued by the men who were managing the different little dramas, and occasionally the sound of shots from the cowboy play that was going on in front of where our friends were seated on the bench, though at some distance away, for the studio was large. "but that can't be all of it," said alice, at length. "all of what, miss?" jack jepson asked. "the mystery." "that's all there is to any mystery, miss," he said. "a mystery is a mystery, an' if it isn't solved, it's a mystery still, an' nobody can make any more of it. th' captain and mike tullane completely disappeared, an' were never heard of afterward. that's th' mystery, an' all there is to it, jest as i told you." "but about yourself?" asked ruth. "you said you were put in chains, under arrest, as the ringleader of the mutiny." "so i was." "but what became of you?" "well, i escaped, miss. it may not be a very nice thing to confess, but i escaped. th' british ship took us to a jail on some island--i forget th' name of it. anyhow i was locked up, an' so were a lot of th' others. we were tried, an' i was accused of startin' th' mutiny. some of th' worst men on th' ship put th' blame on me, an' i wasn't a bit guilty. but it was no use in denyin' it. they was all banded together t' accuse me t' save themselves. i was found guilty, though i wasn't at all, an' i was sentenced to a long imprisonment. i just escaped hanging by a hair, for mutiny on th' high seas is a serious crime. "but i was innocent, an' i knew it, an' when i found th' trial goin' against me, i took a chance that offered, an' planned t' escape. i found a french vessel puttin' t' sea an' as they was short handed i signed on. since then i've been in many vessels, but i always keep away from english ones, and from english ports, for i would be arrested the minute i set my foot on shore in one. a big reward is out for me." "how long ago was all this?" asked ruth. "oh, some years." "but isn't the unjust charge outlawed now?" alice wanted to know. "i'm afraid not, miss. such things are never outlawed. i daren't go t' an english port, an' that's hampered me. i have to take what berths i can get." "can't you disprove the mutiny charge?" asked ruth. "not unless some of them involved was to confess, miss. an' land knows where those fellers are now. they've disappeared with th' captain an' mike tullane. of course if i could find either one of them, i could prove my innocence, an' then i'd be free t' go where i pleased. but i've about given _that_ up, miss. "so i sort of come t' anchor in th' sailors' snug harbor, an' when i heard about this movin' picture business, and th' chance it gave t' make a little money, i took it. but when it comes t' doin' some crime for it, i draws th' line. as i said, i've always lived honest, man and boy, for many years, an' that one charge is th' only one against me. i'm not goin' t' take them papers, and substitute false ones." "but you don't exactly understand," ruth said with a smile. "i am going to explain it to you. mr. pertell said i might. now here is the story we are supposed to act out; and, mind you, it is only _supposing_--make believe, as we children used to say." "oh, it's make believe; is it?" asked jack jepson. "yes, just make-believe." "i had a little gal once--long years ago," he said softly, "an' she used to be great on make-believe games. is this takin' of them papers a make believe game?" "exactly!" chimed in alice. "my sister and i have to pretend every day. it's fun!" "well, of course i didn't know _that_," said jack. "maybe i made a mistake in bein' so quick. there was nothin' wrong in it?" he questioned. "not the least in the world," said ruth. "it is just a game, played for the amusement of the public. i'll explain," and from the typewritten scenario she held she went over the outlines of the big marine drama, as one of the authors of the comet company had written it. as she gave the details, the simple, kindly face of the sailor cleared. his doubts vanished. "say, wasn't i th' old landlubber though!" he cried. "t' think i thought i was really committin' a crime. ha! ha!" "well, your past experience had made you careful," alice said. "that's what it had, miss. it's no fun t' be barred from the ports of the country that has more of 'em than any nation of the world. it hampers a man. but i daren't go on british soil." "could they come here and take you?" asked ruth. the old man looked around before replying. "they maybe wouldn't know me," he hoarsely whispered. "i've grown a beard since those days." "well, then, how would the british authorities know you?" asked alice with a smile. "i'm not takin' any chances, miss," was the answer. and though it might seem to an outsider that it would be safe, under those circumstances, for jepson to visit british ports, if he kept away from the island where he had been imprisoned, he could not see it that way. "no sir!" he exclaimed. "no british ports for mine!" by this time mr. devere, who had been engaged in finishing a few scenes in a play that had started the day before, came up to join his daughters. "well, how is the great marine drama coming on?" he asked, his voice being more hoarse than usual. he had done some talking, as he found it helped to give a better idea of the characters he portrayed, but it was not necessary, in these picture plays, to get his voice "over the footlights." "there has been a halt," explained ruth with a smile. "this is jack jepson, father. he is to have one of the principal parts, but he balked at some underhand work, and--" "pleased t' know you," jack broke in with a jerky bow. "your daughter's a smart gal," he said. "she made everything as clear as daylight t' me. i'm goin' on with th' play now." "that is when mr. pertell is ready," put in alice. "he seems to have found some difficulty in that cowboy drama." this was evident, for the western play had been stopped, and the camera operator, with a weary look on his face, was leaning against a post, as if in despair of ever completing that day's run of film. "no, no, mr. bunn, you must not do it that way," the manager was saying. "when ardite, in the character of the young outlaw, shoots at you, stand up without flinching. that's your part--to be indifferent to gunfire." "oh, that's my part, is it? just to be shot at!" cried the old "ham" actor. "well, it's a mighty poor part, that's all i've got to say! it will be the last time i ever take a part like that. oh, why did i ever leave the legitimate stage?" "ha! maybe it was because the stage would have left you, had you not left it," said mr. switzer, who was dressed up as a german comedian, and taking part in another play. "ha! what is that?" asked mr. bunn pompously. but mr. switzer did not repeat his remark. he was called to resume his part. "now mr. bunn, stand up and be shot at!" commanded mr. pertell. "come, come! we can't lose all day on this little play. i've got to get busy on the marine drama, and i want some of you in that. ready with that gun now, paul!" "yes, shoot him!" murmured mr. pepper sneed, the human grouch. "aim it right at him. of course they are only blank cartridges," he added cheerfully, "but if the wadding hits you bunn, lockjaw is almost sure to follow. go on and shoot. i know something will happen," and he looked as though he would be disappointed if his prophesy were not borne out. "go on, shoot!" "no! no! i protest! i withdraw from this play!" cried mr. bunn, looking around for his tall hat, without which he seldom was seen. it was his one remnant of departed glory. "no, you'll not withdraw!" cried mr. pertell. "we've got half the film run off with you on, and you've got to stick it out. go on, paul. and, mr. sneed, you needn't trouble to stand here and look on, as you're not in this cast. you have a--depressing effect." mr. sneed certainly did. however, he moved away, and the play went on. it was successfully filmed, and then mr. pertell was free to take up, where he had left off, the discussion of the preliminaries of the marine drama. "out on the deep" it was to be called. "well, how about it?" asked the manager, as he approached the moving picture girls, their father and sailor jack. "have you succeeded in convincing him?" "that's what they have, mr. pertell," the old salt said. "i'm sorry i made such a fuss about those false papers. i didn't know it was only make-believe." "well, if that difficulty is over with, we'll go on, though we can do only a few of the simple scenes today," the manager said. "do you understand the play?" he asked of mr. devere. "not altogether. i will look over the scenario." "i can save you the trouble," the manager went on. "i'll outline it briefly for you. 'out on the deep,' is, as you can tell by the name, a marine story. part of it will take place in a sailors' home. that will be the snug harbor, where i found jack jepson. we will go over to staten island some day and film those scenes. "another part of the drama will take place in a shipping office. of course that will be a studio scene, taken right here. i was starting in on that when jack balked." "well, i won't again," the sailor promised. "glad to hear it," came from the manager. "but the big part of the play will actually take place on deep water," mr. pertell resumed. "we are going out in a big schooner, and----" "a real schooner?" asked jack, eagerly. "yes, a real schooner. it isn't a very good one, but it will answer our purpose, especially as we have to wreck her, and she will be a total loss. i had to pay pretty high for her, too. but i think it will be worth it. the shipwreck scenes, in the storm, ought to be great. and now, as i have decided to postpone the rehearsal of the play for a while, i think it would be a good plan for some of us to go and look at the _mary ellen_, and get familiar with her layout." "the _mary ellen_!" cried sailor jack. "yes, that is the name of the schooner i have purchased to use as a shipwreck," said the manager. "why--th' _mary ellen_!" cried jack. "that was th' name of th' vessel where th' mutiny was!" and he started to his feet in great excitement. chapter vi captain brisco "mutiny! what do you mean?" demanded mr. pertell, a little startled by the action of the old sailor. "that's just what i mean, sir! oh, i forgot you don't know. but i told these young ladies about me being in a mutiny, an' i'm under suspicion in connection with it still. i can't go in an english port, and that's a nice blight to put on a man!" he said indignantly. mr. pertell looked bewildered. "perhaps i can explain," said ruth, "and if i go wrong, jack, please correct me." "that i will, miss!" he exclaimed. thereupon ruth told the whole story, much more connectedly, and more briefly, than would have been possible for the old salt. but ruth had the knack of condensing a long scenario into a few words. "was that it?" she asked jack, when she had finished. "that's it, miss, an' you did me more credit in the story than i deserved." "oh, no i didn't," ruth said, smiling. "i'd like to help you solve that mystery, too--the mystery of the disappearance of the captain and mike tullane." "that's it!" cried jack. "if i could only find one of them, or if some of th' real mutineers would confess, it would clear me an' i could be free t' roam wherever i wanted t' in th' world. but it's too much t' hope for that. but you said th' name of th' vessel we was t' make believe be shipwrecked on was th' _mary ellen_, sir," and he turned to the manager. "the _mary ellen_ was the name of the craft where the mutiny occurred. could it be--" he paused, hope showing on his eager face. "no, there's hardly a chance that this is the same one," said mr. pertell. "_mary ellen_ is a common name for vessels," he went on, "and there must be scores with it painted on their bows. i don't know anything about the vessel i have bought, but i doubt if she was ever in a mutiny. she is a very old craft, and isn't really fit for service now. but her owners say she will do for what i want. we are going to take her to southern waters, and the main scenes of the drama will be photographed aboard her, and around her." "where is the craft now, if i may ask?" inquired mr. devere. "over in erie basin," answered the manager. "i am having her fitted up, and a crew is being engaged. of course it will be some time before we sail, but i want to get everything in readiness. so suppose we take a run over there now, and look at her." "that suits me!" exclaimed jack, to whom matters nautical were as the breath of life. "and i hope you'll sign me on, sir; when it comes to makin' up your crew, sir." "i intend to ship you," was the answer. "captain brisco said he would need some good officers. you have a mate's certificate, have you not, jack." "yes, sir, and mighty glad and proud i'll be to fill that berth, sir." "oh, won't it be jolly to go sailing!" exclaimed alice. "i shall just _love_ it!" mr. devere sighed resignedly. "i'm afraid it won't be very good for your throat, daddy," said ruth in a low tone. "the damp air will be sure to make you cough." "oh, well--" he began. mr. pertell overheard what was said. "i don't like to ask you, mr. devere," he said, "to do anything that will be bad for your health. but i certainly need your services, and those of your daughters, in this sea drama. otherwise i would not ask you to run any risks with your throat. "but i will say this. we shall not be afloat until summer, and, as we shall be in a warm climate, perhaps the bad effects will not be so pronounced." "no, i think so myself," the old actor admitted. "it may even do me good. i will doctor up in the meanwhile. and i realize that if i do not go, my daughters cannot. i would not like to have them miss this fine opportunity." "oh, daddy! we wouldn't go if it harmed you!" alice cried. "oh, i dare say i can manage," her father replied. "the new treatment i am taking seems to agree with me. who knows? perhaps, when it comes time to sail, my throat may not trouble me at all." "let us hope so," alice broke in. "i do so love the water, and the southern sea will be a dream!" perhaps if alice could have looked ahead, and seen what lay before her, she would not have been so enthusiastic in anticipating the future. mr. pertell saw that the other plays under way in the studio were running smoothly, and then prepared to take mr. devere, his daughters, and the old sailor over to erie basin, to inspect the _mary ellen_, as she lay in her slip, being refitted for another voyage--her last--for she was to rest beneath the waves when she had played her part in the moving picture play. "i wish i were going with you," said russ dalwood, as ruth passed him where he was having a moment's respite from grinding away at the crank of a camera. "i wish so, too," she answered, in a low voice. "but i've got to stay here, and grind away at this film," he said hopelessly. "we'll see you to-night," she called to him, as she went out. paul ardite waved to alice as she "twinkled" her fingers at him. paul was in a cowboy costume, playing a scene in the cowboy story, which seemed to be giving more and more trouble as it proceeded. "this is the fifth time we've done that act," paul called to alice in an aside as she passed. "and all because mr. bunn is so fussy. they'll take him out, if he isn't careful. where are you going, alice?" "over to see _mary ellen_." "who's she? a new actress?" "yes, she's a 'she' i suppose, and she's going to have a big part in a drama. i'll tell you about it later." the _mary ellen_ certainly did not present a very trim appearance as the little party went aboard her at the dock in erie basin. the decks were cluttered up with an assortment of ropes, planks, casks, boxes and other things, so that it was impossible to move about without great care. on coming in sight of the craft jack jepson's face wore a look of expectancy. "she might be the same _mary ellen_ that i was on," he said. but when he saw that the craft had three masts, whereas the ship where the mutiny had occurred boasted of five, jack shook his head. "she isn't th' same ship," he murmured. yet as he stepped on deck he gave a start, and an exclamation escaped his lips. "what's the matter?" asked alice, who was near him. "well, miss, you may think it strange," he said, "but if i had my eyes shut, i'd say i was on my old ship--th' _mary ellen_ i was tellin' you about." "but she had five masts, and this one----" "yes, i know, miss alice. but, masts or no masts there's somethin' about this craft that's strangely familiar. i'm sure i've been on her before, and yet--no, it can't be--three masts can't make five, no matter how you count." "well, this is the ship," said mr. pertell to his guests. "this will be our home when we get her fitted up in ship-shape. i don't know much about such things myself, so i've given captain brisco full charge. he is to get her in readiness." "well, if you were to ask me i should say it would take the greater part of a year to get this in ship-shape," said ruth. "i never saw such confusion--never!" and she gazed about the deck. "why, miss, this isn't anythin'--nothin' at all!" cried jack jepson. "with a few of my old shipmates i could get this craft ready for a voyage in half a day--that is, if she's all right below th' water line," he added as an afterthought. "i'm trusting all that to captain brisco," said mr. pertell. "he was recommended to me by the ones from whom i purchased this boat. i think he will have everything in ship-shape for us in time." as they stood looking about the deck a man came up from below. from his appearance he was unmistakably a sailor, and one in authority. he issued several orders, on hearing which a number of men bestirred themselves, and then, catching sight of the little party, he called out in rough tones. "come now! what's this? no visitors are allowed on board here. get ashore at once!" "hello, captain brisco!" called mr. pertell. "that is, if that's the proper nautical greeting." "oh, mr. pertell. i didn't recognize you," said the commander of the _mary ellen_. "i beg your pardon! won't you walk this way?" "we are on a little tour of inspection," the manager went on. "these are some of my principle moving picture actors, and i want them to get familiar with the ship. and, captain brisco, this is an old salt who will be with us. he is to be second mate, i believe. jack jepson, let me present you to captain brisco." a strange look came over the old salt's face. he stepped forward and burst out with: "i guess i've met captain brisco before, but that wasn't his name--then!" captain brisco started back as though a shot had been fired near him. chapter vii jepson is worried for an instant only did the commander of the _mary ellen_ show signs of perturbation. he recovered himself with an effort, hardly obvious to the moving picture girls who were watching. it was as though a cloud had passed over the sun so quickly as to give an observer no time to glance up and see it, before the shadow was gone. then captain brisco smiled. "i think you've made a mistake, my man," he said, with the air of one used to commanding. "i'm sure i don't know you, whether or not you think you have had the pleasure of my acquaintance. how about it?" he turned a sharp look on jack jepson, and the latter faltered. "well--well, maybe i am mistaken," he said slowly. "but i sure did take you for an old shipmate of mine. i sure did--an old shipmate," and he spoke the words slowly. "for instance--who?" asked captain brisco, and the words seemed to come out like the closing of the jaws of a steel trap. "oh--er--you wouldn't know if i told you," said jack. "i guess i was mistaken," he added. "and i'm sure of it," captain brisco said, coolly. "i don't know many in these parts, for i've been away for some time. and--er--who might you be?" he asked, with more of that commanding air. "this is the sailor who will be one of your mates on our little trip," explained mr. pertell. "you said you would need officers, even for a short voyage such as we intend making, so i picked up jack jepson. do you think he'll do?" "depends on how much he knows of navigation," was the sharp answer. "oh, i have my certificate," jack answered. "if you want t' see it i have it----" "never mind now," interposed captain brisco. "there are a thousand and one things to do, and nothing seems to be going right. lay aloft there, some of you!" he cried to a group of men. "get those halyards reeved and straightened out. think we're going to lie here all summer? lively now! i think i could use you, if you've any knack of handling men," he added in lower tones, turning to jack. "it's slow work, getting fitted out." "i could come any time," jepson answered, and alice noted that the old sailor gazed furtively now and then at the captain. it was as though he wanted to impress his memory with the face of the commander. "i'm over in sailors' snug harbor," jepson went on, "i came over to do some actin'----" "yes, this play acting business is new to me, too," said captain brisco. "but i suppose i can get used to it. seems rather queer to go to all this work and expense," he went on to mr. pertell, "just to fit a schooner out, and then sink her. it's a waste of good money, i should say." "we'll get our money back, never fear, if the film turns out all right," said mr. pertell. "now how are you coming on? that's what i came to see. i want some of my principal actors to get familiar with the ship, so i brought them down. i started with jepson, up in the studio," he added in a lower voice, for the benefit of captain brisco, "but he balked, i'll tell you about it later. he can stay and help you if you like." "well, i probably can use him," the commander said, as he looked at jepson, who was wandering about the deck with a curiously abstracted air. "sort of funny thinking he knew you, wasn't it?" commented mr. pertell, while alice, ruth and mr. devere looked on with interest at the various activities connected with getting the _mary ellen_ ready for sea. "oh, not at all queer," answered captain brisco, quickly. "i have commanded so many men and ships in my day that i must be familiar by name, at least, to hundreds of sailors. but i never saw this jepson before. however, he seems to be a good, honest soul." "too honest, by far!" laughed mr. pertell. "he wouldn't even pretend to take some false papers to carry out a film idea. said he'd been in enough trouble over being falsely accused in a mutiny!" "a mutiny!" exclaimed captain brisco. "a mutiny!" "yes. why, is that remarkable?" asked the manager, for captain brisco seemed startled. "no, oh, no! i don't know as it is. i was only thinking if he was given to starting mutinies, he wouldn't be a safe man to have on board here." "oh, you needn't fear for jepson," the manager said. "he was innocent in that mutiny affair, i believe. but now as to details. i want to consult with you in regard to certain matters." and while the captain and manager sought a quiet corner, where they might converse, and go over the plot of the great marine drama, alice and ruth wandered about the ship. the sailors who were fitting her out looked curiously at the girls as they went to and fro. mr. devere found a sheltered spot where he said he would wait until mr. pertell was finished with the captain. "does your throat pain you much?" asked alice solicitously. "oh, not as much as i expected, coming so near the water. i think it will be all right. don't worry." "isn't it perfectly wonderful, to think we're going to be on board this schooner!" exclaimed alice to her sister. "and are we going to sleep here and eat here, jack?" she asked, as the old sailor came toward them. "well, miss, if you goes on a voyage you can't walk off th' ship whenever you want to, you know, to get a berth, and some grub. i mean something to eat and a place to sleep," he quickly translated. "you has to stay right on board until the voyage ends." "oh, and could we see where we sleep?" asked ruth. "the staterooms? yes, of course," said captain brisco, who with mr. pertell came forward just then. "jepson, take the ladies below. if you're a sailor you don't need to be told the way." "no, sir," was the respectful answer. jack seemed to have acquired new dignity since coming aboard; and it was noticeable, a little later, that he took more pains with his talk, being more grammatical, and pronouncing his words better, as befitted a mate. "and i want to see where they do the cooking," remarked ruth. "what is it they call it--the alley?" "the galley," corrected alice. "don't you remember?" "oh, yes, so it is. what a funny name for a kitchen." "this way," directed jack, as he started for the companionway. meanwhile mr. pertell and captain brisco having settled on certain details, called mr. devere into consultation, since that actor was to have a prominent part in the scenes that would take place aboard the ship. jack jepson led his two pretty charges below, where some men were also at work. they inspected the sleeping quarters, the galley and other parts of the ship. then, at the suggestion of alice they penetrated to the men's quarters--the forecastle, or "fo'cas'l," as jack pronounced it, sailor-fashion. as they passed two carpenters doing some "patch-work," jack paused and looked closely at what they were doing. suddenly he turned to alice and asked: "is this craft to make a voyage all by herself?" "a short one--yes," alice answered, for she had looked over the scenario. "why do you ask?" "oh, nothin'--nothin'--," answered jack jepson. "only, oh, well, i s'pose it's all right," he went on. but as he led the way forward ruth noticed a look of worriment on the face of the old sailor. it was so evident that it startled her--the more so as she heard him murmur: "going all by herself; eh? well, she certainly needs a consort." chapter viii hard work ruth took advantage of the first opportunity to question sailor jack jepson. the memory of that look on his face haunted her. but it was not until they had come from the _mary ellen_ that ruth found her chance. while on board, arrangements had been made for taking some of the preliminary scenes of the marine drama, and mr. pertell urged captain brisco to hasten, as much as he could, the preparations for the voyage. but finally, when alice and her father had gone on ahead, walking with mr. pertell, and were deep in a discussion about a certain scene, ruth found a chance to ask: "didn't you like what you saw downstairs in the _mary ellen_, jack?" "downstairs, miss?" the sailor questioned, a puzzled look on his face. "or whatever the right sea-term is for under the deck?" she went on. "oh, you mean below." "yes, didn't you like what you saw below?" asked ruth. "what do you mean, miss?" "well, you didn't seem altogether pleased. i don't want them to hear," she went on, motioning to her father and sister, "but you looked worried. was anything--wrong?" "wrong? no, miss, not exactly wrong. but some of them fellers didn't seem to know their business in repairin' a ship, that was all. but we aren't goin' on much of a voyage, so i don't s'pose it matters--much." "but we are going on a pretty long trip, and for a time we'll all be alone on board the _mary ellen_, some distance from land," ruth said. "i know, for i've read the outlines." "is that so, miss? why--i--i didn't exactly know that. i wonder if i'd better----" before jack jepson could continue mr. pertell turned back and called: "oh, i believe i forgot to tell you people, but we are also to have a motorboat in connection with the _mary ellen_. a big, powerful gasoline craft, she is, called the _ajax_. she'll follow us, part of the time, for some of the pictures have to be taken from a distance, as she trails along at the stern. we'll have plenty of time for rehearsal, though." "ah, a motorboat to follow us. then there isn't so much danger," said jack jepson, and he seemed talking to himself. "danger!" exclaimed ruth. "what do you mean by that?" "danger? did i say danger, miss?" he asked, and again ruth was surprised at the strange look on his face. "you certainly did say it," she replied. "well, i didn't mean it," he said, though he spoke with an obvious effort. "i meant it would be much more company--company for you folks as aren't used to sailin' the seas. that's all, miss. oh, no, there's no real danger--that is there won't be to _you_, as long as old jack jepson can ward it off," he murmured under his breath. the little party went back to the studio, and, after lunch, some of the easiest and less important scenes in the marine drama were rehearsed. sailor jack soon understood what was wanted of him, and did very well. ruth and alice took pleasure in coaching the honest, simple old salt. his too-conscientious scruples about doing a seemingly wrongful act were overcome when it was explained to him, and he went through the scene in the studio shipping office very well. "and that will be all you'll have to do for a few days," manager pertell told him. "you will not be needed to take part in any scenes until we get ready for the second act. meanwhile you had better arrange to stay aboard the _mary ellen_, while she is in the erie basin, and help captain brisco." "that i will! aye, aye, sir!" exclaimed jack. "and it'll be a relief to be where i can feel the heave of a deck, even if the craft is anchored, and to smell the real salt water again. i'll go aboard as soon as i can get back to the snug harbor, and stow my dunnage in a bag." he really seemed delighted to make the change, and the worried look left his face, though ruth could not forget the shadow it had cast. what did it mean? she asked herself this over and over again. meanwhile there was hard work for the moving picture girls and mr. devere. a company engaged in the making of films does not content itself with merely producing one big play. there are any number of small reels that are needed, as "fillers." some of them are called "split reels," meaning that there are two plays, or sketches, on each one. and in the intervals of going through scenes in "out on the deep," or rehearsing for them, ruth and alice took part, with others of the comet organization, in the making of many pictures. several weeks went by in this way. spring was gradually turning into summer, to the delight of the girls, who loved the outdoors. of course they loved winter, too, for they had many outdoor scenes to take part in then, since snow effects are always easy to photograph. "but summer is the best!" cried alice, gaily dancing about the studio, after she had finished in a little comedy scene, one day. "i think so, too," agreed ruth. "and when we get out on the deep blue sea," the younger girl added, "it will be ideal. oh, i can hardly wait for the _mary ellen_ to start on her last voyage. isn't it too bad she has to be sunk?" she asked. "yes, it is rather tragic," agreed ruth. "i hope we get far enough away when she takes her last plunge beneath the waves," she added with an involuntary shudder. "oh, trust captain brisco for that," alice said. "i had rather trust--sailor jack jepson," murmured ruth in a low voice. meanwhile work on refitting the schooner had gone on apace. the moving picture girls, and their friends, had paid several visits to her, and found captain brisco, jack jepson and the others hard at work making the vessel a semblance of her former self. "she's an old tub," said jack to the girls, "but she's in better shape than she was when you were here afore, missies." and indeed the _mary ellen_ did seem so. a new coat of paint added as much to her appearance, as a new dress and hat does to a young lady, though _mary ellen_ could no longer be classed as young. then came a day when many members of the theatrical company, including jack jepson, who now enjoyed that distinction, were taken down to the seacoast, some distance from new york. they went in a tug specially hired for the occasion. "some of the scenes of the marine drama take place on the seacoast," explained mr. pertell. "i want to get them now, when we have the chance. i need a rocky shore, and this is the nearest one we can reach. get ready now. we have rehearsed these scenes, you remember." they were not easy scenes, and, even though they had been gone over in the studio, when it came to actually going through them on the beach, one difficulty after another arose. in the first place it was a raw, windy day, and there was a pretty high sea, dashing up among the rocks of the shore, and sending a spray over toward the cameras. "i can't do anything from this point!" finally complained russ dalwood, who was at the machine. "i've spoiled about a hundred feet of film now. we'll have to get around that point." "all right," agreed mr. pertell, "but the scenery isn't so good there." but when one difficulty was disposed of another one was found. mr. bunn made trouble when he was asked to do a certain "fall" in the water. he complained that he did not want to spoil his tall hat. "oh, you and your tall hat!" impatiently exclaimed the manager. "go on with that scene, i tell you!" "but i--er--i--" expostulated the old actor. before he could make further objection a mist of heavy spray dashed over him, thoroughly wetting his beloved hat. "there!" cried mr. pertell. "your tile is spoiled anyhow, now go on and fall in. it can't get any wetter!" "oh, what a life! what a life!" groaned the "ham" actor, but he went through the "business." perhaps he realized that other engagements were not any too plentiful for men of his talent. nor did ruth and alice have an easy time. they had to scramble over rocks, they had to escape from smugglers, they had to hide in caves, and once alice had to fall down on the rocks, and pretend to be hurt. it was a very real fall, too, and she did not have to make much of a pretense at limping. "oh, i'm so sorry!" exclaimed paul ardite, hastening to her side. "shall i carry you?" he asked eagerly. "no indeed. i'm all right. i just----" "keep back there, paul! keep back!" cried mr. pertell. "don't get in range and spoil the picture. that's fine, miss devere. it's very natural--that limp!" "it ought to be!" murmured alice, biting her lips to keep back an exclamation of pain. "it's real enough, especially the pain." moving picture acting is not all as easy as it seems. chapter ix the rising tide "well, that's very good, so far," said mr. pertell, when there came a lull in the taking of the preliminary scenes of the marine film. "a little more life wouldn't have hurt any, but the conditions aren't just the best. it was fairly well done." "huh! fairly well done!" exclaimed pepper sneed. "i wonder what he wants, anyhow? i nearly broke my neck scrambling over those rocks, and the skin is all gone from the palms of my hands, and all he says is that it was 'fairly well done!' i wonder what he wants, anyhow?" "ha! he vants dot you shouldt altogedder preak your neck, ain't it?" put in mr. switzer. "dot vould be a real funny picture, alretty yet!" he went on in his favorite character of a dutch comedian. "preak your neck, mr. sneed, und let russ make der picture." "ha! i think i see myself!" exclaimed the "grouch," as he looked for a seaweed-cushioned rock whereon to sit. "there's been a lot of trouble today, but, mark my words, there'll be more before we have finished. that's all i've got to say," and by the sour look on his face anyone would have thought that he rejoiced in his prediction of trouble to come. "what is the matter now?" asked ruth, coming up in time to hear part of the discussion. "oh, pepper is sure the world is going to come to an end before the public has a chance to see him in his great rescue act of 'out on the deep,' i guess," replied paul ardite. "cheer up!" he added. "the worst is yet to come." "you're right there," agreed mr. sneed, darkly. "there'll be an accident before this day is over, mark my words!" "oh, alice, are you hurt?" asked ruth quickly, as she saw her sister limping toward her, for the little scene in which alice had slipped and hurt her ankle, had taken place when ruth was busy in another part of the play, farther down the shore line. "it isn't anything," the younger girl answered, bravely keeping back an exclamation of pain. "will you be able to go on?" mr. pertell asked. he had followed alice, when the scene closed, and when he had stopped paul in time to prevent the photographs from being spoiled. "oh, yes, i can go on, of course," alice said, with an effort. "because you have some important parts yet to do," the manager continued. he was not as heartless as this sounds. really he was most kind and considerate. yet he knew the pictures must be made and the present was the best time. if there were a delay, there was no telling what might intervene. he knew that alice herself realized this. she would not give up unless positively unable to go on. the general public little realizes how often those who entertain them do so under positive pain and suffering. of course moving picture scenes can be postponed more easily than can those in a real theatre. but the general rule holds good for the movies, as for the legitimate. "the show must go on!" that is the watchword of manager and player alike. "the show must go on!" "i have a bottle of arnica with me," said mrs. maguire, the "old lady" of the company. "i heard we were to do some rock-scrambling today and i brought it along. i'll rub some of it on your ankle," she said to alice. "yes, doctor her up a bit," advised mr. pertell. "she's too important to be left out of the film, for a while at least. i don't want to force you, miss devere," he went on, "but really----" "oh, i'll be able to go on," alice bravely said. "it is only a little wrench, i think." behind a screen of rocks mrs. maguire removed alice's shoe and stocking, and the motherly old lady and ruth bathed the injured foot. it was not as bad as alice had feared, and when it was bound up again she found she could use it by "favoring" it slightly. she would not have to take part in a scene for nearly an hour, and she took advantage of the rest afforded by the wait. meanwhile mr. devere and some other members of the company were going through their parts. an old fisherman's hut had been found, a little way down the beach, and for a small sum of money the grizzled old salt had agreed to vacate for the morning, and allow the moving picture actors to use his home as the background for several scenes. "it isn't just what the scenario calls for," said mr. pertell, "but we can switch things around at the studio later, to make it fit." this is a secret of more than one film. the producer takes advantage of things as he finds them. often, after a film has all been planned, and the pictures are being taken, a chance accident, or incident, will suggest an advantageous change, and it is made on the spot. later the film is "cut" or added to, so that the change fits in. again, on going to the outdoor scene called for in the scenario, the manager may see a background that suits him better than one he intended using. on the spot he will stop and have the act take place there, altering, or adapting, the plot of the story to fit. and many an accident has been turned to good account in making a film. but these are secrets known only to the initiated, and the public that sees the finished picture in some theatre little realizes how much chance had to do with its making. scene after scene was "filmed," russ and his camera associates grinding away at the machines. it was not easy work, for the wind and spray often interfered with the clearness of the picture. but of course that only added to the reality of it when the finished picture was shown. "now for that scene on the far rocks," called mr. pertell when he had brought to a satisfactory conclusion a difficult part of the drama. "are you able to go out there, miss devere?" and he looked anxiously at alice. "oh, yes, i'm much better," she answered. "all ready then!" called the manager. "russ, i want one or two 'close-up' views in this, so prepare yourself accordingly." "all right," answered the operator, who was talking to ruth. he put in a fresh reel of film, and adjusted the camera. a "close-up" view, i might explain, is one taken with the person, or subject, very close to the camera, so that it appears very large--larger than usual. for instance, it might be necessary, in some play, to show a certain ring. the hand of the person, with the ring on the finger would be held close to the camera, so that the resultant picture on the screen would show every detail of the ring clearly. you have often seen such views in moving pictures, though you may not have known what they were technically called. the "rock scene" that was to be filmed now was to take place out on a little rocky group some distance from shore. it was reached by a long, narrow rocky ledge that curved out into the bay. alice, ruth and paul were to be in this picture, and russ would plant his camera on the rocky ledge, between the actors and the shore. "can you walk out there, alice?" asked paul, as he stepped along beside her, russ walking with ruth. "oh, yes," was the answer. "my ankle is much better now. it was silly of me to slip that way." "you couldn't very well help it," he said. "that seaweed is very treacherous. i hope there is none on the rocks out there." "why?" she asked. "is the water deep?" "rather, so that fisherman said." "well, i'm not going to slip," declared alice. it was not easy work getting out to the group of rocks on the narrow path of black stone, made slippery by the spray. but they managed it, and finally ruth, alice and paul took their places. "all ready," called mr. pertell, who, with a copy of the scenario in his hand stood back of russ to direct matters. "you are all supposed to be talking together, and then paul discovers a sail out on the bay. you register surprise, paul." "very good," answered the young actor. i might explain that the word "register" is used to indicate that an actor or actress is to depict, or go through, the "business" of showing certain emotions, either by facial expression, or gestures. "and after paul sights the vessel, you register hope, miss ruth," went on the manager. "all ready now--begin." so the filming of that scene went on. "very good," complimented the manager. "just a little more force there, paul. wait a minute, russ. do that one bit over." the scene was started over again, but it had proceeded only a minute or so before russ gave an exclamation of annoyance. "what's the matter?" asked mr. pertell. "spring broke," reported the operator. "i'll have to go get the other camera, and it will take me half an hour to get it in shape." "well, we'll have time enough," mr. pertell said, with a look at the sun, which is a sort of god to photographers. without its beams little can be done. "i'll go back and help you," said the manager who used to be an expert operator himself before he rose in the ranks. "you'll have to wait a bit," russ called to ruth, alice and paul. "got to fix another camera." "all right. we'll stay here," announced alice. "i don't want to make that trip again with my lame ankle," and she sat down in a niche of the rocks. the others followed her example. the minutes passed quickly in pleasant talk, but presently paul jumped to his feet. there was alarm in his action. "what's the matter?" asked ruth, startled. "look!" he said. he pointed toward the shore. the path of rocks was broken midway by a stretch of water. the tide had risen, cutting off the retreat to the beach. chapter x too much realism "oh dear!" exclaimed ruth. it seemed a silly, futile thing to say, but, perhaps, very natural under the circumstances. ruth arose, and put her arms about her sister, who tottered a little as she stood upright. "the tide has risen?" asked alice, and her tone was questioning. "that's what has happened," went on paul. "pshaw! i ought to have kept watch of it. russ was gone longer than i thought. but here we are now, fairly caught." "can't we--can't we wade back to shore?" faltered alice. "i wouldn't like to have you try it," answered paul, and he moved over closer to the girl. "why not?" she asked. "i'm not at all afraid of getting wet, and it can't be so very deep over those rocks--not yet." "it isn't that you would get wet," paul answered. "but the rocks were slippery enough as they were. covered with water, as they now are between us and the shore, i'm afraid you'd slip off, especially as your ankle will give you a twinge if you twist it." "it certainly will," agreed alice. "it hurts worse now. but oh! we must get back to shore!" she exclaimed. "we must!" "we--i--i think i could lift her over the place where the water is," said ruth. "but you might both slip in," objected paul. "and the water is quite deep on either side of this ledge of rocks. you see the ocean washes in against them, and scoops out the sand. so that there is a deep channel, ten feet or more, right alongside of the ledge of rocks. if you fell in there----" "oh, don't speak of it!" begged alice. "i wouldn't mind swimming if i were prepared for it but it isn't exactly summer yet, and with a disabled foot----" "it isn't to be thought of," finished ruth. "but we _must_ get ashore somehow, paul. the water is getting higher every minute." "yes, the tide has just begun to come in," said the young actor. "i should have noticed it before, but i didn't. now i wonder--" he did not finish, but gazed back toward the beach, nearly a quarter of a mile away. to his surprise, and also alarm, not one of the members of the moving picture company was in sight. "that's strange," thought paul, but he did not speak his thought aloud. "oh!" screamed alice, so suddenly as to startle them all. "what is the matter?" demanded ruth. "a wave splashed right up behind me! look!" the rising wind was sending little waves over the outer edge of the small island of rocks on which the three were marooned. it was another evidence that the tide was getting higher and higher. "what _shall_ we do?" asked ruth. "we must get help--_somehow_!" alice said. then she looked shoreward, in the direction paul was gazing, and she uttered the single expression: "oh!" but it was fraught with meaning. "why--they've gone!" gasped ruth. "what--what----" "they'll be back!" paul interrupted. "probably mr. pertell just thought of some scene he could get, and he took them off down the beach to put them all in it. they'll be back in a little while, and then we can signal to them." "if--if it isn't too--too late!" faltered alice. "too late? what do you mean?" demanded her sister. "i mean these rocks will soon be covered, and covered deep, too," alice said. "the high water mark is away above them." "is it, paul?" demanded the older girl. she wanted the statement of alice disproved. "i'm afraid it is," the young actor made answer. "and the tide, i am sorry to say, is likely to be unusually high today. the moon has something to do with it. but we will be taken off before then." "suppose we aren't?" asked alice. "the wind and the sea are rising, and if we are swept off the rocks----" "don't be so tragic about it!" broke in ruth. "if we are to go to sea, and be in a shipwreck, even if it is only pictured, we must learn to face perils. and here we are only a little way from shore." "that's right!" cried paul. "that's the way to look at it, alice. there's no danger!" "that's easy enough for you to say--you two who haven't a lame ankle," the younger girl said, seriously enough. "but i don't believe i can even swim!" "there will be no need of that," paul said. "they are sure to come back and see our plight soon. i can't see what's keeping russ. he promised to come back as soon as he fixed up another camera. it's very strange." later they learned that when russ and mr. pertell got back to the beach, leaving, as they supposed ruth, her sister and paul safe on the rocks, pop snooks, the veteran property man, discovered a certain nook that would answer for an important scene in the play. wishing to take advantage of it at once, while the light was good, mr. pertell ordered the entire company over there to go through the prescribed "business." he took russ and the two other camera operators with him, to make sure of getting at least one film. that is why the beach opposite the rocks where the three were marooned by the rising tide, was deserted just then. for the time both mr. pertell and russ forgot their three friends, or, if they thought of them at all, it was to think that they were perfectly safe, and would come to no harm by waiting a bit. the tide rose higher and higher. in a few minutes it would lap the feet of the three marooned ones. a desperate resolve came into paul's mind. "i'll swim, or wade, to shore," he said, "and get a boat." "and leave us here?" demanded alice. "yes. there is nothing else to be done," he answered, desperately. "no, please don't go!" begged alice, putting a detaining hand on his arm. "i can't bear to be left here." "but it will be only for a few minutes," paul said, "and the tide isn't rising so fast that it will sweep you away in that time." "i know--but--don't go!" begged alice, her voice trembling. paul looked at ruth. "perhaps you _had_ better stay," suggested the older girl. "they are sure to come back soon, and--well, we don't want to be left here." "all right," agreed paul. "but i think i could get back with a boat in time." however, there was no need for him to go. a moment later the moving picture company, headed by russ and the two other camera men, came around the turn of some sand dunes. "there they are!" cried ruth. "oh, come and get us!" fairly screamed alice. paul put his fingers to his mouth and sent out a shrill whistle. it needed only a glance on the part of mr. pertell and the others to show the plight of the three marooned ones. "i forgot all about them!" the manager exclaimed. "russ--mr. bunn--switzer--a boat--where's that fisherman--where's the life-saving station? this is----" "avast there! belay!" came the deep tones of jack jepson, who had come out to do certain parts in the shore scenes. "i'll take that boat out and get 'em. don't worry!" "oh, but my daughters!" exclaimed mr. devere, hoarsely. "and alice with a sprained ankle!" gasped mrs. maguire. "don't worry! i'll get 'em!" declared the old salt. "come on," he called to mr. bunn. "you look like you could handle an oar," and he started toward a dory that was drawn up on the beach. "i--i can't row!" exclaimed the old actor. "besides, i might----" "yes, he might spoil his dignity," said russ fiercely in an undertone. "i'll go with you," he said to the sailor. "i can manage a boat!" "good! that's the way to talk. come on!" a few minutes later russ and jack had shoved out the fisherman's craft, and were quickly rowing toward the rocks. the tide was now so high that paul and the two girls stood ankle-deep in the water that completely covered the rocks. "ahoy there! ahoy!" sang out jack, as he and russ sent the boat over the waves to the rescue. "ahoy! we'll have you safe in a minute!" "quick! get that picture! film it!" cried mr. pertell to one of the other camera men. "i can work that scene in--somehow." there was very little that was not "grist" which came to the "mill" of mr. pertell's cameras. the film began to unreel and before they knew it paul, ruth and alice were being depicted in the rescue scene, which, when it was projected on the screen, made a series of effective pictures. there was little real harm done save for wet feet and startled nerves. sufficient harm, one might think, but ruth and alice were beginning to forget they had nerves, so many were the strange acts they were called upon to perform in their moving picture work. jack and russ helped the three into the boat, and rowed to shore with them, where mutual explanations were made, and mr. pertell was sorrowfully apologetic for his forgetful share in it. "and the next time i forget about the tide, when i'm at the shore, i'll fine myself a box of candy to be forfeit to you girls," paul said. "be sure you don't forget to pay the fine," alice warned him. as the company had brought along several changes of costume, there were dry shoes for the three marooned ones, and then, as it was too late to finish the scene on the rocks, they went back to new york. some other day would have to be devoted, at least in part, to completing that film. in the days that followed, work on the _mary ellen_ went on apace. she was almost ready for her voyage to sea. the big motorboat, _ajax_, was also being put in readiness. while jack jepson and the others were busy at the schooner there were also busy scenes at the studio, where mr. devere and his daughters took part in many film plays. nearly all the studio scenes for "out on the deep," had been completed. "but we must get that river attack before we start on the voyage," said mr. pertell one day. this "river attack" showed one phase of the big marine drama. ruth and alice, in company with mr. bunn, as an old 'longshoreman, were supposed to be rowed across a river to escape harbor thieves. to get good local color the location of the scene was fixed on the jersey side of the hudson river, above the palisades. thither those of the company required in the scene journeyed one day. all went well until the time when mr. bunn, rather against his will, was rowing ruth and alice toward shore. they were being pursued by some rough men in a second boat. it is needless to say that the "rough men," were also moving picture actors. "go on there, mr. bunn! row! row!" called mr. pertell, while russ, who was with him in a third boat, was making the reel hum in the camera. "i--i can't row any faster," said the old "ham" actor. "but you _must_!" the manager cried. "that's better," he added as mr. bunn showed a burst of speed. "oh dear! if ever i get through this series of pictures i'll quit the game!" groaned the former legitimate actor. ruth and alice "registered" the proper business as the men in the pursuing boat came nearer and nearer. the flight was to continue along the jersey shore. "jump out! jump out!" commanded mr. pertell, giving directions from behind a screen of bushes, where he and russ, having landed, were now hidden to take the land scenes. the girls and mr. bunn leaped ashore. the "villains" followed, firing blank cartridges. "fine! that's fine!" cried the enthusiastic manager, when suddenly, from a road that ran along the shore, there sprang a number of country officers. they had their clubs in one hand and had drawn their revolvers. "surrender! surrender!" cried the leading officer to the "villains," who were pursuing mr. bunn and the girls. "surrender! we've got you covered! we seen you chasin' these parties! surrender!" and the police rushed toward the actors. "keep back! keep back!" implored mr. pertell, leaping out of concealment and waving his hands. but he was too late. chapter xi a revised film just what idea the local police had in mind when they rushed forward would be hard to say. evidently, however, they believed they were intent on rescuing the girls from some imminent peril, for the leader of the officers, showing not a little fear, even in the heroic role he was playing, fired a shot into the air, and cried: "no you don't! no you don't! nothin' like that there can be done while captain wealson is around. up an' at 'em, men!" he and his men rushed toward the pursuing "villains," got right in the way of the camera, and proceeded to attack those whom they thought were guilty of some crime. "there it goes!" cried mr. pertell. "the picture is spoiled! it will have to be all done over again." in obedience to a gesture of despair from the manager, russ ceased grinding at the crank of the camera. "that's enough! stop!" called mr. pertell, and ruth, alice and the others who were making strenuous efforts (seemingly) to escape, came to a halt. many times before they had heard that command which meant that something was going wrong, and that they might as well stop at once without wasting effort. "why, i wonder what's wrong," said alice, who had not quite grasped the interruption. "everything seemed to be going beautifully." "perhaps the film broke," suggested ruth. "it's the police," paul said, waving his hand at the officers, each of whom had clutched a "prisoner," and was holding him. "the police?" echoed alice. "yes, they came in when they weren't wanted," paul went on. "oh, i thought they were part of the picture!" exclaimed ruth. and so she had. often, to make a moving picture seem more realistic, a manager will not tell the actors all he has prepared. thus he gets the element of surprise. both ruth and alice, in this case, thought the local police had been brought into the scene at the last moment to add a touch of reality to the play. but, as it turned out, it was almost too much reality. "say, what do you fellows mean, anyhow?" demanded the manager, of the police leader. "what do you mean, i say," and mr. pertell strode up with an angry look on his face. "what do we mean? ha! that's a good one! listen to him, boys! what do we mean? why we mean to arrest these scoundrels, and we've done it, too!" he added proudly, with a wave of his hand toward the persons his men had made prisoners. "well, you've made a big mistake," mr. pertell went on. "mistake! ha! i guess not!" cried the officer. "we don't make mistakes up here! one of my men seen something queer goin' on out in the river, and come and told me. then i seen your boats puttin' off, and i knew something was wrong. so i got my forces together, and we waited for these fellows. we've got 'em, too! every one of 'em!" he added proudly. "lock 'em up, men!" he ordered. "we'll show these fellows what jersey justice is like. take 'em away." "hold on!" cried mr. pertell, and this time he allowed a smile to show on his hitherto glum face. "you don't seem to understand." "oh, i think i do," said the police officer calmly. "i understand a great deal more than you think i do. come on." "wait! i'll explain!" cried the manager. "it's for the moving pictures!" he added. "this is only a pretended attack and pursuit. ask the young ladies themselves," he said, motioning to ruth and alice who were now smiling. certainly they did not seem to be in any great alarm or distress over their recent adventure. their appearance must have caused the officer to doubt the wisdom of his course. "weren't these fellers chasing you?" he demanded, motioning to the prisoners. "now don't say they wasn't, for i saw 'em." "oh, yes, they were pursuing us," admitted ruth, "but it was all in the picture." "the picture?" questioned the officer. "yes. we are moving picture actresses and actors," she went on, and her father, coming up then, though he had had no active part in the chase, confirmed what she said. for a moment the police captain maintained a silence, and then, as he could no longer doubt what was said, since mr. pertell exhibited certain credentials, the representative of jersey justice said: "well, this certainly is one on me! we'd better go back, boys," he added to his men, "and we'd better keep quiet about this thing. but i sure thought this was a kidnapping case." "and you spoiled my picture," groaned mr. pertell. "now we've got to go back to the middle of the river, and do it over from there." "hold on a minute!" exclaimed pop snooks, who, as property man, was also a sort of assistant manager. "maybe this will turn out all right after all." "how do you mean?" asked mr. pertell. "why, the police. we could have them try to stop the pursuers but get worsted in the encounter, and the roughs could keep right on after the girls. in that way we won't have to waste much film. just go on with the picture from the point where these policemen came in." mr. pertell thought for a minute. "that's the idea!" he suddenly cried. "it will make a better picture that way. say!" he went on to the police officers: "you're in on this!" "in on what?" asked the captain. "on this scene. i can use you and your men. you won't mind a little rough and tumble work, will you?" "what do you mean?" thereupon the manager explained that he would turn the police to good advantage, and have them interfere in the attack, only to be outdone by the "villains." "it's only fair for you to do this, as you came in where you weren't needed and nearly spoiled the picture," the manager said. whether it was this appeal to justice and fair play, or because he and his men were anxious to get into a moving picture, was not made clear; but the captain and the policemen consented to do their parts. there was a little coaching, something of a rehearsal and then that scene went on again, with ruth and alice "fleeing" from the pursuers, and the police charging downhill after the men. then followed the improvised scene, of an attack by the police, and a repulse by the "villains." "good! that's great!" cried mr. pertell. "it will be better than i thought it would. this is fine!" "ha! yes, maybe for you, but look at my eye!" cried mr. pepper sneed. "look at it!" "well, what's the matter with it?" asked mr. pertell. "it's a little red, that's all i can see." the taking of pictures had stopped for the time being. "a little red! a little!" fairly howled the grouch. "say it will be black and blue tomorrow. one of those policeman hit me in the eye with his elbow. it was an awful blow. i shouldn't wonder but that i went blind. never again will i take part in anything as tough as this. i know i'll be laid up for a week," and with this gloomy thought he limped off, for he had been rather roughly handled in the mêlée. "i wonder if that's all for us today?" asked alice, as she saw russ taking the legs off his camera. "why, are you tired?" asked ruth, solicitously. "a little, yes. i shall be glad when we get out to sea." "perhaps we may have even harder work than this," suggested ruth, for the race along shore had not been easy. "a shipwreck isn't going to be any society drama, alice." "i know," agreed the younger girl. "but i think we shall like it." neither of them realized what was in store for them. chapter xii overheard "well, i think this will do," mr. pertell announced, as the members of his company gathered on the shore of the hudson, ready to go back to the larger boat, whence they had come in the two small ones, to depict the pursuit. "it came out better than i expected when i saw that crowd of policemen charging down on us." "i thought sure we were in for a spell in the lock-up," remarked one of the extra men engaged as a member of the "pursuing villains." "you had a little extra work, doing part of the scene over again, so we'll give you all a little bonus," said the manager. "we'll get back to the studio now. there are a few scenes i want to make before we start off on our trip to sea." "how soon do we go?" asked alice. "as soon as we can get stocked up. captain brisco has a few little repairs to make to the schooner, i believe." "do you think the _mary ellen_ will prove to be a safe boat in which to go to sea?" asked mr. devere, when he, with his daughters, and the others, were on their way back to new york. "why not?" asked the manager. "well, i heard jack jepson say the schooner was a pretty old one," replied the veteran actor. "so she is," said mr. pertell, "if she hadn't been, our company never could have afforded to buy her just to make a shipwreck of her. but she is perfectly safe for what traveling we shall do. brisco has assured me of that, and has seen to it. what sort of a yarn was jepson giving you?" and mr. pertell seemed a bit annoyed. "well, he merely said that the schooner was a pretty old one," went on mr. devere, "and that she had seen her best days." "he didn't say that she was unsafe, did he?" "no, oh, no! nothing like that!" exclaimed the actor quickly. "i was just wondering about her. i shouldn't like to take any chances you know," and he glanced over toward his daughters who had no part in this conversation. "oh, the _mary ellen_ will be as safe as is necessary," the manager continued. "besides we will be in southern waters after we leave here, and there will be little danger from storms." "i am glad of that," mr. devere said. "a warm southern clime will be beneficial to my throat. it does not take kindly to our northern weather, even at the best." in the days that followed there was plenty of work for the moving picture girls in the film studio. they had to take part in several little dramas that had to be completed before the sea scenes in the ocean play were undertaken. "anything much to do this afternoon?" asked russ of ruth as he passed her near her dressing room one day about a week after the episode of the mistaken policemen. "no, i am free," she announced. "they have postponed that 'in the slums' and i'm glad of it. i don't care for such characters as i have to assume in a play like that." "nor i. i'm off for the afternoon, too. what do you say we take alice, and go for a little trip to the erie basin?" "to see the _mary ellen_ again? there can't be much change since we saw her last." "no, not exactly to see her, though we could pay a visit if we liked. but you know we are to have a big motorboat follow us in the ocean scenes--i'm to take pictures from it, in fact--and that motorboat--the _ajax_--is over in the basin, near the old schooner. i thought maybe you'd like to take a look at her." "i would!" exclaimed ruth with enthusiasm. "i'll tell alice. she is disengaged, i know, for i heard mr. pertell tell her so." "i'm sorry we can't go for a trip in her," went on russ, "but she isn't in shape yet. i have to go over to give some directions about building a platform for setting the camera on, and i thought we might combine business and pleasure." "it will be a pleasure to go," said ruth, as she went off to find her sister. "tell paul, too, if you see him," russ called after her. "we'll make a party of it." "all right," ruth answered. she found paul and alice together--just as she half expected--and mentioned russ's plan. paul was cast for a role in a little play that afternoon, but he spoke to mr. pertell about it, and the manager kindly postponed it, as it was not very important. so, after lunch the four young people started for the place where the _ajax_ was being overhauled, not far from the dock of the _mary ellen_. on the way they talked of their plans when they should be at sea. it had been given out at the studio that they would all go aboard the _mary ellen_, which would be headed for the florida coast. somewhere off that peninsula, just where had not been decided, the moving pictures would be made, and the shipwreck would take place. the details had not yet been perfected. "are you going to travel alone in the motorboat?" asked alice of russ. "no indeed. she is to be carried in a cradle on the deck of the _mary ellen_, and----" "a cradle!" interrupted alice. "whoever heard of a boat being put in a cradle, as if it were a baby!" "well, the _ajax_ is going to be rocked in the cradle of the deep, isn't she?" asked paul. "oh, what a heartless joke!" mocked ruth. "just for that you'll be fined four ice cream sodas!" laughed alice. "no, but speaking seriously," went on russ, "the _ajax_ will be cradled on the deck of the schooner; that is, the motorboat will be set in two v shaped affairs, called cradles. that's to prevent her rolling off into the high seas." "do you think it will be rough?" asked ruth, with an apprehensive look over her shoulder, as though she already saw a "hurricane in the offing," as her sister laughingly put it. "well, you know we have to wait for a storm, to get some of the scenes," russ said. "of course the weather often gets pretty bad in these southern waters, in spite of their peaceful name," he continued, "but i don't suppose mr. pertell will venture out far from the harbor in a bad blow. even a little wind will kick up enough sea to make it look pretty rough in a picture." "oh, i don't mind a storm!" exclaimed alice. "i just love it." "oh--alice!" cried her sister. "you know you'll be as frightened as i'll be." "we'll see," challenged the younger girl with sparkling eyes and a flush on her cheeks. they found the _ajax_, after some little difficulty, among a score of other boats, in process of repair. "oh, what a big one!" exclaimed alice as she caught sight of the craft. "i do hope you'll give us a ride in her, russ." "of course i shall, between times of taking pictures," he promised. "what do you think of her, paul?" "pretty fine," agreed the young actor. "has she any speed?" "not much, i guess. it's an old sort of tub, but pretty steady in the water, mr. pertell said. that's what i want for taking pictures. it won't do to have her rolling and pitching. well, let's go aboard, and see how they're coming on." russ had a permit to view the craft, and as he was expected to give some instructions regarding the building of the platform, the man in charge of the overhauling work welcomed the four young people. the _ajax_ was, as russ had said, rather a tub, but it was a large, comfortable boat, and was capable of going on quite a cruise. there was a partially enclosed cabin, and many comforts and conveniences. but just for the present purpose, everything was being subordinated to the taking of moving pictures. "i'm readjusting the motor," the head of the repair gang told russ, "so she'll start and stop, as well as reverse easily and quickly. that's what you want, isn't it?" "that's it, yes. you see i can't tell when i'll have to shift, to make allowances for what the actors and actresses will do. there's no telling about these moving picture people," and russ gave ruth and alice, as well as paul, a laughing look as though to indicate that they were very temperamental, and hard to get along with. "are these some of the actor folks?" asked the mechanic who was laboring over the motor. "that's what they are, and good ones, too!" cried russ. "gee! they don't look it!" was the frank remark, and the two girls broke into peals of laughter. paul and russ showed ruth and alice over the big motorboat, and then leaving the three to their own devices for a while, the young camera operator went into details of the work with the head mechanic. russ was told that the _ajax_ would be ready in plenty of time for him. he expressed himself as satisfied with the progress made, though he made one or two slight changes in the platform, built on the forward deck of the craft, where he was to stand when he took the pictures of the shipwreck. "well, how about those sodas now?" asked russ of his companions when he had finished. "there's a nice place a few blocks up, and it's about warm enough for ice cream." "couldn't we take just a look at the _mary ellen_ while we are here?" asked alice. "isn't that she, over there?" and she pointed across the basin. "you speak of that ship as if she were a person," objected ruth. "and so she is!" alice exclaimed. "a ship is always a lady, isn't she, paul?" "she ought to try to be, at least," he laughed. "how about it, russ? shall we take the girls over to the schooner?" "might as well, i guess. it won't take long, and it isn't far." a short time later the four of them stood at the gangplank of the _mary ellen_. they saw no signs of any men on deck, but they were doubtless below, making the repairs, which must be nearly finished. "come on," said russ, leading the way. "we'll go aboard." as they stood on deck, looking about them, they saw no one, but the companionway was in plain sight, and they started toward it, intending to go down into the main cabin. the place was rather dimly lighted, but when their eyes had become used to the gloom, they caught sight of a solitary figure in the forward end of the main compartment. "it's jack jepson," whispered alice to her companions. "we'll give him a surprise. keep quiet now. his back is toward me and i'll tiptoe up behind him and put my hands over his eyes. i'll make him guess who it is. he'll think some british suffragette has taken him on that silly charge of mutiny," she went on. "be careful," admonished ruth. "no pranks, alice." "this isn't a prank. keep quiet now." the old sailor was evidently not aware that visitors were in the cabin, for they had made little noise in descending the companion stairs, and what little they had caused was drowned by the distant noise of carpenters' hammers. as alice advanced, the others remaining back in the semi-darkness, they all heard jack jepson break into a sort of monologue. he was talking to himself, in fashion something like this. "it ought to be hereabouts, if it's anywhere, and i'm sure it is. i can't be mistaken. they have cut her down, and made a lot of changes, but they can't fool me. i was suspicious when i first came aboard, and i'm more so every minute. i'm going to find out for sure, while i have the chance. let me think now." he leaned up against a bulkhead, while alice glanced back at her friends in some surprise. what meant the words they had overheard? the old sailor seemed strangely excited, and he was passing his hand over the paneling of the cabin as though in search of something long forgotten, or dimly remembered. a moment later another step was heard in the apartment, and captain brisco entered. he started at the sight of jepson, though the commander had not yet seen the four young people. "what are you doing here?" he asked in a hoarse voice. the old salt started back as though caught in some guilty act. chapter xiii "all aboard!" ruth, alice, paul and russ remained silent and unseen witnesses of the little scene being enacted before them. it was like some section taken from a moving picture drama, though they could not guess what the plot was, nor what the outcome would be. "what are you doing here, mr. jepson?" asked captain brisco, and there was sarcasm in the title he bestowed on his mate, for since he was third in command, having been given the post of second mate, the old salt was entitled to be called mister. "i was jest--jest lookin'--lookin'--" jepson faltered. "well, you'd better look forward then," came, the harsh command. "there's plenty to do there, if we're ever to start on this voyage, and of all the----" at that moment alice sneezed. she could not help it, and in trying to hold it back, she made more of a commotion than if she had let the sneeze come naturally. at the sound captain brisco and jack jepson turned and stared toward the dimness that marked the companionway. "who's there?" called captain brisco, sharply. "we just came aboard to see how matters were coming on," said russ stepping forward and under a skylight. "but we didn't expect to be welcomed with snuff," said alice, as she sneezed again. this time ruth joined her. there was an irritating odor noticeable in the cabin. "i beg your pardon," captain brisco said, as the others stepped closer to russ, so they could be discerned. "i didn't know who it was. i am glad to see you. that's a paint-remover you smell. it is irritating. i am very glad to see you." but he did not say it at all as though he meant it. alice said afterward she thought her sneeze had broken in on the captain's denunciation of the proposed sea voyage. "it was just as though he were going to say it was the most foolish and nonsensical thing of which he had ever heard," alice explained. "oh, why _did_ i have to go and sneeze just then?" "did you want to hear what he would have said?" asked her sister. "yes, i did. i don't like captain brisco." "you mustn't say such things," ruth cautioned her. but this was some time later. just at present the commander of the _mary ellen_ was trying to make his unexpected guests feel a welcome he rather grudgingly extended. "we have been over looking at the _ajax_," explained russ, "and we thought we'd stop in and pay you a call." "oh, yes, i'm to carry the _ajax_ on deck, i believe," the commander said. "well, you'll find us all pretty busy here," he went on. "mr. jepson, will you kindly go forward and see how the men are coming on with that caulking?" it was a very different voice from the one he had used when ruth, alice and the others had been unseen listeners. "what about the mainmast?" asked sailor jack. "it's sprung, as i told you it was, and unless those stays----" "i'll look after that!" interrupted the captain. "you do as i tell you, and leave that mast to me." "but you said that it didn't need--" persisted the second mate. "never you mind what i said!" and the commander's voice was harsh. "i'll look after that. now you go forward!" it was more in the nature of a command than is usual between captain and mate. the girls felt this, as well as did the boys. but they said nothing. "come along and see how we are progressing," continued captain brisco in more genial tones, as jack jepson left the cabin. "then you are going to be ready in time?" asked paul. "ahead of time," said the commander, boastfully. "that's good!" exclaimed russ. "mr. pertell is anxious not to be delayed." "he won't be on _my_ account," captain brisco assured the young operator. "a few more details, and we'll be ready for sea. about time, too, for this good weather won't hold any too long down among those west indian islands." "oh, are we going there?" asked alice. "that will be delightful!" "i thought we were to go only to florida," ruth remarked. "there has been a slight change in the plans," the captain said. "mr. pertell and i decided on it. i believe it is not generally known yet, but there is no secret about it. i told him he could get better results by going a little farther south than merely along the florida coast, down toward some of the west indies, and he agreed with me." "the west indies," mused alice as she followed the others about the refinished schooner. "i wonder if we will get near the 'hole in the wall' that jack told about? i'd like to see it, but i suppose a hole in the water is a pretty hard thing to find." alice wondered whether she would see the old sailor before they went ashore again. she had taken quite a fancy to him, as had ruth, and the old salt, on his part, seemed to like the moving picture girls more than any other members of the comet film company. "i wonder what he was doing all alone there in the cabin?" mused alice as she hung back a little while the others were examining some changes that had been made in the dining-cabin. "it seemed as though he were trying to discover some secret panel, a passage or hiding place, or something like that. and captain brisco certainly was rather brusque about it. i do hope there won't be any quarreling or mutiny aboard the _mary ellen_ when we put out to sea." for a time alice was a little alarmed, but she soon recovered her composure, and was able to take her part in the conversation. the _mary ellen_ was indeed assuming a "ship-shape" appearance. the litter that had obstructed her decks on the first visit had given place to a semblance of neatness. the craft had been newly painted and she glistened in the sun, her brass work having been highly polished. "a few more days and we'll pull out of here," announced captain brisco, as they went up on deck. "then i suppose you folks will begin to cut up all sorts of capers," and he smiled indulgently. he seemed to have recovered his good nature, or, rather, perhaps, to have summoned some of it to be used on this occasion. "well, we'll leave the 'cutting-up' to mr. switzer," said paul with a laugh. "he's the comedian of the company." one of the workmen approached and asked the captain some question. it seemed to be about pumps, though the girls did not understand it very clearly. "you needn't bother to mend those valves," the commander said. "we shan't need the pumps anyhow, and there's no use putting too much time and work on the old hulk. pertell told me to get her ready for sea so she'd last a reasonable length of time. they're going to wreck her anyhow, you know." "yes, i know. but those pumps----" "let 'em go!" the commander ordered. "now about those stays," and he and the sailor plunged into a mass of technical details in which the moving picture girls were not interested, nor, i am sure, would you be, my readers. in spite of all the work that had been done on the _mary ellen_, she was still far from being a fine ship. many things were left undone, as they would not show in a picture. as the captain had said, mr. pertell was not desirous of putting too much time or expense on her, just to send her to the bottom after a few days' use. still the craft had to be rendered seaworthy, as some views were to be taken showing her progress down the coast to the florida straits. a little later captain brisco was called below, and he took leave of his visitors, saying he would be busy for some hours. "well, it's time for us to go," ruth said. "we promised to meet daddy at dinner," she added to her sister. alice assented and looked around, as though in search of someone. "what is it?" ruth asked. "i was looking for jack, to say good-bye. there he is over there," and she pointed to the old man polishing the brass work of the binnacle in front of the steering wheel. "i'm going over and speak to him," she added. jack jepson had his back toward alice, and was not aware of her approach. she heard him murmuring to himself, and the words sounded strange to her--as strange as the first ones she had overheard from him that day. "it'll never do! it'll never do!" jack jepson was saying. "it's criminal wrong, that's what it is. but i'll jest keep a sharp watch, an' at the first sign of danger, i'll--" then he heard the footfall of alice on the deck, and turned quickly. he smiled at her, and the smile was in strange contrast to his rather ominous words. as alice knew very little about the sea or boats, she paid no attention. "i came to bid you good-bye," she said. "we are going back to new york now, but we'll soon be aboard here for a long stay, i hope. my, how nice everything looks!" "yes, but it--it's too nice!" exclaimed jack. "too nice? what do you mean?" she asked wonderingly. "oh, well, nothing, miss alice. you wouldn't understand. i'm glad to see you. this isn't a mate's work, properly speakin'," he said, as he indicated the box of polish, "but then we haven't started discipline yet. we'll do that at sea." "and i'll hope we'll soon be out on the deep," voiced alice. a week later the entire moving picture company that was to take part in the marine drama assembled at the dock where the _mary ellen_ had been refitted for her last voyage. stores and provisions had been put aboard, the _ajax_ lay stowed in the cradle on deck, and the members of the company, the moving picture operators and the manager and his assistants, had sent their baggage aboard. there was plenty of extra film. "all aboard!" called captain brisco, and the gangplank was about to be hauled in. "all aboard! we won't wait for him!" he went on, speaking to the first mate and to mr. pertell who stood near him. "won't wait for whom?" alice heard mr. pertell ask. "a new hand i hired at the last minute. he's a good navigator, better than jepson, and that's why i took him on. but he isn't here, and so we'll go without him." "not short-handed, are you?" asked the manager, rather anxiously. "no, not for this voyage. i think----" but the captain was interrupted by a shout up the wharf. a man, seemingly a sailor, came running toward the schooner. "there he is now!" the captain exclaimed. "all aboard. hurry up, my man, or you'll be left." the man flung himself on the gangplank which was separated from the dock by some little distance. he scrambled aboard, and just then, alice, standing near jack jepson, heard the old sailor utter an exclamation of surprise, and murmur: "can that be him? can that be him--after these years? no, it can't be!" "all aboard!" cried captain brisco. and the _mary ellen_, in charge of a fussy little tug, began moving away from the dock. chapter xiv overboard alice was so impressed with what she had heard sailor jack say, that, in spite of the desire to give all her attention to the start of the voyage, destined to be so momentous, she looked first at jepson and then at the new arrival. the latter appeared to be an ordinary sailor, but there was a commanding air about him, as though he were used to having his own way. but he was sufficiently subservient to captain brisco, saluting the commander in formal fashion. "you're late!" growled captain brisco. "yes--couldn't help it," was the almost cheerful answer. "you knew i wouldn't be left though, didn't you?" "well, i wasn't sure of it," alice heard the captain answer. "get below, and then we'll talk later." alice turned to see how jack jepson was taking this. the old salt seemed to be listening intently, but he had his back turned. "he knows that man who just came aboard," decided alice, "and there is something queer about it all. in fact there is something queer about this vessel and captain brisco. i feel as though i were in the midst of a mystery. i'm going to see if i can't solve it." that was alice's way. she always did like to solve puzzles, from the time when she was a small child, and she went at this one in much the same way as had been her habit in the case of the simple ones in the juvenile papers she took when a little girl. "there's something between captain brisco, jack jepson and this new man," alice decided. "jack is afraid of being recognized, and yet he wants to make sure who this new man is. can it have anything to do with the mutiny, i wonder?" it was a question she could not answer just then. she resolved to be on the watch, to look and listen, without saying much, until she had in her mental grasp some of the loose ends of the puzzle. ruth was some distance off, talking to her father. mr. devere, in spite of the warmth of the day, had a light silk scarf about his throat, which had pained him during the night. the other members of the company were scattered about the schooner which was being towed out to sea. miss pennington and miss dixon were waving to some young men who had come to see them off. mr. wellington bunn's face wore a glum look. perhaps he saw no chance of doing anything with his favorite role of hamlet in this marine story that was soon to be enacted. alice heard jack muttering to himself. she could not catch all the words, but she heard him say: "yes, it must be the same one! he hasn't changed much--not as much as i have. he won't know me. but what am i to do?" the old salt's musings, however, were cut short, for captain brisco called to him. "i say there, mr. jepson," ordered the commander, "will you go forward, and see how the bitts are standing up under the strain of that hawser? i don't want them to pull out, and they're none too strong. lively now!" "aye, aye, sir!" dutifully answered the second mate, and he shuffled off along the deck, while captain brisco and the new arrival went below, being, apparently, on very friendly terms. "and that is another queer part of it," mused alice. "that new man is supposed to be a common sailor--he must be, as all the offices, from captain down, are filled. and yet captain brisco treats him as an equal. i can't understand it." none of the others of the moving picture company appeared to find anything odd in the reception of the man who had almost been left. in fact, save for alice and jack jepson, no one paid any attention to him. as the captain and the new man whom he had addressed as "hen lacomb" went below, the attention of alice was taken by ruth. "don't you think, dear," her sister said, "that we had better get our possessions in order. i understand that some pictures are to be taken aboard the schooner here, and we will want to get our costumes out where we can easily reach them." "i suppose so," murmured alice. "but i wonder who he is?" she added, half unconsciously. "what in the world are you talking about?" asked ruth in some surprise. "do you mean that young man who was waving to miss dixon?" for a certain youth seemed very loath to bid farewell to the former variety actress. "yes. who is he?" asked alice, accepting this chance to get out of answering, though what she had meant was the identity of the mysterious hen lacomb, and not the youth on the dock. "i've seen him before," ruth said. "who?" asked alice quickly, her mind still intent on the mystery. "why, alice, how odd you are! that young man of whom we are speaking, to be sure. i mean i've seen him around the studio. he seems to be quite impressed by miss dixon." "yes," said alice, vaguely. "well, let's go below," she suggested. "you notice how nautical i'm getting," she went on. "forgetful you mean," supplemented ruth. "well, anyhow, we have fine weather for the start." the schooner was well out from the dock now, and the pilot was in charge, so there was nothing for captain brisco to do for the present. he had gone to his cabin, and the stranger, or, rather, hen lacomb, to give him the name bestowed on him, was with the commander. "i wish i knew what they were talking about," said alice, and, without intending to do so, she spoke aloud. "who?" asked ruth. "really, you are saying the strangest things this morning, sister mine!" "oh, i was thinking--thinking----" alice was rather at a loss for words to explain. "you must have some of your new roles on the brain," went on ruth. "i know i've been doing a lot of thinking over mine. they are nearly all nice ones, i'm glad to say, but i don't like the parts we have to take in the shipwreck. fancy having actually to jump into the water." that was one of the things required, according to the scenario. "there's no danger," alice said, as she and her sister reached the stateroom they were to share. "oh, but think of _sharks_ in those southern waters!" "i'm not going to think of them," declared alice. "besides, we shall be in the water only a short time, and the motorboat will pick us up. it will be nice and warm." the plan of the shipwreck included the jumping overboard of some of the company, and their rescue in small boats, or by the motorboat _ajax_, that would follow, with russ in it taking the moving pictures of the "thrilling scenes." "well, that doesn't come until toward the end," ruth remarked, "so i'm not going to think about it until then. now let's unpack." ruth and alice had comfortable, if rather restricted, quarters in a small cabin containing two bunks. their father was near them, and the other members of the company had rooms scattered about. the ship's crew, of course, berthed forward, and the two mates, of whom jack jepson was one, were quartered with the captain. alice wondered what would be the standing of hen lacomb. she learned a little later when she saw him taking his bag "aft." that meant he was to be treated as an officer. there is all the difference in the world on a sailing ship, whether a man bunks "forward" or "aft." in the latter case he is either an officer or a passenger, and in the former case he is classed as a member of the crew, a "foremast hand," and, as such, has no authority. "hen lacomb is evidently someone in power," decided alice, though she said nothing to her sister or father, or even jack. she managed to learn, by judicious questions, that hen, as she began to think of him, was a friend of captain brisco, and a sort of passenger-helper on the _mary ellen_. and now that the voyage was really started, those who were to take part in the play began to consider their roles. in brief the plan was this. the schooner, under her own sail, would proceed to the warm west indian waters and clime, and there, when suitable surroundings were found, the taking of the main scenes in the big drama would begin. i shall not weary you with an account of the trip down. in spite of her age, the schooner proved a good sailor, for she had been well refitted, even if she was to be wrecked. day after day passed and the sun shone warmer as they came farther and farther south. some few scenes were filmed aboard the craft, but there was not much work for anyone, and the time was most enjoyable. even mr. sneed, the "human grouch," consented to smile, now and then. they passed key west, but did not dock, and kept on. alice wondered if they would come near the "hole in the wall," but she did not like to ask, for fear of making trouble for jack. she did not know how much of his story he wanted known to those aboard the ship. it was a warm, sunny day, and mr. pertell had announced that he would begin some of the more important scenes of the drama in a short time. the _mary ellen_ was plowing through the blue waters, bending over under a good wind. nearly all the members of the company were out on deck, under awnings. alice saw jack jepson at some work on the port rail, and noticed hen lacomb and the captain stroll toward him. the two latter seemed to converse for a few minutes, when suddenly there was a heavy lurch and roll to the craft. "mind your helm there!" sang out captain brisco angrily to the steersman. at the same time there rang out a cry from hen lacomb. "man overboard! man overboard!" alice, startled, leaped to her feet. jack jepson had disappeared! chapter xv "sail ho!" alice devere was not an ordinary sort of girl. she may have been, once, but that was before her advent in moving pictures. there had been times when a sudden emergency would cause her to feel faint, if not actually to succumb to that interesting ailment, which is so useful, especially in stories and books. but alice, who was the nearest to the scene of what had just happened, neither fainted, nor became unduly excited. she had seen too many emergencies in the work of taking moving pictures to become "rattled," which is not used in a slangy sense at all, but merely to indicate that one's nerves vibrate too rapidly. consequently, after her first scream, alice was almost as calm and collected as could be expected of a veteran sailor. "man overboard!" alice cried, echoing the shout of hen lacomb, who, she noticed, after his first hesitation, began lowering a boat, or trying to, for it needed two at that task. "i'll help!" cried alice rushing to the aid of the strange man who seemed so friendly with captain brisco. "oh--you----!" he exclaimed, with a swift look at her. then he resumed the work of loosing the ropes so they would run freely in the pulley blocks of the davits. meanwhile captain brisco had bawled out an order to the helmsman to bring the ship up in the wind. a sailor had tossed overboard a life-ring, and then came to help lacomb lower the boat, for alice found it beyond her strength, eager as she was. "there he is!" cried russ, as he rushed to the rail beside alice. he pointed to the water. fortunately the sea was smooth, and rising and falling on the waves could be seen the head of the old sailor. "oh! oh!" gasped ruth, who glided over to the side of alice. "if--if a shark should come now." "there aren't any around here!" declared russ. he did not know whether there were or not, but he said that to make the girls feel more comfortable. after all, if there were sharks, whatever he said would be of no effect, and it was better to take the best view of it, he thought. "lower away!" cried hen lacomb, and the boat went down to the water. two sailors, beside himself, slid down the ropes into it, and took the oars. they cast off the davit blocks, and began rowing toward the bobbing head. old jack could swim well, it seemed, in spite of his age. the water was warm, and it was broad daylight, so he was in comparatively little danger--except from sharks and from the fact that he had on his clothes, which would soon become soaked and hamper him. but no sharks appeared; that menacing triangular fin which marks them was not seen cutting the water, and no big twelve-foot man-eater was observed to turn on his back in order to bring his curious, under-shot mouth with its rows of keen teeth to bear on poor jack jepson. if a shark had appeared, it would probably have put an end to the plans of mr. pertell to have his company give an idea of shipwreck by leaping into the water. no one would have jumped into those waters had they been shark-infested. but, as i have said, none of the tigers of the deep showed, and, a little later, jack was being lifted into the small boat. they had reached him just when his strength was about exhausted. "oh, have they saved him?" asked miss pennington, coming on deck very pale. alice said afterward she had not had time to put on her "war paint." "i--i can't bear to look!" faltered miss dixon, following her friend. "tell me dear--is he--is he dead?" she asked of alice. "dead! no, of course not!" said alice, none too politely. "don't be silly! he just fell overboard, and they got him back again; that's all." miss dixon looked angry and flounced back to her cabin with her chum. jack and his rescuers were hoisted up in the boat, the other sailors hauling on the ropes, the blocks of which were hooked fast to rings in the bow and stern posts of the rowing craft. "well, you tried to leave us rather suddenly," said mr. pertell. "don't go trying that again, jack--at least until we finish making the pictures," he went on with a whimsical smile. "you're in too many important scenes to be lost that way." "i haven't any fancy that way myself," said jack, who seemed little the worse for his unexpected bath. "how did it happen?" asked captain brisco of his mate, though it seemed as though he had been near enough to have seen for himself. "why, i was standing near the rail," jack explained, "talkin' to mr. lacomb, here," and he indicated the strange man, "when, all at once the ship gives a lurch, and--well, i went over, that's all i guess," and he looked at lacomb, as though to get him to confirm the account. "yes that's right," said the other. "i--i tried to grab him, but i was too late. i nearly went over myself," he added, grimly. "yes," assented the old salt, "you did," and he shot a look at the other. did alice fancy it, or did lacomb wince, and shrink back? and did a look pass between him and captain brisco--a look full of meaning? alice was puzzling over these questions in her own mind, when the helmsman spoke. "it wasn't _my_ fault," he said. "i was steering all right, but captain brisco came and spoke to me and handed me a paper. i took one hand off the wheel, and the----" "no one has said it was your fault," broke in the commander quickly. "i was giving you a copy of the sailing orders for the day. i wouldn't have bothered you if i had known a puff of wind and a big wave were coming along together, to snatch the wheel out of your grip. but it wasn't your fault. however, no harm is done. you had better get below, mr. jepson, and put on some dry clothes. mr. lacomb will stand watch until you feel all right again." "oh, i'll be all right in a little while," jack said. "i don't need no one to stand my trick on deck. i'll be back shortly." he went below, the water dripping from him. the ship was put back on her course. the excitement had not lasted long. "too bad you didn't have a camera ready, russ," said paul to the operator, when matters were normal aboard the _mary ellen_ once more. "you might have filmed a good rescue scene." "i was too much excited to think about that," russ admitted. "besides, we are going to have plenty of rescue stuff in a few days, and this wasn't a particularly thrilling one. poor old jack! i wonder how it feels to fall overboard?" "not very pleasant," paul said. he had done it more than once in the interests of the pictures. alice, going below for something a little later, met the old salt on his way to the deck again, he having changed to dry garments. "oh, are you all right?" she asked anxiously, for she and her sister, as well as mr. devere, had taken a liking to jepson. "are you all right?" "all right, miss alice," he replied. "no harm done at all." "i thought sailors never fell overboard," she said, half jokingly. "i supposed they were so sure-footed that accidents like that never happened to them." "they don't--not usual like, miss," said jack with that earnest, honest air that characterized him. "then how did you come to do it?" "i--i didn't do it, miss," jack answered. "i didn't _fall_ overboard." "you didn't?" cried alice, not noticing the accent jepson put on one word. "no, miss. not exactly." he looked around as though to make sure no one was listening, and then, in a hoarse whisper, he said: "i didn't _fall_ overboard. i was _tossed_!" then, before she could ask him what he meant, he gave her a warning glance, and passed on. just as he did so, captain brisco came along the passage way. "i was just coming down to see how you were," he said, with a quick look at alice. "i didn't know you were here, miss devere," he continued, rather awkwardly. "hope the accident didn't upset you." "oh no," she said, glad that it was rather dark, and that the commander could not notice how pale she had become at hearing the ominous words of the old sailor. "accidents will happen, but they don't always end so luckily," the captain went on. jack jepson had passed up on deck, and alice, not feeling in the mood for talking, passed to her cabin. captain brisco, after a moment of hesitation, went up on deck again, and, had anyone observed him, they would have seen him in close conversation with hen lacomb. the two men spoke in low tones. jack jepson was soon himself again, and on duty as though nothing had happened. but he had created a very queer state of mind in alice devere. her suspicious were increased, and she asked herself a multitude of questions she could not answer. nor dared she repeat them, even to her sister. "if he were tossed overboard, who did it?" she asked herself. "and why? the only one near him was lacomb, and what object could he have in wanting to drown jack? oh, i can't understand it! i _must_ ask jack what he meant." this was not so easy to do as alice had expected. she wanted to speak to the old sailor privately, but there was no chance. that afternoon there began the taking of some of the more important scenes of the marine drama. these scenes were those that had to be filmed on the ship itself, and they kept everyone busy. besides, alice did not want to make too obvious an effort to talk to the old salt, as she feared captain brisco would become suspicious. there was a nameless mystery in the air that had its effect on alice. ruth noticed a difference in her sister, and questioned her about it, but alice was able to say it was due to the difficult and exacting work of the new drama, and, in part, it was. several days passed, and she had had no chance to speak to jack. each day was filled with work, or rehearsals, and some of the films had to be taken several times, due to the uncertain footing on the deck of the ship, which produced awkward motions on the part of the actors. it was on a warm afternoon, with a hint of a storm in the atmosphere, when mr. pertell said: "well, i guess that will do for a while. this will pretty nearly bring us up to the shipwreck scene. we shall have to make a landing on one of the islands here, to get the proper background." they were then well down among the west indies. "where do we land?" asked alice, who was on deck with her sister, standing near jack jepson, who was acting as lookout, with a telescope in his hand. "well, i'm not particular," mr. pertell said. "perhaps jack can suggest a good place." "well, i know something about the locality here," the old sailor answered, and he looked at alice with a friendly wink. "i shouldn't want to go ashore at the place where i escaped from after that mutiny," he went on. "they might not want to let me go again." "no, that's so," agreed mr. pertell. "it might not be just the thing, though you could prove your innocence." "no, i can't! that's the trouble!" cried jack, who had told his story to the manager. "i don't want to be caught, and put in jail. i'm going to keep away from that island where i was locked up." "which one was it?" asked ruth. "i don't know the name," jack said, "but i can tell it the minute i set eyes on it. i don't want to go there. i had enough----" jack paused suddenly. the glass went to his eye, and he called out: "sail ho!" "where away?" demanded the helmsman. "two points off on the lee bow. she's a small steamer, and she--she's flying the british flag!" added the old man. a strange look of fear came over his face. chapter xvi the accusation "what's this?" demanded captain brisco, coming on deck just then. "what's up?" "sail ho!" repeated jack jepson. "over there, captain!" and he pointed, and extended the telescope. alice noticed that the hand of the old salt trembled, though usually he was as steady as the proverbial surgeon. "hum! yes. one of the english revenue ships," remarked captain brisco. "it's the first one we've met down here." "it is a british vessel, isn't it?" asked jack jepson, and there was a queer strain in his voice. "yes," replied his superior. "what of it?" "oh, nothin' sir! nothin'." but alice thought it was something. "well, we haven't any need to speak to her," went on captain brisco. "we're going to anchor soon." "anchor?" asked jepson. "yes, they want to take some of their pictures!" it was evident to alice, from the tone of voice in which captain brisco spoke, that he had little sympathy with the work of the film actors. but he had been hired to do his part with the ship, and must carry out his agreement with mr. pertell. the captain handed back the glass, and went to consult with the manager about making a landing. they were near several small islands, any one of which would probably do as a background for some of the picture-play scenes. left to himself jack jepson took another long look at the oncoming steamer. alice watched him curiously. "yes, she's a lime-juicer," he remarked, and something like a sigh escaped him. "a--a lime-juicer?" repeated alice in some surprise. "i thought you said she was a _steamer_." "so she is. but we old sailors used to call all british ships 'lime-juicers,' because they used to be the only ones that was compelled by law to carry lime juice." "why lime juice?" alice wanted to know. "to prevent scurvy, miss. lime juice, potatoes or anything like that will keep sailors from the scurvy disease, miss. they found it out, the britishers did, and made their ships carry such stuff. lime juice is easier to stow away than potatoes, and every sailor had to have his share. "scurvy is a bad disease, miss. it's terrible, and though lots of fun was made of the lime juice british ships, they done their duty, miss. it got so other nations had to fall into line. and, though lime juice isn't as needful as it was, 'cause they have other things that do as well, perhaps, i always think of a britisher as a lime-juicer." "i see," murmured alice. "yes, i can see the english flag," she went on, as she looked through the glass jack passed to her. "she is headed right for us, too." "that's what i make out, miss. and i wish it was my watch below; i sure do, miss!" "why, you aren't thinking that they may be after you, are you, jack? after you on that old mutiny charge?" "they might be, miss," he said in a whisper, looking cautiously around. "you see that charge isn't dead, and then there's the one of escapin' from an english prison. they might overlook the mutiny, especially as they may not have all their witnesses now--some of 'em may be dead. but an english prison officer never forgets, nor forgives, an escape, and the law doesn't either. if they was to see me, i'd be taken back to stand the charges ag'in me." "but how would they know you?" asked alice. "besides, it isn't at all likely that anyone on that vessel had anything to do with your being taken into custody on the mutiny charge. that was years ago." "i know miss, but they might remember me, even if i have changed a lot. and this is mostly english waters around here. english islands, too. it was somewhere about here i was imprisoned. before i set foot on land, i'm going to find out if it's english, and if it is, i'm goin' to stay on board. i'm not goin' to take any chances." "but can't they arrest you at sea, if there should be such a possibility that they recognized you?" "not if i'm three miles from land, i think. still, i may be wrong about that. i wish i hadn't come on this voyage, that's a fact. i don't like the sight of that english flag." "don't worry," advised alice. "there isn't one chance in a thousand that you would be recognized after these years. in the first place, you have changed a lot. and, in the second place, probably the english officers who arrested you, and the others, are in some other part of the world now. why do you think they may be on that steamer?" "well, things don't change down here as much as you might think," replied jack, as he and alice watched the steamer coming nearer. "and an englishman is less likely to change than anybody else, miss. he'll often stay in the same berth until he dies. so it's likely some of the same officers who were around here when i was arrested are here yet. and they may be on that vessel." "but how can they recognize you?" alice persisted. "well, if they didn't know me, they might know this ship." "this ship! why, this is only a small vessel, and yours was a big five-master." "i know, miss, i know," said jack, with a nervous look over his shoulder. "but here's a secret i haven't told to anyone yet. this may be the _mary ellen_, but she used to be the _halcyon_!" alice started back in surprise. "the _halcyon_!" she gasped. "how could it be?" "this way, miss. they built her over, cut down her length, and changed her so hardly anybody would recognize her. but i knew the _mary ellen_ for the _halcyon_ almost as soon as i came aboard." "and is that why you acted so--so queer?" "partly--yes. you see she was first the _mary ellen_ and the mutineers named her the _halcyon_. then, when she was rebuilt she became _mary ellen_ again." "but i never knew they could make vessels over," alice protested. --"oh, yes, it's often done," the sailor assured her. "this certainly was the old _halcyon_, as she was called when the mutineers had her, and anyone who had sailed in her would know it. a sailor's eye can't be deceived. there's others on board as know it, too." "others here? of the mutinous crew?" "hush, miss, if you please! not so loud! yes, others who were in the mutiny, but who got off scott free, while i was the one to suffer. but they're tryin' to keep under cover. there's a game afoot, but i'll spoil it if i can--that is, if this british steamer don't make trouble for me." alice's head seemed to swim. she was getting into the depths of the mystery now with a vengeance. what did it all mean? to what did jack have reference? could it be that captain brisco, and the man with whom he was so friendly, were in a plot? alice felt as if she must tell someone. it was too big a secret for her to keep to herself. one thing seemed necessary. she must rid jack of some of his fear of being arrested again. "but if the ship is changed so, how could any of the british officers, provided any are on that steamer, recognize her?" alice asked. "i don't know how, but i'm sure they could," said jack, rather unreasonably. "and you mark my words. they'll see us and in spite of our change of rig, they will want to speak us. a sailor never forgets a ship. of course there may be no officers on that steamer who would know the old _halcyon_, but ag'in, there may be. i'm afeered, miss." "oh, but you needn't be. mr. pertell will make it all right even if----" "he isn't bigger than johnnie bull," said jack ominously, "though mr. pertell is a good friend of mine. ha! didn't i tell you? there they come right for us, and they're signallin' us to lay to." it was evident that something had taken place aboard the steamer. a signal flag broke out at her mast, and captain brisco, seeing it, exclaimed impatiently: "what can they want with us?" "they want to talk, that's evident," said hen lacomb, who stood near the commander. "but what about?" "we'll soon know." as the _mary ellen_ lay almost motionless on the sea, for she had been brought up sharply, the steamer approached. it was so calm that she could come quite close without danger of a collision. a man, evidently an officer, hailed through a megaphone. jack dared not desert his place as lookout. "what vessel is that?" demanded the officer of the british steamer. "the _mary ellen_, from new york," answered captain brisco. "out on a moving picture cruise. we're in a hurry." "better not be," was the exasperating comment. "there's someone here who wants to ask you a few questions." another figure joined the speaker, and at the sight of this second officer, old jack jepson groaned. "i knew it! i knew it," he whispered to alice. "that's the man in charge of the revenue cutter who arrested me years ago. see! he recognizes me! i thought this would happen." it was evident that something out of the ordinary was taking place. "_mary ellen_ ahoy!" called the second officer. "if you didn't used to be the _halcyon_, i miss my guess. and there's a man aboard you i want! there he stands!" and he pointed an accusing finger at jack jepson. chapter xvii the storm the old sailor seemed to shrink down in his clothes and become smaller. he cast an appealing glance at alice who stood near him. "see!" he murmured. "what did i tell you?" "it may be all right yet," she answered. "surely after these years they can do nothing to you, especially when you were not guilty." "ah, but it's the escape from the prison that hangs over me," he said. "they want me more for that than on the mutiny charge. oh, what shall i do?" "stay here and 'face the music,' as russ or paul would say," suggested alice. "i'll speak to my father, and to mr. pertell. you are an american citizen, and----" but she had no time for further advice. again came the hail from the steamer. "stand by there, _mary ellen_, or _halcyon_, as your name used to be," was the sharp order. "i'm going to send a boat aboard you. we want that man!" and once more he pointed accusingly at jack. "i don't know what you're talking about," blustered captain brisco. "that man is my second mate, and you can't take him from me that way. this isn't war time," and he seemed disposed to protect jack. "don't let them take me, captain!" the old sailor pleaded. "you know what it means. don't let them take me away!" "i won't!" declared captain brisco, and for the moment the heart of alice warmed to him. she fancied she had misjudged him. but as she looked at him, she saw a look on his face that made her doubt. it was a look that made his words seem insincere. and when the moving picture girl saw the captain speaking in an aside to hen lacomb, her doubts were redoubled. "stand by!" someone on the steamer ordered. "we're sending a boat to take the prisoner." "this is a pretty how-d'-do!" blustered captain brisco. "they're going to leave me short-handed, and just at a time when i'm likely to need every man i can get, too," and he cast an anxious look around the horizon. it had suddenly become quite dark. a bank of clouds, slate colored, and fringed with an ominous yellow, had gathered in the west, and there was a moaning in the air as though a far-off wind were sending a message to those in peril to beware of its breath. the sea, too, had a glassy look. the big waves rose sullenly, and sank back into troughs, with an oily smooth motion as though they resented being thus confined. it was like the action of some raging beast in leash. there was a curious oppressiveness in the air, too, and more than one found difficulty in breathing. "what is it? oh, what is it?" asked ruth, as she came toward her sister. "i feel as though something terrible were going to happen." "something _has_ happened!" alice exclaimed. "they've got poor old jack! isn't it a shame, when everything was going so nicely?" "got him!" questioned ruth. "what do you mean?" "it's those britishers! they recognized this ship as the one on which the mutiny occurred. she's been built over--the ship i mean--but the steamer knew her--i mean some officer did. and they're going to take jack away. you know he told us how he broke out of jail, after he was locked up on an unjust charge. well, they want him for that, but he doesn't want him to go--at least he pretends he doesn't." alice paused for breath--she needed it. "well!" exclaimed ruth. "you may understand what you mean, but i don't, my dear. who wants whom, and who doesn't want whom--and what?" thereupon alice explained how captain brisco had declared jack should not be taken, and yet how alice, herself, believed he would give him up. "but what does it all mean--that enmity you say captain brisco has against jack?" ruth asked alice, for alice spoke about the time jack had fallen overboard, and mentioned how the sailor had said he was tossed over the rail. "i don't know what it means," the younger girl replied. "it is all queer and mysterious, and it's getting worse. but i think there is some secret between captain brisco and that hen lacomb that jack has found out, and they're afraid he'll tell. that's why i think they would be glad to see him taken away--no matter what happened to him. it's all very well for captain brisco to say he doesn't want jack to go, but i believe he's glad this happened." "oh, alice! what a thing to say!" "i don't care! i believe it!" all this while preparations had been under way aboard the steamer to lower a small boat, but there seemed to be some delay. meanwhile jack jepson remained as lookout on the _mary ellen_, though there was no need of him there, for the schooner was now merely drifting, with sails aback, and the steamer, too, was at the call of the wind and currents. "come on, mate!" hoarsely whispered a sailor to jack. "slip below, mate, and we'll hide you. if they try to take you, we'll stand 'em off. i don't like the britishers anyhow. i was shanghaied into one of their lime-juicers once, an' i never forgot it! slip below!" "no, i'll take my medicine!" said jack grimly. "might as well get it done with. this thing has been hangin' over my head a number of years now, and i'll be glad to hear the last of it. it's a terrible thing for an innocent man." "perhaps some way may be found for clearing you," suggested alice. "i'll speak to my father. he knows some prominent lawyers in new york, and they will induce the government to take up your case. go quietly, jack, and we'll do all we can for you." "oh, i shan't raise a row, miss, never fear. no good'd come of that, and it would only make trouble. i'll go quietly enough." "ha! what is going on?" asked mr. devere, who had been down below. "has anything happened?" alice and ruth tried to tell him at once, the former eager to enlist his sympathies in jack's cause. mr. devere promised readily enough. "though i can't hold out any hope for you," he said. "i know nothing of law, but international affairs are always slow." "but i ought to get justice in the end, ought i not?" asked jack, respectfully. "you ought, my man, and i'll do all i can for you," said mr. devere. "oh, what a pretty sight!" exclaimed the voice of miss dixon, as she emerged from a companionway with her chum, miss pennington. "isn't it romantic--stopping to speak to a steamer at sea?" "delightful," agreed miss pennington. "i wonder if the captain of the steamer will ask us to tea? it's a british vessel, and englishmen are so fond of tea." "yes, and they are so romantic and good-looking," agreed miss dixon. "but perhaps this is only for moving pictures." "oh, pshaw! perhaps it is!" sighed her companion, and the two of them, who had been taking surreptitious glances in mirrors, enclosed in the flaps of their bags, ceased "primping," until they could be sure whether or not there was any object in it. "what's it all about?" asked miss dixon again. "oh, they're going to take one of our men, i believe," said pop snooks, the property "angel," as the ladies often called him. "oh dear! what are they? pirates?" gasped miss pennington. "no, it's jack jepson they're after. some old charge, i believe." "ha! i knew something would happen on this voyage!" exclaimed mr. pepper sneed. "i felt it in my bones all along." "good thing you're not disappointed," murmured alice. "oh dear!" sighed her sister. "it's too bad. and i liked jack so." "so did i," returned alice. "but they're a long while sending that boat." it did seem so, for there were no signs yet, of one being lowered over the side, though captain brisco, after the command to lay to, had ordered his accommodation ladder lowered to receive the visitors. then came another hail from the steamer. "_mary ellen_ ahoy!" "aye, aye!" "we won't send a boat right away. a hurricane is sweeping up fast, and this is a bad locality in which to be caught," called one of the steamer's officers through a megaphone. "we'll have to get out of here, and so had you better. there's no sea-room here. we'll pick you up later, and don't forget you are in english waters, and subject to our orders. we're going to have that man!" "well, if you put it that way, of course i'll have to give in," said captain brisco. "i'll wait for you after the blow." "well, that's a respite, anyhow, but not a very pleasant one," said alice. "no," agreed jack jepson, who breathed easier now. "we're in for a bad storm, i reckon. we'll have to make everything snug." "attention!" once more came the hail from the steamer, and when captain brisco answered, he was ordered to follow a certain course by compass, as being safest. "then i can pick you up!" the steamer captain cried as the propellers began to churn the water. the british vessel swept away, leaving jack jepson still on the schooner, but under threat of arrest. then the forerunner of the storm came, filling the sails of the _mary ellen_, and heeling her over until the lee scuppers were awash. "make everything snug!" cried captain brisco. "it's coming on to blow great guns!" chapter xviii grinding away events aboard the _mary ellen_ did not transpire at all slowly. in a comparatively short space of time she had been converted from an old hulk into a good sailing vessel, she had put to sea with a party of moving picture workers, including a sailor accused of mutiny, who had broken jail. she had been stopped by the english ship, and now the old schooner was starting to scud before the blast of a hurricane. for the time being the accusation against jack jepson was forgotten. "lively now, everyone!" cried captain brisco. "when a storm breaks down here, it isn't any child's play. double reefs in all sails, and two men at the wheel. lash everything fast, pass life-lines, and passengers keep below." "oh, but i want to see the storm!" exclaimed alice. "oh, how can you!" remonstrated ruth. "it is going to be--awful!" and indeed, if the evidence of sky and sea, and the moaning of the wind, were any indication, a great storm was in prospect. the billows that had been rolling with oily smoothness now began to show little feathery crests of foam, and they were following one another with greater quickness, as if impatient to be at their shattering work. the wind seemed most ominous of all. it was as though it came from afar off, down behind the horizon line that showed black, with a fringe of angry yellow in the west. a low, mumbling, roaring, moaning wind it was, that whistled mournfully through the rigging of the schooner, and howled down the companionways. "oh dear!" sighed ruth, as she slipped her arm into that of her sister, and started for their cabin. "come on, alice. i'm afraid!" "nonsense! what of? nothing has happened--yet." "no, but there is going to be a terrible storm!" "and i just love a blow. i've never seen one at sea, and, as this may be the only chance i'll get, i'm not going to miss it. stay up with me, ruth. don't be like those sillies, and go below," and she motioned to miss pennington and miss dixon who were scurrying for cover, as the wind and the sea increased. "well, i'll stay up a little while," agreed ruth. "but i--i'm afraid all the same." "nonsense!" cried alice gaily. "we have a good ship under us. it went through a mutiny, and i guess it can weather a storm." "that's just the point--can it?" asked ruth in a low voice. "what do you mean?" alice asked in a curiously strained voice. "i mean that this is an old vessel, 'made over,' as we would say of a dress, alice, it can't be as good and strong as a new one would be, and in a storm----" "oh, don't be nervous!" broke in alice. "here, i'll ask mr. blake," and she stopped the first mate who was hurrying to and fro directing the men at their work of making everything snug below and aloft. "isn't she safe, mr. blake?" alice appealed. "who?" the first mate wanted to know. "this ship." "i--i think so," he said. "yes, surely," he added quickly. "we will ride out the storm, never fear. it hasn't gotten here yet, and we may only get the outer edge of it. but you must excuse me now," and he hastened along the deck. "there!" cried alice. "what did i tell you?" she asked triumphantly. "well, i'll stay here with you a little while," ruth agreed. "then i'm going below and----" "bundle up all your possessions and sit on a life preserver," broke in alice with a laugh. "oh, ruth, you are--hopeless!" "yes, but look at that!" and the older sister pointed to the west. there had been a rapid change. there was more yellow in the clouds now and less blackness, though there was enough of that ominous color too. "doesn't it scare you, alice?" "not so much, no. of course i've never been in a bad storm down here, and i don't know what they do to one. but i think we'll weather it, as the sailors say. but i wonder what mr. pertell is doing?" she motioned to the manager who was seen amidships, talking to russ, the chief camera operator. they were near the big motorboat _ajax_, which still rested in the cradle on deck. mr. devere was also in conversation with the manager and his chief helper. "let's go over and see what it is," suggested alice. "maybe they are frightened too." "i wouldn't blame them," murmured ruth, with a nervous glance over her shoulder at the oncoming storm. the two girls joined their father and the others. pop snooks, the property man, who could make almost anything from a brick wall to a king's palace, on short notice, was called into the consultation. "i'm sure they're going to do something!" alice exclaimed, as she noticed mr. pertell beckon captain brisco to him. and when the girls reached the group they learned what was afoot. "why yes, you'd have time for some pictures before the storm gets here," captain brisco was saying. "it's evidently going to be slow in breaking." "and it wouldn't be too rough for the motorboat?" asked mr. pertell. "oh, no. she's built dory fashion, and bigger waves than these wouldn't swamp her. it's a question though, if your man is game." "oh, don't worry about me!" exclaimed russ dalwood. "i'll make pictures as long as the light will hold good. how is the boat? is she all ready to start?" "all ready to put into the water," the captain assured him. "she has been that way since we reached this locality. what do you say?" he asked the manager. "shall we lower away?" "i think so," was the answer from mr. pertell. "i want to get some views of the schooner sailing off before the storm. it will be a sort of introduction to the shipwreck that is to come later." "all right!" exclaimed russ. "that suits me. i'll get the camera and films ready. i'll need a helper." "oh, of course," agreed the manager. "you can't manage the boat and the engine and work the camera too. grinding away at the film will keep you busy, especially as the water's a bit rough." "a _bit_ rough!" exclaimed russ with a smile. "i like the way you say it. but the rougher it is the better effect we'll get on the film. i'll be ready when you are, captain brisco." "all right, i'll have the boat over at once," and the commander gave the necessary orders for lowering the _ajax_ over the side. this had been provided for when she was cradled, so there was little delay at this task. "are we to do any 'stunts,' while russ is taking pictures?" asked alice of the manager. "no, you are just to stand around on deck, and look a bit anxious. you are supposed to be an old-time passenger packet you know, on a long voyage, and you are running away from the storm. we don't want many feet of this film--just enough to indicate what is to come. the real shipwreck--that is the imitation of it--will come later, when this storm blows over. get on the side where the motorboat will be," the manager directed, "and line up along the rail." while russ was "loading" his camera, ruth and alice watched the sailors getting the _ajax_ ready. the engine had been tested, and seemed to work well. jack jepson came along with a small keg of water, and a bundle done up in a piece of sail cloth. "what's that for?" asked alice. "provisions and water," answered the old sailor. "but they're only going to be away a few minutes," the girl objected. "they won't want anything to eat or drink." "it's a rule of th' sea," said old jack, "never to put a boat over the side without provisioning and watering her. you never can tell what will happen on th' ocean. i've seen boats put out just for a little row around, and a fog would come up, and they'd be away nearly a week. and when they didn't have any water or food aboard--well, miss, them's not nice things to talk about to ladies," he said simply. and alice understood. the storm seemed to be holding off, at least for a time. far away the dark mass of the british steamer could be seen. the _ajax_ was soon ready, and lowered to the heaving water. "mr. sneed, you get in and help russ," ordered mr. pertell. "you know something about motor-boats, don't you?" "a little, yes. but i--er--i don't like to get in one when a storm is coming up." "nonsense!" the manager ejaculated. "there's no danger! you are going only a short distance away from the schooner, to get some views of her as she rides the waves. it will make a good film, the coming storm, and the waters rising and falling. get aboard, mr. sneed, and do whatever russ wants you to. he'll be busy with the camera so you will have to steer, and run the engine. the last won't bother you though, for it has a self-starter on and a gear clutch. you'll be in no danger." mr. sneed did not seem anxious to go. however, orders were orders, and members of the company, even mr. wellington bunn, thought twice before refusing mr. pertell. so, when russ came up with his cameras, bringing two in case of emergency, mr. sneed was already in the boat, which was rising and falling at the foot of the accommodation ladder over the side of the schooner. "all aboard!" sang out russ gaily, as he prepared to descend, his cameras having been lowered to mr. sneed by a rope. "look pleasant, girls, you're going to have your pictures took," and he laughed. there was an ominous hush in the air now. the moaning of the wind seemed to have died down, at least for the time being, but the waves were higher, the swells were long, and did not break much. it was lighter, also, though the light was of a sickly yellowish cast. however, it would serve for a few pictures. "let her go, pepper!" called russ to his actor-helper and the motor whirred, as the _ajax_ started away from the side of the schooner. russ, setting his camera up on the platform made for it in the bow, began grinding at the crank, taking many views of the pitching, tossing schooner as it rose and fell on the bosom of the heaving ocean. "i don't like this!" exclaimed mr. sneed, when a dash of spray wet him, as he sat at the wheel. "i wish i hadn't come. i'm sure something will happen!" "something sure _will_, if you don't keep her headed up into the seas," declared russ. "we'll be swamped, that's what will happen. steady now. i'm getting some good ones," and he worked away at the camera, while the schooner sailed farther and farther away. russ wanted to give the idea of distance on the film. chapter xix disabled "how much longer you going to be?" asked mr. pepper sneed, as he saw russ change slightly the position of the camera. "oh, not much longer now," was the answer. "i have about all they'll want, i guess. this is only a sort of 'cut-in' effect, anyhow--a preliminary to the grand performance that is to come later. poor old _mary ellen_, we'll soon see the last of her, i expect." "burr-r-r!" exclaimed mr. sneed as he shifted his helm. "don't talk that way. it sounds rather prophetic, you know, seeing the last of the ship, and all that, you know." "well, i meant that they're going to sink her. you knew that, didn't you?" "oh, yes, worse luck! i'm to be one of the last to jump over the side, i believe. i don't like it." "well, it won't be for long," russ said. "it will be all over in a few minutes--i mean the shipwreck proper, though there'll be a lot of rescue scenes, and then the castaways on an island, and all that sort of thing. put me over a little more to the left, pepper. i can get a fine view that way, with the light shining on the passengers at the rail." he clicked away at the camera crank, and then exclaimed: "no, no! i said to the left. you're putting me to the right." "oh, so i am. i was watching that storm. i don't like the looks of things, russ. i believe we're going to be in for it sooner than they thought." "it does look as though it were going to burst," russ agreed, as he looked up from the "finder" of his machine long enough to take a glimpse at the weather. "mr. pertell said he'd signal us with a flag when he thought we had enough, but i don't see anything of a signal, do you?" "no," answered the gloomy actor, who had not been needed in the present scenes. "and i wish i _could_ see it. it's getting too rough out here for me, even if we have a good boat," and he adjusted the gasoline feed to give a little more power to the engine. "well, it's getting almost too dark to get any more pictures, anyhow," russ declared. "we sure are in for a blow. it's coming up fast too. we'd better get back to the ship without waiting for a signal. they may have hoisted one, that we didn't see." "that's it, i think!" cried the other. "say, where is the schooner, anyhow?" russ, who was taking the tripod from his camera looked up quickly. "why, can't you see her?" asked the young operator. "no, and i don't believe you can, either, nor can your camera find her. she's disappeared!" "disappeared? nonsense!" russ cried. "it's just that the sea mist has come up and hidden her. it will blow away in a moment. say, but it is getting rough!" well might he say that, for he could hardly keep his footing on the platform where he had stood to make the views. he came down into the half-covered cabin which formed the forward part of the _ajax_. "well, where is the schooner, if you can see her?" growled pepper sneed. "steer for her if you can sight her--i can't!" he seemed morose and angry. perhaps it was just fear. russ did not stop to determine that point. the operator took the steering wheel, first standing up to get an idea of his course. "say, it _is_ getting dark!" he cried. "well, we'll have to go it blind. we'll pick up the schooner in a minute or two, i expect. she ought to be right over there," and he pointed. "where?" asked mr. sneed. "there," said russ again. "humph! you're away off!" declared his companion. "the last i saw her, and i was headed right for her, she was over there," and he indicated a direction differing from that russ had shown by at least forty-five degrees. "i wish they'd show a light!" russ murmured as he tried to peer through the mist and the gathering darkness. "why don't they show a light? we could see that!" "maybe they don't know we're lost," suggested pepper sneed. "lost!" cried russ. "we're not lost! we'll be up to them in a minute or so, but i do wish they'd show a light." the motorboat _ajax_ was chugging over the heaving water at good speed, but as far as the eyes of either of her occupants could see, she might have been driving straight into the utter desolation of a vast ocean, for not an object was in sight. the wind had again taken up that nerve-racking moaning and groaning sound, as of an unseen giant in distress, and the spray from the crests of the waves blew in the faces of the two young men, as they crouched down behind the shelter of the half-cabin. it seemed as though the storm had begun, had halted in its purpose, or had gone off momentarily in some other direction, and was now headed back, to sweep destruction down on those aboard the _mary ellen_, and the two in the motorboat. but where was the _mary ellen_? that was a question russ and mr. sneed asked of themselves over and over again as they drove into the very teeth of the storm. they had to head into it, as in the small boat no other course would have been safe. fortunately the _ajax_ was built dory-fashion, with high bow and stern, after the pattern of the skiffs in which the fishermen of the new foundland banks go out in heavy weather. "what are you going to do?" asked mr. sneed, as russ increased the speed of the engine, so that the small craft fairly tore up the inclined hills of green waters, which the waves represented, and slid down them with sickening speed on the other slope. "i'm going to keep on until i find her--find the schooner," russ said, grimly. "that's all we can do. but i can't understand why they don't show a light." "maybe they're having troubles of their own," suggested the actor. "well, they could shout, so as to let us know where to steer," russ went on, rather provoked. "we could do that ourselves," pepper sneed said. "do what?" asked russ, hardly conscious of what he was saying, for just then a heavy wave threatened to swamp the dory, and it required skillful handling to keep her from being swamped. "we could yell," suggested mr. sneed. "come on, give 'em a call!" russ agreed to this, and, standing up, so their voices would carry better, and bracing themselves against the tumbling, swaying motion of the craft, they sent out a cry for aid--and yet not so much a cry for aid, as they were not yet in distress, but a cry for direction. "if i could only see where to steer," russ exclaimed, when they had paused in their yelling, well-nigh exhausted, "it wouldn't be so bad! but i can't see a thing. it's getting darker every minute. i never saw such a funny storm." "it's coming up all right," declared the actor. "going to blow great guns soon." "it's blowing them now," said russ, grimly, as he clung to the wheel. "i can hardly keep her on the course." "what's the use of steering a course when you don't know whether it's right or not?" asked the actor. "well, i'm not going to give up," russ said, grimly. "i think i'm headed for the schooner, though i ought to have fetched her sooner than this, at the speed we're going." "perhaps she's blowing away from us," suggested mr. sneed. "that's it!" russ cried. "why didn't i think of that before? she's running away from us. she can't help it, though, for she must scud before this storm. we've got to increase our speed to catch up to her. the wind and our engine ought to be more than a match for her sails alone. i'll put on more speed." the wind was now a howling gale. suddenly, as they drove on, the motor seemed to increase its speed. "what's that?" asked mr. sneed. "i thought you had her running at her limit." "so did i," russ answered, bending over the machinery. then he cried: "she's racing! we've lost our propeller! we're disabled in this storm!" chapter xx in the vortex "haven't we looked distressed long enough?" "i'm going below. i can't bear to watch that storm!" the speakers were alice and ruth devere respectively, and they were leaning over the rail of the _mary ellen_, peering off into the swirl of driving mists, and across the heaving waters toward where the motorboat had been last seen. "yes, i think russ has enough pictures," mr. pertell said in answer to the remark of alice. "i think you all looked sufficiently distressful. if the scenes of the shipwreck itself go as well as the first part of the drama has gone, we'll have a fine film." "then may i go below?" asked ruth. "i don't like the looks of the weather." "it does seem as though we'd get the storm after all," her father remarked. "go below, by all means," assented the manager. "we have done enough for today, and i'll signal russ to come in, if he hasn't already started to do so. my, but this wind is blowing a regular gale!" others than ruth found it uncomfortable on deck, and there was a general movement toward the cabins which had been fitted up with considerable comfort, even if the craft was an old one. but just then, when there was a partial calm before another burst of fury on the part of the storm, something occurred that threw the ship into a flurry of excitement for a time. the sailors were making some changes in the craft's canvas, when suddenly the throat and peak halyards of the mainsail either parted, or, coming loose from the cleats, came down on the run. the effect was to lower the sail so quickly, and in such a fashion, with the wind blowing hard against it, that there was a crash, a banging and booming of the canvas, and the boom and gaff. the first mate, who was standing near the mast, was knocked down, narrowly escaping going overboard. "oh, what has happened?" cried ruth. "be still!" commanded alice, clutching her sister by the arm. "yelling isn't going to do any good. we're not hurt." they were standing near a companionway, well out of reach of the falling sail. "oh, we're sinking! we're sinking!" screamed miss dixon. "and the sharks! the terrible sharks in the water!" hysterically added her friend. the other ladies of the party were very much frightened, naturally, not only by the accident to the sail, but by the screams of the two former vaudeville actresses. "lively now, men!" called jack jepson, who happened to be nearest the confusion of tangled ropes and sail. "get him below. he doesn't seem to be much hurt." he pointed to the motionless body of the first mate. a quick examination showed that the man was badly stunned, but that seemed to be the extent of his injuries, as far as could be told. "up with her now! up with her!" the second mate cried, as he gave orders for hoisting the sail again, for the schooner was not under proper control with the main canvas down, and a storm coming up rapidly. the sail had been reefed, so the gaff had not fallen as far as otherwise would have been the case. "what's the matter?" shouted captain brisco who came up from his cabin with hen lacomb. the two were seldom apart of late. a glance served to tell the commander what had happened. he saw that jack jepson had matters well in hand, and though alice guessed that captain brisco had no love for his second mate, the commander knew seamanship when he saw it. "lively now!" he cried. "that's the idea! we'll run before the gale now." "but the motorboat!" cried ruth, who had conquered her desire to flee to the cabin, and hide her eyes and ears from such nerve-racking sights and sounds. "where is the _ajax_--and mr. sneed--and--russ?" she faltered. "they'll probably be coming in now," the captain said, but he did not take the trouble to look around and see. "we can't wait for them in this wind," he went on. "but we _must_ wait for him!" ruth cried, getting excited. "we can't go off and leave them in that motorboat, on the ocean, in a storm! we must wait!" she started toward captain brisco, with her hands held out appealingly. alice was wildly looking around for a sight of the smaller craft. she had seen it just before the sail fell, but now there was nothing about the schooner but a bare waste of waters. she knew enough about the technical side of moving pictures to realize that for some time, it had been too dark to take any film. russ must have known that, too, and would have started back for the schooner. but if he had, where was he now? alice asked herself that question as she looked around. "you must wait for him!" cried ruth. "who? what's this?" demanded mr. pertell, for he had been hurrying to and fro, making sure none of the members of his company had been injured in the slight accident. "russ hasn't come back," volunteered alice, who almost always spoke ahead of her sister. "he's out there!" ruth found voice to say, "and captain brisco isn't going to wait for him." "you can't hold a ship still on the ocean, and a storm coming up!" the commander cried, as though to justify himself. "we've got to run for it. it would be madness now to lay to." "but we can't desert russ and mr. sneed!" cried the manager. "i thought he was coming in. what shall we do? we must do something! i shouldn't have asked him to risk it!" the schooner was rapidly forging ahead, even under reefed sails, so powerful was the wind. "we could work around," said jack jepson, who had come up on deck after seeing the first mate comfortably bestowed in his berth. "we could work around and----" "who's in charge of this ship; you or me?" snapped captain brisco. "you are, of course," was the quiet answer. "well then, have the goodness to keep still and let me manage matters. i'm giving orders--not you!" poor jack slunk back, smarting under the undeserved rebuke. "i don't care who is in command!" cried mr. pertell. "this is my ship and you're under my orders, captain brisco. i order you to pick up that motorboat!" "and i tell you we can't do it! they've got to come to us, we can't go to them. they're not dependent on the wind as we are. they can travel any direction they like, and they'll have to head for us." "but we must make some effort to find them!" cried the manager. "it would be wicked--criminal not to." "look here!" cried captain brisco. "you are the owner of this schooner, it is true, and as such you are my superior, but the law gives me supreme command of this craft at sea, unless i'm dead, or otherwise deposed. and i tell you i won't risk all these lives by trying to beat back in the teeth of this wind, to pick up a motorboat. it would be worse than criminal--worse than wicked to do it. it would endanger all on board!" there was some logic in that. even mr. pertell, exercised as he was by the threatened danger to russ, could appreciate that. "but we must do something," the manager repeated. "i'm doing all i can," captain brisco replied. "i'll shorten sail down to the minimum; that will keep us before the wind, and out of the trough of the sea! more i can't do. we must depend on them to pick us up. they ought to be able to do it. you told me dalwood could manage a boat." "so he can--but--" there was ominous meaning in the broken-off sentence. "well, we'll do the best we can," concluded captain brisco. "they will have to take chances, as we're doing." he went forward to give some orders. those aboard the schooner peered anxiously over the storm swept waters for a sight of the motor craft, but they saw nothing. they shouted and called, but only the wind howled back at them. then, with a suddenness that was appalling, they seemed to be flung into the midst of a hurricane. the wind lashed the sea to fury, and the _mary ellen_ spun around like some gigantic top. "we're in the vortex!" cried jack jepson. "we're in the vortex of a cyclone! all hands look to themselves!" chapter xxi wrecked confusion on board a ship in a storm may be real confusion and riot, or it may only seem so to those not used to the sea. often what is a hopelessly tangled mass of sails, ropes, spars and gears to the landsman, is as clear to a sailor as a skein of yarn is to an experienced knitter, who can ply her needles in the dark. it was so on the _mary ellen_ when the storm, that had been so long threatening, and half-performing, broke in all its fury. there was a tangle of ropes, a banging and slamming of canvas, which, stretched taut and to its utmost, was as stiff as a board. there was a rattling of blocks and the creaking of the boom-crotches against the masts. the squeak of the gaffs higher up added to the din. the shouting of captain brisco, and the answering calls of his men did not lessen the confusion. "lower away! lower away!" the commander cried, ordering even the already doubly-reefed sails gotten down, so the powerful wind would have less resistance. even with the small area of canvas shown, the craft was being heeled over until the scuppers--or the holes by which water runs off the deck--dipped under the waves, and there was plenty of sea aboard. "set that storm jib!" came the next order, when the main sails had been furled, and that was no easy task with the sharp pitching and tossing of the schooner. not a very seamanlike job was made of it, but there was no time for the finer touches. the sails were just clewed up to prevent them from blowing away, until more time could be devoted to them. the storm jib, which is the sail furthest front on a vessel, unless it be a flying jib, was set to give her enough way so she would respond to the helm, for it was necessary to keep the craft before the wind, and head on to the seas--that is, the big waves must be cut and broken by the sharp prow, or bow, for had they come at the schooner sideways, she would have been swamped instantly. even the small area of the storm jib was hardly necessary. the _mary ellen_, in that blow, would have scudded along fairly well "under bare poles," that is with no sails set at all. even captain brisco had his doubts about the storm jib resisting. it might pull away from the holding ropes at any moment. but its loss would do no harm, for it would only be blown out to sea, and there were enough spare sails. so, as i have said, order came out of confusion, but even the order was somewhat confused, at least to the members of the moving picture company. they had been ordered below, and had managed, somehow, to get there, though more than one received bumps and bruises on the pitching, tossing companionway. "oh, what an awful storm!" complained miss dixon, when they were huddled in the cabin. "isn't it awful--terrible!" agreed her companion. "i am frightened to death. we may sink at any minute." "oh, not so much danger of that in a wooden ship," said paul consolingly. he wished the two former vaudeville actresses would try to have a little courage. "i am so frightened," murmured miss pennington. "i wish captain brisco would come down here." "what for?" asked alice, hardly able to keep the contempt out of her voice. "so he could tell us if we are in any danger, and what we ought to do," was the selfish answer. "he _must_ save us!" "he's trying to save the ship!" said alice, "and you two ought to be ashamed of yourselves at a time like this. think of poor russ and mr. sneed out in that motorboat all alone!" "oh, but they--they're men," faltered miss dixon. "then why don't you try to be women!" snapped alice. "hush, my dear," said her sister gently. "i can't!" was the answer. "when i think of poor russ----" "i'm going to put on a life preserver," exclaimed miss pennington, favoring alice with a frosty stare. "perhaps that would be a good plan for us, my dears," said mr. devere to his daughters. "it can do no harm, at all events." "no," admitted alice. "but we appear to be all right--for the time being, at least." it seemed quieter up on deck now, for the sailors had ceased rushing about adjusting the canvas, though there was still plenty of noise. there was the rattle and bang of blocks, the whipping about of ends of ropes, the slap, now and then, of the storm jib, as it was whipped back and forth. now and then a heavy sea would fall on deck with a crash. at such times the _mary ellen_, stout as she was, would tremble from stem to stern, and those in the cabin would shiver and look at one another apprehensively. "come on, laura," called miss pennington to her companion. "let's take all the precautions we can. we'll put on life preservers. but oh, i daren't think of being in the water with all those sharks." "don't talk that way!" said paul in a sharp whisper, as he saw ruth shrink back at the word "shark." miss pennington did not deign to answer, but she and her friend were soon struggling with the straps of a life preserver. at this moment captain brisco came down into the cabin. "what does this mean?" he asked, and his voice was stern. "we--we are getting ready for an--an emergency," faltered miss pennington. "well, there won't be any emergency--at least not for a while," the commander said grimly "we are doing very well. if you want to be uncomfortable do so, and put on those cork jackets. but there is no need of it. i'll give you plenty of warning if the ship is likely to founder, and we'll lower the boats." "is there any real danger, captain?" asked mr. devere. "well, of course there always is, in a storm at sea. but we are in no more danger than hundreds of others. this is a wooden ship, and it will be a long time sinking, even if it gets to that point, which is far off. we haven't leaked a drop yet, and we're running before the storm nicely. you need have no fears." "that's what i thought!" exclaimed alice, with a look at the two former stage actresses. "humph!" sniffed miss dixon. "any one would think you were a sailor." "she's a good deal better 'n some," said jack jepson coming into the cabin then to report something to captain brisco. "then you would not advise us to put on life preservers?" asked mr. devere. "not now, at least," the captain replied. "i have done everything possible, and the only thing now is to run before the storm. we are in good shape. the _mary ellen_ is a better craft than i gave her credit for being. the only thing to do is to wait, and hope for the best." "have you plenty of lifeboats?" the old actor wanted to know. "yes, enough for all hands. they are provisioned and watered, and are staunch craft. my men have orders to stand by in case of any real danger, and put the small boats over. but we will stick to the ship until the last, though that is not saying, mind you, that we will have to desert her." "oh! i couldn't think of going in one of those small boats!" cried miss dixon. "they are so low in the water. i should faint every time i looked over the side." "well if she looked once, and fainted and stayed so, it would be a good thing for all hands," murmured paul ardite. "oh, don't say that," alice reproached him. "that's how i feel about her," he answered. "what can be done about picking up the motorboat?" asked mr. devere. they all looked anxiously toward captain brisco. "i have a man on the lookout," answered the commander. "it may seem to some of you heartless to go away and leave her." "it was," murmured gentle ruth. but she only whispered the words. there were tears in her eyes. "but i could do nothing else," resumed captain brisco. "as i told you, a vessel can't remain stationary on the sea. we had to move on before the gale. and, as i also said, the motorboat has a better chance of going where she wants to than have we, who must depend on our sails. i have no doubt but that the two in the _ajax_ are safe." but if captain brisco, or any of those then huddled in the cabin of the _mary ellen_, could have seen russ and mr. sneed just then they would not have envied them. with the racing of the engine, indicating to russ that the propeller had dropped off into the sea, he at once shut off the power. without the resistance of the screw the machine would soon have racked itself to pieces. "well, what's to be done?" asked mr. sneed. "that's the way to talk," was the response. "we've got to do something, that's sure." the storm which at that moment was enveloping the _mary ellen_ was, at the same time, buffeting about the smaller motorboat. when she lost headway by the stopping of her engine she no longer took the seas head, or bow, on. she fell into the trough, and was in imminent danger of being swamped. "we've got to bring her up, the first thing we do," russ decided. "what we need is a drag anchor. that will bring her head on to the waves, and we can ride them better until help comes." "will help ever come?" asked the actor, despondently. "of course it will. or else we'll find the schooner, or they us!" responded russ. while he was talking, he was looking about for something to use as a drag anchor. "that will do!" russ decided as he saw a heavy wooden box. "i'll use that." quickly he tied a rope to it, and tossed the box out. "this is better!" exclaimed russ. "now let's take an account of stock, and see what else we can do. we may be here for some time." "we can't live very long in this awful weather!" groaned, rather than spoke, mr. sneed. "oh, don't give up so easily," said russ. but when the storm grew worse, and the tiny craft was buffeted about, shipping considerable water, even stout-hearted russ was not as hopeful as he had been. he had stowed the camera in a safe place, and put the films in a water-tight box well forward. then the only thing to do was to wait. in vain he scanned the sea through the storm for a sight of the schooner. he could catch no glimpse of her. meanwhile the lookout on the _mary ellen_ was eagerly watching for any signs of the _ajax_, but he had even less chance of seeing her than russ and mr. sneed did of sighting the larger vessel. the storm was constantly growing worse. as old jack had said, the schooner had actually been caught in the very vortex of it, but the whirling motion, imparted by the meeting of two different wind currents, had been the saving of the craft. she had been shunted to the outer edge, as a cork, going around in a whirlpool, is sometimes tossed to safety by the very violence of the motion. then she had scudded before the gale. all that night they scudded before the storm, not knowing where they were, and when morning came there was a wild and tumultuous waste of waters all about them. alice ventured up on deck, against the advice of her father and sister. she saw jack jepson and some sailors amidships. they seemed to be in earnest consultation. alice drew near them, intending to ask if there were any news. as she came near the mainmast, there was a sudden veer to the craft, a snapping, splintering sound, and the mast, with its gear of sail, boom and gaff crashed over the side, smashing the stout bulwarks. "look out, gal!" hoarsely cried old jack, and he snatched alice back only just in time, for the mast splintered down right in front of her. with the crash and splintering of the wood, and the breaking of the side of the schooner, there arose the cry of: "we're wrecked! we're wrecked!" chapter xxii "mutiny!" jack jepson's first thought was to get alice to a place of safety. "you shouldn't have come up!" he shouted in her ear, as he fairly carried her along the sloping deck. he had to shout to be heard above the roar of the wind, the pounding of the broken mast against the side of the schooner, and the swish of the salt water whipped into spray by the powerful gale. jack set alice down at the head of the companionway, and indicated by gestures, rather than words, that she was to go below. as she descended the sloping stairs, holding to the rope rail to prevent stumbling, she saw captain brisco spring forward. whatever else he was, the commander did not shrink from any emergency. "cut away that mast!" he cried. "she'll have us stove in if we don't cut her loose!" "aye, aye, sir!" answered jack. he and several other sailors had seized axes as soon as the result of the crash was seen, and now sprang to the broken bulwarks, over which the mainmast lay, the jagged end of it in the water, pounding against the side of the schooner at every roll, and threatening to punch a hole in her as a battering ram punctures a wall. "strike hard, men!" called jack, and the sound of their axes followed. ropes were severed with a blow, but the wire shrouds were tougher, and it was not until several minutes had passed that the mast, with its tangle of sails and ropes, was chopped free to float away on the crest of a billow. "get up the mizzen storm sail!" ordered captain brisco. "she's falling off!" the schooner was indeed in danger of wallowing in the trough of the big waves. pausing only for a moment, the sailors who had labored so valiantly at cutting loose the broken mast, sprang to get more sail on the craft. she was deprived of the reefed, or shortened, one that had been on the stick which was now overboard, and the jib was not enough to hold her head to the waves. "what is it? oh what is it?" gasped miss pennington as alice fell, rather than walked down the companionway into the cabin. "are we sinking?" demanded miss dixon. "not at all!" answered alice, catching her breath, and, with a shake of her head freeing her face from the salty spray that had drenched her. "it isn't anything at all." she determined to make light of it, even though her own heart was beating like a hammer at the thought of her narrow escape from possible death. alice really did not know whether there was any danger or not from the fall of the mast. she had often read of such things happening, and she remembered that the masts were always "cut away." so she supposed, as long as this was being done, that the proper course was being followed. "there's no danger at all," she said, speaking more calmly now. "no danger!" cried miss pennington. "listen to that!" it was the noise of sailors on deck chopping away the mast-gear. "oh, one of those upright sticks, that they hang the sails on, fell over. not enough glue on it, i guess," said alice, calmly. "not enough glue!" gasped paul. "well, i never--" "can't you take a joke?" alice whispered to him, as she saw that her minimizing of the accident was having its effect. "oh, yes, of course!" paul exclaimed. "not enough glue on it--oh yes!" and he had to turn away to keep from smiling at the idea of a mast,--that is the most firmly set of anything on a ship, (being indeed almost an integral part of it)--the idea of that being stayed with glue was enough to make almost anyone smile, even in the midst of danger. the sounds on the deck gradually became more quiet. the danger seemed to be over for the time being. the moving picture actors and actresses crowded around alice to hear her story of the accident. she carefully avoided mentioning her own peril, but she resolved to properly thank old jack later. just now alice did not want her father to worry. his throat was troubling him, because of the amount of salt spray in the air. on deck captain brisco and jack jepson took charge of matters until the wreckage had been cleared away. and a lot of wreckage there was. the _mary ellen_ looked little like the trim, schooner that had left new york a few weeks before. jack jepson stepped close to the stump of the mainmast. he gave one look at it, and uttered a single word. "rotten!" he exclaimed. "what's that?" cried captain brisco sharply. "rotten!" repeated the mate. "that mast had dry rot to the very core. only the varnish held her together." "what's that to you?" cried the captain in angry tones. "you keep your opinions to yourself! when i want 'em, i'll ask for 'em! now get below and see if we're taking in any water." "very well, sir," was the answer, but jack gave the captain a queer look. he found some water coming in, but not more, he thought, than the pumps could take care of, so he reported the matter only to captain brisco. "that's good," the commander said, seemingly well pleased. "i guess they can have their fake shipwreck after all, if the weather clears." as the day advanced, the storm lulled slightly, but it was still rough. those of the moving picture company who ventured up on deck went below again with white, scared faces at the sight of the wreckage of the mainmast. for it did look doleful. "this shipwreck comes pretty near being real," said mr. pertell. "if we could only photograph it now, it would make a fine film." "can't you?" asked alice. "yes, i suppose i could make some views." a few hundred feet of film were exposed by one of the operators, but the pretended shipwreck would need to be taken from a small boat, and the sea was too rough to admit of that. then the storm, that had given them a brief respite, began again, worse than before. the schooner was tossed about like a toy, and the mizzenmast was sprung so that no sail could be rigged on it. then when a great wave struck the craft, washing over her from stem to stern, the work of the ocean and the storm elements seemed completed. the _mary ellen_ staggered under the blow like some living thing, and she did not rise to it as buoyantly as she had before. jack jepson came rushing up from below. "we're leaking fast!" he cried. "we'd better take to the boats, captain brisco! the pumps won't work!" "the boats! nonsense!" the captain cried. "we'll ride it out here. the schooner is all right!" "i tell you she's sinking!" yelled jack. "we must take to the boats." "what? do you dare give orders in my face!" stormed captain brisco. "this is mutiny, sir! this is mutiny! i'll put you in irons!" and with raised fist he started toward the old sailor. chapter xxiii help at last jack jepson was a brave man. he proved it then by standing unflinchingly in front of the angry captain, when shrinking back might have meant a blow that would have brought about a general fight. seeing him standing there fearlessly, made captain brisco pause. and that gave the others time for action. "what does this mean?" cried mr. pertell. "he is trying to start a mutiny as he did once before!" fairly yelled captain brisco. "i never started a mutiny before, and i'm not trying to do so now!" retorted jack, and he seemed to have lost much of his timid simplicity. "i tell you the ship is sinking, and we had best take to the boats while there is time." "and i tell you that you are wrong!" snarled captain brisco. "i order you below!" "and i won't go, until i have told these people what is going on here!" retorted jack jepson. "if that isn't mutiny, i'd like to know what is," cried the captain. "well, if that's mutiny, then i'm glad to be a mutineer!" shouted the old salt, "and any court in the land would uphold me, for i am trying to save lives, and you're trying to throw 'em away." "throw 'em away! what do you mean?" "you know what i mean," replied jack, and there was significance in his voice. "i won't say anything about putting to sea in a ship that wasn't fit--with masts that were nothin' but dry rot, and with pumps that only half work at best. and i won't say anything about your plot--there isn't time now. but i will say----" "a plot!" cried alice, who, with ruth, stood near her father. "yes, a plot, miss!" jack jepson cried. "i'll tell you about it later. but now we've got to do something. the water's comin' in fast, and if we can't stop it, we'll have to take to the boats." "look here!" stormed captain brisco, and his voice was almost in keeping with the howl of the gale all about them, and almost as raucous as the salty spray that flew over everything. "look here! who is captain of this ship?" "you are," replied jack quietly enough. he looked the angry man full in the eye, and the half-raised fist of the commander fell again. "then if i'm captain, i'm going to be obeyed!" came next. "i order you below, jepson. you're no longer mate of this craft. you're deposed! hen lacomb, i hereby appoint you first mate until my regular one recovers, and you, hankinson, you're second mate. lively now. jepson, go below, and if he makes any more trouble, hen, clap him in irons," he added significantly. for a moment there was silence following this announcement--that is, as much quiet as the storm permitted. then alice cried out: "father, won't you say something! mr. pertell, you're not going to permit this, are you? i'm sure jack jepson is honest and that he is faithfully warning us. don't let him be put down this way. ask him what he means by a plot!" "oh, alice!" protested her sister. "at a time like this--when we may all be drowned!" "we'll all be drowned worse, maybe, if jack's advice isn't taken. what is it?" she asked, appealing to the old sailor. "what is the plot you spoke of?" "ask him?" cried the old salt, pointing an accusing finger at the captain. "ask him, and if he doesn't tell you, i will. talk about a mutiny! it wouldn't be half as bad as his plot for getting possession of this vessel." "what's that!" cried captain brisco, starting forward. "you dare accuse me----" "yes, you and hen lacomb!" cried jack, who seemed to have acquired a new boldness. "i charge you with plotting to make a fizzle of the shipwreck these picture people planned. you were going to pretend the vessel was sinking, before the time set for the pictures, and you were going to get them to abandon the schooner. then you and lacomb were going to come back to the ship later, take her to some secret port, fit her out again and use her for your own purposes. "that's the plot! that's what i overheard you and lacomb plannin', and when you suspected i knew, you thought i'd be better off in the sea. that's how i happened to go overboard. i was thrown! that's what i charge you with. deny it if ye dare!" and he pointed an accusing finger at the two men. "you threw me overboard, hen lacomb! and captain brisco planned to have you do it!" captain brisco appeared to struggle with some emotion. his face went red and white by turns. he seemed unable to speak. but at last he choked out: "what! you dare say that to me. you accuse me----!" "yes, and i have the proof!" cried jack. "here's the agreement you made lacomb sign. you were afraid to trust to him unless he made a promise in writing, and here it is. i found it in the secret compartment in your cabin. your cabin that used to be mine in the old _mary ellen_. that's how i made sure this ship was the old one i used to serve on, made over. i found this agreement! it's the proof of what i say. deny it if you can." "why--why--" stammered the captain. "do you dare--" but it seemed he could not get any farther. he glanced at hen lacomb who stood near him. a meaning look passed between the two men, and hen started edging around toward jack jepson. "father! mr. pertell!" cried alice. "let us have this settled! jack has made charges. they may be true or they may not be. but our lives surely are in danger if this vessel is sinking." "and i say she isn't sinking! she's as sound as a bell below the water line!" cried the captain. "and i say she has a hole stove in her, an' unless it's stopped we'll be at the bottom in a few hours!" cried jack. "the mast knocked a hole in her and she's takin' water fast. the pumps are no good, but they can be fixed with a little work on 'em." "keep still!" the captain shouted. "you're under arrest as a mutineer." "no he isn't!" exclaimed mr. pertell. "this is my vessel. i'm the chief owner of it, and i here and now depose you as captain, mr. brisco, and appoint jack jepson in your place!" there was a gasp of baffled rage from the former commander. "jack, take charge," said mr. pertell. "select as mates whoever you want. we'll go into this matter of the plot later. just now we must save the ship if we can. everything must give way to that. do you accept?" "what! him captain?" cried hen lacomb, who was edging nearer and nearer to jack all this while. "why not?" asked mr. pertell. "he doesn't know how to navigate. he'll run us aground." "i wish he _would_ run us on der ground!" murmured mr. switzer. "i haf hat enough of der ocean. der ground is goot enough for me." "i can navigate!" cried jack. "i hold a master's certificate, though i've only filled mates' berths of late." "i--i refuse to serve under him," stormed captain brisco. "and when we reach port, i shall lay this matter before the authorities. you can't depose a captain this way!" "can't i?" asked mr. pertell coolly. "i rather think i can. i looked up the law on the rights of owners before i started on this voyage. jack jepson is captain." "and i refuse to serve under him." "very well. then you can either work your passage, or pay for your passage, i don't care which. but i'm going to save this ship, and the lives of those aboard her, if i can." there was a sudden little scuffle near jack jepson, and hen lacomb went sprawling on the deck. "no you don't!" drawled mr. switzer in his most german comedian voice. "i think you haf fallen. dit you hurt yourself?" he asked of the prostrate hen. the latter, with a growl, got to his feet, an angry look on his face. "what happened?" asked mr. pertell. "oh, noddings dit happen," was the reply. "it iss only vat might haf happenet. he vas getting so close by jack dot jack might fall ofer board again, und ve don't vant to lose our new captain so soon yet," explained mr. switzer cheerfully. he thus made light of the affair, but later it came out that hen lacomb had evidently had the intention of at least trying to pitch jack overboard, as the easiest solution of the trouble of captain brisco and his crony. "this is enough!" cried mr. pertell. "jack, you're captain. do what you like to insure the safety of us and the ship. captain brisco is no longer in command of this vessel," the manager went on to a wondering group of sailors. "i call for three cheers for captain jack jepson!" they were given with a will, for evidently jack was a favorite, and the deposed captain was not. the latter slunk below followed by hen lacomb. "we've got to try to stop that leak first of all!" said jack, as he carefully put in his pocket the paper he had claimed was an agreement between brisco and his crony. "i appoint jim west as first mate and frank snyder as second!" the new captain went on. "come below, you two, and we'll see what we can do. we've got to mend the pumps. keep her about as she is," he ordered the steersman. "aye, aye, sir!" was the respectful answer. jack was already developing new qualities as a commander. "this is a distressing state of affairs," said mr. devere. "not as bad as it might be," mr. pertell answered. "there is a chance for us now. i never dreamed that brisco was such a scoundrel." "oh, i'm so glad captain jack is in charge!" cried alice. "and i'm so glad he found out about the plot. maybe this will help to clear him of the other unjust charge," she went on. "perhaps," agreed ruth. "but oh, alice! if we should sink!" "nonsense! we're not going to sink!" and so it proved--at least the _mary ellen_ was not doomed to go to the bottom at once. the storm still raged with seemingly unabated violence, but the sailors, under the direction of captain jepson, got a heavy piece of canvas over the worst leak, and then the repaired pumps kept the water in the hold down to a normal level. the failure of the pumps to work, until jack and the men fixed them was due to criminal negligence on the part of brisco. he put to sea with this necessary part of a ship in poor condition, not thinking they would be needed. brisco was a desperate man, and so was lacomb. they had been involved in more than one shady transaction, and though both may have been aboard with jack, during the mutiny, they successfully covered their tracks. brisco and lacomb sulked below, and, for the time being, no effort was made to bring them up and set them to work, though every hand was needed. some of the members of the film company turned in and helped. it was thought better not to incite a fight. so the _mary ellen_ lurched on through the storm, a mere semblance of the gallant craft she had appeared to be on leaving port. and those aboard labored desperately to keep her afloat. "talk about a shipwreck!" gasped mr. pertell, as a wave drenched him, "this is the most realistic i ever saw. if i could only picture this!" but it was impossible. how the planned drama of the sea would end, no one could tell. "and oh! to think of poor russ and mr. sneed out in this--if they _are_ still out in it," murmured alice, as she and ruth clung to one another in their cabin. "the _ajax_ may have survived," ruth said, hopefully. and indeed, at that moment, the motorboat was making the best of the bad weather. the sea anchor which russ had rigged provided the necessary drag and steerage way, and the boat's head was kept to the waves. her high bow, and covered fore-part, enabled her to ride seas that would have swamped another craft of like size. and her dory-build added to her safety. the bank fishermen know well how to shape a boat to meet heavy seas. "well, we seem to be doing fairly well," said russ, as he and his companion settled down in the shelter, to nibble at a bit of hard tack and drink some of the water jack had put on board. "yes, i suppose it might be worse," agreed mr. sneed. and that, for him, was saying a great deal. so the _ajax_ drifted on, as the _mary ellen_ was driving, before the gale, the occupants of neither craft knowing aught of the others. and the storm still raged. after a while russ, for want of something better to do, began looking over the motor. presently he discovered something that made him shout for joy. "what is it?" asked his companion. "do you see the schooner?" "no, but i can make this boat run. look, the propeller hasn't dropped off at all! the set screws of the sleeve have become loose and the propeller shaft didn't turn, that was all." if any of you know anything about motor-boats, you know that the shaft which passes through the stuffing box, and to which shaft the propeller is fastened, is joined to the shaft of the engine by a coupling, or sleeve. if you take two lead pencils, and thrust an end of each into each end of a hollow, brass pencil holder, you will get an idea of what i mean. one pencil will represent the shaft to which the propeller is fastened, and the other the engine shaft. the brass holder is the coupling, or sleeve. in order that the shafts will be held rigidly together, turning at the same time, set screws in the sleeve are tightly turned down on the shaft, binding both in the sleeve. it was the set screws on the propeller shaft that had loosed, allowing the sleeve to slip uselessly around, that had caused all the trouble. with a wrench russ tightened the screws. he tested them, and, finding them firm, started the engine. a moment later the _ajax_ was moving over the waves under her own power. "hurray!" cried mr. sneed. "this is great!" "and we don't need this any longer," russ said, hauling in the drag anchor. then, able to mount the waves, the motorboat was in much better condition for fighting the storm. on and on she rushed. hour after hour passed, but the gale showed no signs of abating. the two young men were weary and disheartened, when, as there came a little rift in the clouds russ, who stood up to look about, gave a yell. "what is it now?" asked mr. sneed. "more trouble?" "no!" cried russ. "i see a steamer. help at last! i'm going straight for her!" chapter xxiv a signal of distress russ had been running the motor at moderate speed, for he did not know just how long the supply of gasoline would last, and he did not know as yet what might be before him and his companion in distress. but the sight of the steamer gave him hope, and he turned on full speed. the _ajax_ was a powerful craft, though even a mighty steamer would not have found it easy to make headway in that sea and in that gale. the motor craft responded gallantly, and shot up on the crest of each wave, sliding down the opposite side as though she were going to investigate the uttermost depths of father neptune's caverns. "steamer! i don't see any steamer!" exclaimed mr. sneed, as he looked in the direction toward which the face of russ was turned. "you will when we both come on top of a wave at the same time," was the answer. "you see we lie so low in the water she can't see us, and we can't glimpse her until we're both on a crest together. she's off to the east there. watch and you'll see her. look now!" at that moment the _ajax_ rose on a mighty wave, which lifted her high toward the sky, in which were now rifted clouds. mr. sneed glanced to where russ pointed, and saw the long, black hull of a steamer, from whose stacks belched forth clouds of smoke, showing that her engines were being driven at top speed to overcome the storm. "there she is!" cried russ. "now if we can only reach her, we'll be all right, and we can help the others." "the others," murmured the actor. "yes, those on the _mary ellen_. she must be in trouble in this storm, for she isn't built for this sort of thing. it's a wonder she lasted as long as she did." "maybe she's at the bottom now," suggested mr. sneed. "cheerful, aren't you?" remarked russ. "i thought you'd given that sort of thing up." "i meant to. i really did. i'm sorry!" the other exclaimed, contritely enough. really he was a different sort of mr. sneed from the "human grouch" who often made matters so unpleasant for members of the comet film company. since he and russ had so nearly faced death, mr. sneed was much braver and more cheerful. "i think she'll keep afloat for some time," russ went on, "as she is all wood, you know. she may be pretty well battered, though." if he could only have seen the hapless _mary ellen_ then, he would have believed her quite battered indeed. for another rotten mast had fallen. "do you mean you're going to ask those on the steamer to look for the schooner," asked mr. sneed. "that's what i'm going to do, if we can get to her," russ said. "it's going to be nip and tuck, for she's going fast and she won't see us, as we're so low in the water. she's not heading in our direction, either, but i'll go after her on a long slant, and maybe i can reach her, or get near enough to make her see us. this is a pretty fast boat." they were speeding over the waves, now down in a hollow, and again on the crest. sometimes they would lose sight of the steamer altogether, and again they would catch a fleeting glimpse of her. and, when they did, she seemed farther off than ever. "oh, we'll never reach her!" said mr. sneed, despondently enough. "she'll never give us any aid." "there you go!" cried russ. "i thought you'd given up that sort of thing!" "well, i didn't mean just that," the actor said. "perhaps we will make her see us after all." "that's better!" exclaimed russ. "we'll get her--or crack a cylinder!" and he tried to get a few more revolutions out of the fly wheel. in spite of their brave front, russ and his companion were sufficiently miserable. their boat constantly shipped water, and they had to use the hand force pump, which, fortunately, was in the craft. a pump was connected with the cylinder cooling apparatus, designed to free the cockpit of bilge water, but the pump would not work. russ and mr. sneed were wet through, for the cabin could not be entirely closed against the spray. and they had nothing to eat except cold victuals. there was a gasoline stove aboard, but there was nothing to cook, for only an emergency ration had been put in the craft, and that was more because of a whim on the part of jack jepson, than because he really thought it would be needed. but more than once as they drank of the water, and nibbled the hard biscuits, or crackers, in the water-tight box, russ and his companion blessed the forethought of honest jack jepson--i beg his pardon, captain jepson it was now, though neither russ nor mr. sneed knew that. "i think i'll hoist a signal," said the actor, as they drove on, now seeing the steamer, and again losing her. "good idea," russ agreed, as he busied himself with an oil can. mr. sneed managed to lash an oar upright, and on it he fastened a bit of canvas. it stood out straight, like a board, so strong was the wind that whipped it. "i hope they see that," commented the actor. "i hope so, too," added russ. "it doesn't do any good to yell, for the wind is blowing from them to us." more than once, as they urged their craft on a long slant toward the steamer, they almost gave up hope. but it sprang up again, and finally, as a break in the clouds let out a little rift of light, someone on the watch aboard the steamer saw the fluttering signal. "she's seen us! she's seen us!" cried russ in delight. "how can you tell?" demanded his companion. "she whistled. i saw the steam. you'll hear the blast in a second." and they did. light travels faster than sound. they saw the steam from the powerful whistle before they heard the hoarse blast; even as one sees the flash of a gun before hearing the report. the steamer changed her course, and came on toward the motorboat. "suppose it's the english one, that wants to capture poor jack," suggested mr. sneed. "that doesn't make any difference," russ said. "she'll save us, and then look for the schooner. we can take up jack's case later." it did not prove to be the english steamer. instead it was a powerful fruiter, hailing from new york, and russ and mr. sneed were soon aboard, the _ajax_ being hoisted to her deck. then she resumed her course, but it was a different one. for, on the earnest plea of russ and mr. sneed, the steamer's captain consented to turn back and search for the _mary ellen_. "i don't know as i'll find her," he said, "but we can't let all those poor souls perish." so the search began. it lasted three days, during which the storm nearly blew itself out. and on the morning of the fourth day, when the sullen sea was trying to calm itself, and when the wind had died down to a moderate gale, the lookout of the _sirius_ called out: "sail ho!" "where away?" came the demand. "dead ahead. she's a schooner, low in the water, and she's flying a signal of distress!" chapter xxv clear skies instantly there was commotion and excitement on board the _sirius_, for russ and mr. sneed had told their story of the starting out to make a pictured shipwreck, which shipwreck had evidently, now, become real. "that's the _mary ellen_, i'm sure of it!" russ cried as he caught a glimpse of the sighted schooner. "but what has happened to her?" "masts are gone, and she's sinking," one of the steamer's officers told him. "i guess we can't get to her any too quickly." and it was high time a rescue was made, for captain jepson, and mr. pertell had decided to take to the boats with all on board. the _mary ellen_ _was_ sinking; there was no doubt of that. all that could be done had been done, but to no avail. but hope revived when the steamer was sighted. a little later, the _sirius_ stood by. and high time, too. as a last resort, when it was found that the repaired pumps could not keep the water down in the hold, so big was the leak, the signal of distress had been hoisted. and, after many anxious hours, it had been thus providentially answered. then a thought came to mr. pertell. the weather had cleared. the schooner would keep afloat a few hours more. why not make the pictures of the shipwreck now? it would be his only chance. true, they would not be just as planned, but they would be better than losing all the efforts that had been made. there was a brief talk with the captain of the _sirius_. he consented to stand by until the sea drama, quickly revised, was acted out--at least, until shipwreck scenes were portrayed. it was rather an exciting time, the passengers dropping overboard from the sinking schooner, and being rescued in boats. russ, on board the _ajax_, which was again put into the sea, worked the camera. the _mary ellen_ made a more realistic wreck than had been hoped for. former captain brisco and hen lacomb, alone, refused to take any part in the drama. at last the final film was run off, the last rescue was made by the motor craft and small boats, and all, passengers and crew, from the sinking schooner, were taken aboard the _sirius_. "there she goes!" said alice softly, as, with a final lurch, and a blowing up of her decks, from the compressed air under them, the old craft, bow first went beneath the waves. russ took the final pictures. "game to the last!" said captain jepson. "she went down bow on, to show she wasn't afraid of davy jones! that's the last of her, and the last of brisco's schemes to get her for his own use." "tell me about that now," suggested mr. pertell. "i have time to listen now, for we aren't trying to save a sinking ship." they were all now safely aboard the steamer, which had resumed her course. the moving pictures had all been taken, save some that needed a shore background, and these could be done later. "did brisco really plot to get the _mary ellen_?" asked the manager. "he did," said jack jepson. "i'll tell you the whole story." and he did. briefly it was this: on his first trip to the schooner, jack had recognized brisco as an unscrupulous man who had been engaged in several shady ship transactions. but brisco denied his identity, and jack pretended to have been mistaken, in order to throw him off his guard. brisco was also, jack said, one of the mutineers of the _halcyon_, but the plotter denied this, and jack admitted he may have been mistaken. then came the advent of hen lacomb, whom jepson recognized as a fellow plotter with brisco. the evil men knew him, too, after a bit, but they counted on the charge of mutiny hanging over him to make him keep quiet, and not reveal their plot. brisco and lacomb plotted to get the schooner for themselves. they were not really going to endanger the lives of the passengers or crew, but their game was to only pretend to sink the ship, and to raise such an alarm that she would be hastily abandoned. then they would come back to her later, salvage her, and use her for their own ends. jack jepson had overheard this plot, and, as he had said, found the incriminating document signed by lacomb. this was hidden in a secret compartment in what had formerly been his bunk, when the schooner was the _halcyon_. when brisco and lacomb discovered that jepson knew their secret, they tried to get rid of him, by a seeming accident. but fate interfered with their plans, and the storm made a big change. then came the deposing of captain brisco, and the rest of the story is known to my readers. "well, jack jepson--or, captain jepson, though you haven't now command of any ship," said mr. pertell, "we owe much to you." "it's nothin' at all," jack said, modestly enough. "when i saw this steamer, though, i thought it was that britisher coming back for me." "it's a shame that the charge of mutiny should hang over you!" exclaimed alice. "i think it should be wiped out." "i wish it could be," jack said with a sigh. a steward, a little later, came to where the rescued ones were talking together--brisco and lacomb having gone off by themselves--and the steward said the steamer's captain wanted to talk to the schooner's commander. "there he is," said mr. pertell, pointing to jack jepson. "that's our new captain." the steward looked. a queer change came over his face. "jack!" he cried. "is it really you? i've looked all over the world for you!" "tom buttle!" cried jepson, leaping to his feet. "my old shipmate. say, if anyone knows, you do, that i never had a thing to do with that mutiny on the _halcyon_. don't you know i didn't?" "of course i do!" the steward cried. "i can prove you were as innocent as a babe, and i know others who can, too." "what's this--more of the mystery?" asked alice. "it's the end of it, i hope," said jack solemnly. "tell 'em, tom!" "there isn't much to tell," the steward said. "i was a shipmate with jack on the _halcyon_ or the _mary ellen_, in the old days. he's probably told you of the mutiny. i was hurt in it, and lay unconscious when they arrested him for it. i didn't recover until he had been put in jail, and when i tried to give my evidence, i could get no one to listen to me. then i heard jack had escaped and i rested easy. i never knew the charge was hanging over him all this while. "i've been all over the world since, sailing in different vessels, and in every port i'd inquire of jack from those who knew him. but i never found him until now. clear him--of course i can clear him of the unjust charge!" "thank heaven for that!" said jack jepson. "everything is cleared up!" cried alice gaily. "even the sky--see how blue it is!" in due time jack's innocence was proved before the english courts, and the charge against him wiped out. he was then free to come and go as he pleased. but the mystery of the disappearance of captain watson, of the _halcyon_, or old _mary ellen_, and his companion, mike tullane, was never solved. the _mary ellen_, all that was left of the reconstructed _halcyon_, was, of course, a total wreck. brisco's plan failed. nothing was done to him, as it would have been difficult to prove a case against him. arrangements were made for taking the needed land scenes of the sea drama, and when this was done, the whole company returned to new york. "well, alice," remarked ruth one day, as they were on their way up the coast in a steamer, "did you have enough of sea-life this trip?" "i certainly did," was the answer. "no more shipwrecks for me!" "same here!" put in russ. "it's taking too many chances!" "oh, you'd do it over again--or something like it--and so would you girls, if you knew a good film would come of it," predicted paul ardite, with a laugh. and here we will say good-bye to the moving picture girls. note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustration. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h.zip) the moving picture girls snowbound or the proof on the film by laura lee hope author of "the moving picture girls," "the moving picture girls at oak farm," "the outdoor girls series," "the bobbsey twins series," etc. illustrated the world syndicate publishing co. cleveland new york made in u.s.a. copyright, , by grosset & dunlap press of the commercial bookbinding co. cleveland [illustration: the moving picture race was on. _the moving girls snowbound._--_page_ .] contents chapter page i trouble ii an unpleasant visitor iii russ to the rescue iv a funny film v a queer accident vi new plans vii off to the woods viii a breakdown ix the blizzard x at elk lodge xi through the ice xii the curious deer xiii the coasting race xiv on snowshoes xv a timely shot xvi in the ice cave xvii the rescue xviii snowbound xix on short rations xx the thaw xxi in the storm xxii the three men xxiii the plan of russ xxiv the proof on the film xxv the moving picture the moving picture girls snowbound chapter i trouble "daddy is late; isn't he, ruth?" asked alice devere of her sister, as she looked up from her sewing. "a little," answered the girl addressed, a tall, fair maid, with deep blue eyes, in the depths of which hidden meaning seemed to lie, awaiting discovery by someone. "a little!" exclaimed alice, who was rather plump, and whose dark brown hair and eyes were in pleasing contrast to her sister's fairness. "why, he's more than an hour late, and he's seldom that! he promised to be back from the moving picture studio at four, and now it's after five." "i know, dear, but you remember he said he had many things to talk over with mr. pertell, and perhaps it has taken him longer than he anticipated. "besides you know there are some new plans to be considered," went on ruth. "mr. pertell wants to get some different kinds of moving pictures--snow scenes, i believe--and perhaps he has kept daddy to talk about them. but why are you so impatient? are you afraid something has happened to him?" "gracious, no! what put that idea into your head?" "well, i didn't know whether you had noticed it or not, but poor daddy hasn't been quite himself since we came back from oak farm. i am afraid something is bothering him--or worrying him." "perhaps it is his voice, though it has seemed better of late." "i think not," said ruth, slowly, as she bent her head in a listening attitude, for a step was coming along the hallway in the fenmore apartment, where the devere girls and their father had their rather limited quarters. "that isn't he," said ruth, with a little sigh of disappointment. "i thought at first it was. no, i don't mean that it was his voice, alice. that really seems better since he so suddenly became hoarse, and had to take up moving picture work instead of the legitimate drama he loves so much. it is some other trouble, alice." "i hadn't noticed it, i confess. but i suppose you'll say that i'm so flighty i never notice anything." "i never called you flighty, dear. you are of a lively disposition, that's all." "and you are a wee bit too much the other way, sister mine!" and then, to take any sting out of the words, alice rose from her chair with a bound, crossed the room in a rush, and flung her arms about her sister, embracing her heartily and kissing her. "oh, alice!" protested the other. "you are crushing me!" "i'm a regular bear, i suppose. hark, is that daddy?" they both listened, but the footsteps died away as before. "why are you so anxious?" "i want some money, sister mine, and daddy promised to bring my moving picture salary up with him. i wanted to do a little shopping before the stores close. but i'm afraid it's too late now," the girl added, ruefully. "daddy said he'd be here in plenty of time, and he never disappointed me before." "oh, if that's all you're worrying about, i'll lend you some money." "will you, really? then i'll get ready and go. there's that little french shop just around the corner. they keep open after the others. madame morey is so thrifty, and there was the sweetest shirt waist in the window the other day. i hope it isn't gone! i'll get ready at once. you be getting out the money, ruth, dear. is there anything i can get for you? it's awfully kind of you. shall i bring back anything for supper?" "gracious, what a rattlebox you're getting to be, alice," spoke ruth, soberly, as she laid aside her sewing and went to the bureau for her pocketbook. "that's half of life!" laughed the younger girl. "quick, ruth, i want to get out and get back, and be here when daddy comes. i want to hear all about the new plans for taking moving picture plays. is that the money? thanks! i'm off!" and the girl fairly rushed down the hall of the apartment. ruth heard her call a greeting to mrs. dalwood, who lived across the corridor--a cheery greeting, in her fresh, joyous voice. "dear little sister!" murmured ruth, as she sat with folded hands, looking off into space and meditating. "she enjoys life!" and certainly alice devere did. not that ruth did not also; but it was in a different way. alice was of a more lively disposition, and her father said she reminded him every day more and more of her dead mother. ruth had an element of romanticism in her character, which perhaps accounted for her dreaminess at times. in the work of acting and posing for moving pictures, which was what the two girls, and their father, a veteran actor, were engaged in, ruth always played the romantic parts, while nothing so rejoiced alice as to have a hoydenish part to enact. alice hastened along the streets, now covered with a film of newly fallen snow. it was sifting down from a leaden sky, and the clouds had added to the darkness which was already coming that november evening. "oh, it's good to be alive, such weather as this!" alice exulted as she hastened along, the crisp air and the exercise bringing to her cheeks a deeper bloom. her eyes shone, and there was so much of life and youth and vitality in her that, as she hastened along through the falling snow, which dusted itself on her furs, more than one passerby turned to look at her in admiration. she was a "moving picture" in herself. she lingered long in the quaint little french shop, there were so many bargains in the way of lingerie. alice looked at many longingly, and turned some over more longingly, but she thought of her purse, and knew it would not stand the strain to which she contemplated putting it. "i'll just have to wait about the others, madame," she said, with a sigh. "i've really bought more now than i intended." "i hope zat mademoiselle will come often!" laughed the french woman. back through the streets, now covered with snow, hastened alice, tripping lightly, and now and then, when she thought no one was watching her, she took a little run and slide, as in the days of her childhood. not that she was much more than a child still, being only a little over fifteen. ruth was two years her senior, but ruth considered herself quite "grown up." "i wonder if daddy has come back yet?" alice mused, as she hastened on to the apartment. "that looks like russ dalwood ahead of me," she went on, referring to the son of the neighbor across the hall. russ "filmed," or made the moving pictures for the company by whom mr. devere and his daughters were engaged. "yes, it is russ!" the girl exclaimed. "he has probably come right from the studio, and he'll know about daddy. russ! russ!" she called, as she came nearer to the young man. he turned, and a welcoming smile lighted his face. "oh, hello, alice!" he greeted, genially. "where's ruth?" "just for that i shan't tell you! don't you want to walk with _me_?" she asked, archly. "why must you always ask for ruth when i meet you alone?" "i didn't! i mean--i--er----" "oh, don't try to make it any worse!" she laughed at his discomfiture. "let it go at that! did you just come from the studio?" "yes, and we had a hard day of it. i forget how many thousand feet of film i reeled off." "was my father there?" "yes, he was with mr. pertell when i came out." "i wonder what makes him so late?" "oh, there's a rush of work on. but i think he'll be along soon, for i heard mr. pertell say he wouldn't keep him five minutes." "that's good. oh, dear! isn't it slippery!" she cried, as she barely saved herself from falling. "take my arm," invited russ. "thanks, i will. i came out in a hurry to do a little shopping. ruth is at home. there, i told you after all. i'm of a forgiving spirit, you see." "i see," he laughed. they stepped along lightly together, laughing and talking, for russ was almost like a brother to the devere girls, though the two families had only known each other since both had come to the fenmore apartment, about a year before. "did they film any big plays to-day?" asked alice. "i know mr. pertell said he wouldn't need ruth and myself, so of course they didn't do anything really good. not at all conceited; am i?" she asked, with a rippling laugh. "well, you're right this time--there wasn't much of importance doing," russ replied. "miss pennington and miss dixon had some pretty good parts, but the stuff was mostly comic to-day." "that suited mr. switzer, then. i think he is the nicest german comedian i ever knew, and i met quite a number when father was appearing in real plays." "yes, switzer is a good sort. but you should have seen mr. sneed to-day!" "found fault with everything; eh?" "i should say so, and then some, as the boys say. he said something was sure to happen before the day was over, and it did--a stone wall fell on him." "really?" "really, but not real stone. it was one of pop snooks's scenic creations. one of the pieces of wood hit mr. sneed on the head, so something happened. and what a fuss he made! he's the real grouch of the company, all right. well, here we are!" and the young man guided his companion into the hallway of the fenmore. "see you again!" called alice, as she went into her door and russ into his. "is that you, alice?" called ruth, from an inner room. "yes, dear. has daddy come home?" "not yet. i wonder if we'd better telephone?" "no, i just met russ, and he said daddy would be right along. he's planning something with mr. pertell." the table was nearly prepared when a step was heard in the hall. "there he is now!" cried alice, as she flew to open the door before her father could get out his key. but as he entered, and alice reached up to kiss him, she cried out in amazement at the look on his face. "why, daddy! has anything happened?" she asked. "yes," he said in his hoarse voice--a hoarseness caused by a throat affection. "yes, something has happened, or is going to. i'm in serious trouble!" chapter ii an unpleasant visitor ruth overheard the question asked by alice, and her father's answer. she came in swiftly, and put her arms about him, as her sister had done. "oh, daddy dear, what is it?" she asked, anxiously. "i--i'll tell you--presently," he replied, chokingly. "i am a little out of breath. i am getting too--too stout. and my throat has bothered me a good deal of late. would you mind getting me that throat spray and medicine dr. rathby left? that always helps me." "i'll get it," offered alice, quickly, as her father sank into a chair, and while she searched in the medicine closet for it, there was a dull ache in her heart. more trouble! and there had been so much of it of late. the sun had seemed to break through the clouds, and now it had gone behind again. and while the girls are thus preparing to minister to their father, i will tell my new readers something of the previous books of this series, and a little about the main characters. in the initial volume, entitled "the moving picture girls; or, first appearances in photo dramas," i related how mr. hosmer devere, a talented actor, suddenly lost his voice, by the return of an old throat affection. he had just been "cast" for an important part in a new play, but had to give it up, as he could not speak distinctly enough to be heard across the footlights. the devere family fortunes were at low ebb, and money was much needed. by accident russ dalwood, a moving picture operator, suggested to one of the girls that their father might act for a moving picture film company, as he would not have to use his voice in such employment. how mr. devere took the engagement, and how ruth and alice followed him, as well as their part in helping russ to save a valuable camera patent--all this you will find set down in the first book. in the second volume, entitled "the moving picture girls at oak farm; or, queer happenings while taking rural plays," the scene was shifted to the country. there you may read of many strange occurrences, as well as funny ones--how alice fell into the water--but there! i must save my space in this book for the happenings of it. i might add that, incidentally, the girls helped to solve a strange mystery concerning oak farm, and solved it in a way that made glad the hearts of mr. and mrs. felix apgar, the parents of sandy, and of the heart of sandy himself. mr. frank pertell was the manager of the comet film company, with whom mr. devere and his daughters had an engagement, and the entire company, including the deveres, spent a whole summer at oak farm, in new jersey, making rural plays. the company had just returned to new york city, to finish some dramas there, and mr. pertell was working on new plans, which were not, as yet, fully developed. the comet film company included a number of people, and you will meet some of them from time to time as this story advances. you have already heard of a few members. in addition there was wellington bunn, a former shakespearean actor, who could never seem to get away from an ambition to do hamlet. pepper sneed was the "grouch" of the company, always finding fault, or worrying lest something happen. paul ardite was the "leading juvenile," the father of the moving picture girls being the leading man. the girls themselves, though comparatively new to the business, had made wonderful strides, for they had the advantage of private "coaching" at home from mr. devere. miss pearl pennington and miss laura dixon were former vaudeville actresses, who had gone into the "movies," and between them and the deveres there was not the best of feeling; caused by the jealousy of the former. carl switzer, a german with a marked accent, generally did "comics." then there was mrs. maguire, who did "old woman" parts. she had two grandchildren, tommy and nellie, who frequently played minor rôles. "do you feel any better, daddy?" asked ruth, as she took from her father's hand the atomizer he had been using on his throat. "yes, the pain is much less. dr. rathby's medicine is a wonderful help." "do you feel like--talking?" inquired alice gently, for she saw that the worried look had not left her father's face. "yes," he answered, with a smile, "but i do not want to burden you girls with all of my troubles." "why shouldn't you?" asked ruth, quickly. "who would you share your troubles with, if not with us? we must help each other!" "yes, i suppose so," returned mr. devere, in a low voice. "and yet, after all, i suppose this is not such a terrible trouble. it will not kill any of us. but it will make a hard pull for me if i cannot prove my contention." "what is that?" asked alice. "is there some trouble with the film company? you haven't lost your engagement; have you, daddy?" "oh, no, it isn't that," he answered. "i'll tell you. just a little more of that spray, please, alice. i will then be better able to talk." in a few moments he resumed: "did you ever hear me speak of a dan merley?" "you mean that man who came to see you when we lived in the other apartment--the nicer one?" asked ruth, for the fenmore was not one of the high-class residences of new york. the deveres had not been able to afford a better home in the time of their poverty. and when better days came they had still remained, as they liked their neighbors, the dalwoods. then, too, they had been away all summer at oak farm. "yes, that was the man," replied mr. devere. "well, in my hard luck days i borrowed five hundred dollars from him to meet some pressing needs. i gave him my note for it. by hard work, later, i was able to scrape the five hundred dollars together, and i paid him back. "unfortunately dan merley was a bit under the influence of drink when i gave him the cash, and he could not find my promissory note to return to me. "he promised to send it around to me the next day, and, very foolishly, as i see it now, i let him keep the money, not even getting a receipt for it. i am not a business man--never was one. i trusted dan merley, and i should not have done so." "why?" asked ruth. "because he came to me to-day, for the first time in several months, and demanded his five hundred dollars. i told him i had paid it, and tried to recall to him the circumstances. but, as i said, he was slightly intoxicated when i gave him the bills, and his mind was not clear. he declares positively that i never paid him, and he says he will make trouble for me if i do not hand him over the money in a short time." "but you did give it to him, daddy!" exclaimed alice. "of course i did; but i have no proof." "did you pay him by check?" asked ruth, who was quite a business woman, and keeper of the house. "unfortunately i was not prosperous enough in those days to have a bank account," answered mr. devere. "a check would be a receipt; but i haven't that. in fact, i haven't a particle of evidence to show that i paid the money. and dan merley has my note. he could sue me on it, and any court would give him a judgment against me, so he could collect." "but that would be paying him twice!" exclaimed alice. "i know it, and that is the injustice of it. it would be out of the question for me to raise five hundred dollars now. my throat treatment has been expensive, and though we are making good money at the moving picture business, i have not enough to pay this debt twice." "he is a wicked man!" burst out alice. "my dear!" ruth gently reproved. "i don't care! he is, to make daddy pay twice!" "yes, it is hard lines," sighed the veteran actor. "i have begged and pleaded with merley, imploring him to try and remember that i paid him, but he is positive that i did not do so." "do you suppose he really thinks so--that he is honest in his belief that you never paid him?" asked ruth. "well, it is a hard thing to say against a man, when i have no proof," replied mr. devere, "but i believe, in his heart, dan merley knows i paid him. i think he is just trying to make me pay him over again to cheat me." "oh, how can he be so cruel?" cried alice. "he is a hard man to deal with," went on her father. "a very hard man. this has been bothering me all day. i simply cannot pay that five hundred dollars; and yet, if i don't----" "can they lock you up, daddy?" alice questioned, fearfully. "oh, no, dear, not that. but he can make it very unpleasant for me. he can force me to go to court, and that would take me away from the film studio. i might even lose my engagement there if i had to spend too much time over a lawsuit. "but, worst of all, my reputation will suffer. i have always been honest, and i have paid every debt i owed, though sometimes it took a little while to do it. now if this comes to smirch my character, i don't know what i shall do." "poor daddy!" said ruth, softly, as she smoothed his rumpled hair. "there, girls, don't let me bother you," he said, as gaily as he could. "perhaps there may come a way out." "why don't you ask the advice of mr. pertell?" suggested ruth. "i believe i will," agreed her father. "he is a good business man. i wish i was. if i had been i would have insisted on getting either a receipt from merley, or my note back. but i trusted him. i thought he was a friend of mine." "well, let's have supper," suggested alice. "matters may look brighter then." "and i'll go see mr. pertell this evening," promised mr. devere. "he may be able to advise and help me." the meal was not a very jolly one at first, but gradually the feeling of gloom passed as the supper progressed. mr. devere told of what had happened that day at the film studio where the moving pictures were made. "now i think i'll go see mr. pertell," the actor announced, as he rose from the table. "he said he would be in his office late to-night, as he is working on some new plans." "what are they, daddy?" asked alice. "are we to go off to some farm again?" "not this time. i believe there are to be some winter scenes taken, though just where we will go for them has not been announced. well, i'm off," and, kissing the girls good-bye, mr. devere went out. ruth and alice, in his absence, discussed the new source of trouble that had come to them. they had been so happy all summer, that the blow fell doubly heavy. "isn't it just horrid!" exclaimed ruth. "too mean for anything!" agreed alice. "i wish i had that dan merley here. i--i'd----" but alice did not finish. ruth had looked at her, to stop her rather impulsive sister from the use of too violent an expression. but there was no need of this. an interruption came in the form of a knock at the door. "who is it?" asked ruth, and there came a little note of fear into her voice, for she was timid, and she realized at once that it was not one of their kind neighbors from across the hall. russ, his mother, and his brother billy always rapped in a characteristic manner. "it's me--dan merley, and i want to see the old man!" was the answer. the girls drew together in fright, for they recognized by the thickness of the voice that the owner was not altogether himself. "oh!" gasped alice, and then the door was pushed open, for the catch had been left off, and a man came unsteadily into the room. chapter iii russ to the rescue "where's the boss?" asked the man, as he leaned heavily against the table. "i want to see the boss." "do you--do you mean my--my father?" faltered ruth, as she stepped protectingly in front of alice. "that's jest who i mean, young lady," and the new-comer leered at her. "is he in? if he isn't i won't mind an awful lot. i'll wait for him. this is a nice place," and, without being invited he slouched into a chair. "my--my father is----" "he'll be back in just a little while!" interrupted alice, briskly. "did he tell you to come here?" "nope! i told myself!" replied the man. "i'm glad i did, too. this is nice place and you're nice girls, too. sisters, i take it?" "you need not discuss us!" exclaimed ruth with dignity. "if you will leave word what your business with my father is i will have him call on you." "what, leave? me leave? nothin' doin', sister. i'm too comfortable here," and he leaned back in the chair and laughed foolishly. "what--what did you want to see mr. devere about?" inquired ruth, though she could well guess. "i'll tell you what it's about," said dan merley, confidentially. "it's about money. i want five hundred dollars from your father, and i want it quick--with interest, too. don't forget that." "my father paid you that money!" ruth declared, with boldness. "he did not!" denied the unpleasant visitor. "he owes it to me yet, and i want it. and, what's more i'm going to have it!" "that is unfair--unjust!" said ruth, and there was a trace of tears in her voice. "my father paid you the money, and you promised to give him back the note--the paper that showed you had loaned it to him. but you never did." "how do you know all this?" he asked. "because my father was just telling us about it--a little while ago. he said you had--forgotten." "yes, i know! he said i'd been drinking too much; didn't he?" ruth and alice drew further back, offended by his coarse language. "he--he said you were not--quite yourself," spoke alice gently. "oh ho! another one! so there's two of you here!" laughed the man. "well, this certainly is a nice place. i guess i'll stay until the boss comes back. that is, unless you have the five hundred dollars here, and want to pay me," he added, with a sickly grin. "you have been paid once," ruth insisted. "i have not--i never was paid!" dan merley cried. "i want my money and i'm going to have it! do you hear? i'm going to have it, and have it soon! you tell your father that from me!" and he banged his fist on the table. ruth and alice looked at each other. the same thought was in both their minds, and it shone from their eyes. they must leave at once--the door was slightly open. "no more monkey business!" cried the unwelcome caller. "i lent your father that money and he never paid me back. he may say he did; but he can't prove it. i hold his note, and if he doesn't pay me i'll----" "what will you do?" interrupted a new voice, and with relief ruth and alice looked up, to see russ dalwood entering the room. "excuse me," he said to the girls, "i knocked, but you did not seem to hear. possibly there was too much noise," and he looked at the man significantly. "is there any trouble here?" the young moving picture operator asked. "oh, russ, make him--make him go!" begged alice, half sobbing. "he wants to see my father--it's some sort of unjust money claim--and he wants to enforce it. father has gone out----" "and that's just where this person is going!" announced russ, advancing toward the man. "what's that?" demanded merley in an ugly tone. "i said you were going out. it's your cue to move!" "i don't move until i get my five hundred dollars," answered the visitor. "i've waited for it long enough." "my father paid you!" protested ruth. "i say he did not!" and again the man banged the table with his fist. "well, whether he did or not is a question for you and mr. devere to settle," said russ, in firm tones. "you will kindly leave these young ladies alone." "i will; eh? who says so?" "i do!" "and who are you?" "a friend. i must ask you to leave." "not until i get my five hundred dollars!" "look here!" exclaimed russ, and, though he spoke in low tones, there was that in his voice which made it very determined. "you may have a valid claim against mr. devere, or you may not. i will not go into that. but he is not at home, and you will have to come again. you have no right in here. i must ask you to leave." "huh! you haven't any right here either. you can't give _me_ orders." "they are not my orders. this is a request from the young ladies themselves, and i am merely seeing that it is carried out. you don't want him here; do you?" he asked, of the two girls. "oh, no! please go!" begged ruth. "i want my money!" cried the man. "look here!" exclaimed russ, taking hold of merley's shoulder. "you will either leave quietly, or i'll summon a policeman and have you arrested. even if you have a claim against mr. devere, and i don't believe you have, that gives you no right to trespass here. take your claim to court!" "i tell you i want my money now!" "well, you'll not get it. you have your remedy at law. now leave at once, do you hear?" "yes, i hear all right, and you'll hear from me later. i will go to law, and i'll have my five hundred dollars. i'll bring suit against mr. devere, and then he'll wish he'd paid me, for he'll have to settle my claim and costs besides. oh, i'll sue all right!" "i don't care what you do, as long as you get out of here!" cried russ, sharply, for he saw that the strain was telling on ruth and alice. "leave at once!" "suppose i don't go?" "then i'll put you out!" russ looked very brave as he said this. ruth glanced at him, and thought he had never appeared to better advantage. and between russ and ruth there was--but there, i am getting ahead of my story. "are you going?" asked the young moving picture operator, again. "well, rather than have a row, i will. but i warn you i'll sue devere and i'll get my money, too. it's all nonsense for him to say he paid me. where's his proof? i ask you that. where's his proof?" "never mind about that," returned russ, calmly. "it's your move, as i said before. and you can give a good imitation of a moving picture film showing a man getting out of a room." with no good grace the man arose clumsily from his chair, and with leers at ruth and alice, who were clinging to each other on the far side of the room, the visitor started for the door. "i'll see you again!" he called, coarsely. "then maybe the laugh will be on my side. i'm going to have my money, i tell you!" russ kept after the man, and walked behind him to the door. there dan merley paused to exclaim, in loud tones: "you wait--i'll get my money out of devere--you'll see!" then he stumbled on down the hallway, and russ quickly closed and locked the door. "oh, russ!" exclaimed ruth. then she sank into a chair, and bent forward with her head pillowed in her arms on the table. "there, there," said the young man gently, as he put his hand on her head. "it's all right--he's gone. don't be afraid." "oh, but what a dreadful man!" cried alice. "i could----" "don't, dear," begged her sister gently, as she raised her head. there were tears in her eyes. russ gently slipped his hand over her little rosy palm. chapter iv a funny film for a moment ruth remained thus, while, alice, with flashing eyes, stood looking at the door leading into the hall, as if anticipating the return of that unpleasant visitor. then ruth lifted her head, and with a rosy blush, and a shy look at russ, disengaged her hand. "i--i feel better now," she said. "that's good," and he smiled. "i don't believe that fellow will come back. i'll stay here. is your father out?" "yes, and all on account of that horrid man," answered alice. "oh, it was so good of you to come in russ!" "i happened to be coming here anyhow," he answered. "when i saw the door open, and heard what was said, which i could not help doing, i did not stand on ceremony." "it was awfully good of you," murmured ruth, who now seemed quite herself again. "i suppose you heard what that man said?" "not all," he made reply. "it was something about money though, i gathered. he was demanding it." "yes, and after father has already paid it," put in alice. "that's where daddy has gone now--to consult mr. pertell as to the best course of action." between them, ruth and alice told about dan merley's claim, and the injustice of it. russ was duly sympathetic. "if i were your father i would pay no attention to his demand," the young moving picture operator said. "but suppose he sues, as he threatened?" asked ruth. "let him, and fight the case in court when it comes up. merley may be only 'bluffing', to use a common expression." "but it annoys daddy almost as much as if the case were real, you see," said ruth. "won't you sit down, russ? excuse our impoliteness, but really we've been quite upset." "thanks," he laughed as he took a chair. "you need cheering up. you come to the studio to-morrow and forget your troubles in a good laugh." "why?" asked alice. "ruth and i are not down for any parts to-morrow." "no, but mr. switzer is going to do some comic stunts, and mr. bunn and mr. sneed are in them with him. there are to be some trick films, i believe." "then we'll go," decided alice. "i think a laugh would do me good." gradually the little fright wore off, and when mr. devere returned shortly afterward the girls were themselves again, under the happy influence of russ. "what luck, daddy?" asked alice, as her father came in. he shook his head, as she added: "russ knows all about it," for she gathered that he might not like to speak before the young man. "what did mr. pertell say?" "he advised me to wait until merley made the next move, and then come and see him again. he said he would then send me to the attorney for the film company, who would handle my case without charge." "how good of him!" cried ruth, impulsively. "mr. pertell gave daddy the same advice russ gave us," added alice. "oh, it was so good to have him here when that dreadful man came in," she went on. "what man?" asked mr. devere, in surprise. "was someone in here while i was gone--those camera scoundrels, russ?" "no, it was dan merley himself!" exclaimed ruth, "and he was so horrid, daddy!" there was a hint of tears in her voice. "the impertinent scoundrel!" exclaimed mr. devere, in the manner that had won him such success on the stage. "i shall go to the police and----" "no, don't daddy dear," begged ruth laying a detaining hand on his arm, as he turned to the door. "that would only make it more unpleasant for us. we would have to go to court and testify, if you had him arrested. and, besides, i don't know on what charge you could cause his arrest. he really did nothing to us, except to hurt our feelings and scare us. but i fancy russ scared him in turn. don't go to the police, daddy." "all right," he agreed. "but tell me all about it." they did so, by turns, and mr. devere's anger waxed hot against merley as he listened. but he realized that it was best to take no rash step, much as he desired to. so he finally calmed down. "if i could only prove that i had paid that money," he murmured, "all would be well. i must make it a point, after this, to be more business-like. it is like locking the stable door after the automobile is gone, though, in this case," he added, with a whimsical smile. russ remained a little longer, and then took his leave. ruth saw to it, even getting up out of bed to do it, that the chain was on the hall door. for she was in nervous doubt as to whether or not she had taken that precaution. but she found the portal secure. "that man might come back in the night," she thought. but she did not confide her fear to alice. morning revealed a new and wonderful scene. for in the night there had been a heavy storm, and the ground of central park was white with snow. a little rain had fallen, and then had frozen, and the trees were encased in ice. then as the sun shone brightly, it flashed as on millions of diamonds, dazzling and glittering. winter had come early, and with more severity than usual in the vicinity of new york. "oh, how lovely!" cried alice, as she looked out. "i must have a slide, if i can find a place! ruth, i'm going to wash your face!" "don't you dare!" but alice raised the window, and from the sill took a handful of snow. she rushed over to her sister with it. "stop it! stop it! don't you dare!" screamed ruth. then she squealed as she felt the cold snow on her cheeks. "what's the matter with you girls in there?" called mr. devere from his apartment. "you seem merry enough." "we are," answered alice. "i've washed ruth's face, and i'm going to wash yours in a minute." "just as you like," he laughed. and then he sighed, for he recalled a time when his girlish wife had once challenged him the same way, when they were on their honeymoon. for mrs. devere had been vivacious like alice, and the younger daughter was a constant reminder to her father of his dead wife--a happy and yet a sad reminder. alice came rushing in with more snow, and there was a merry little scene before breakfast. then mr. devere hurried to the film studio, for he was to take part in several dramas that day. "i know i'll be late," he said, "for the travel will be slow this morning, on account of the snow. and i have to go part way by surface car, as i have an errand on the way down town." "we're coming down, also," ruth informed him. "why, you're not in anything to-day," he remarked, pausing in the act of putting on his overcoat. "you're not cast for anything until 'the price of honor,' to-morrow." "but we're going down, just the same," alice laughed. "we want to see some of the funny films." "come ahead then," invited mr. devere. "better use the subway all you can. even the elevated will have trouble with all this sleet. good-bye," and he kissed them as he hurried out. the girls made short shrift of the housework, and then left for the place where the moving pictures were made. as i have described in the first book of this series how moving pictures are taken, i will not repeat it here, except to say that in a special camera, made for the purpose, there is a long narrow strip of celluloid film, of the same nature as in the ordinary camera. the pictures are taken on this strip, at the rate of sixteen a second. later this film is developed, and from that "negative" a "positive" is made. this "positive" is then run through a specially made projecting lantern which magnifies the pictures for the screen. as alice and ruth got out at the floor where most of the scenes were made they heard laughter. "something's going on," remarked the younger girl. "and it doesn't sound like mr. sneed, our cheerful 'grouch,' either," answered ruth. as they went in they saw carl switzer, the german comedian, climbing a high step-ladder with a pail of paste in one hand, and a roll of wall paper in the other. he was in a scene representing a room, which he was to decorate. "is diss der right vay to do it?" mr. switzer asked, as he paused half way up the ladder, and looked at mr. pertell. "that's it. now you've got the idea," replied the manager. "begin over again, and russ, i guess you can begin to run the film now," for the young moving picture operator was in readiness with his camera. "you must tremble, and shake the ladder," advised the manager, who was also, in this case, the stage director. "you want to register fear, you see, because you are an amateur paper hanger." "yah. dot's right. i know so leedle about der papering business alretty yet dot i could write a big book on vot i don't know," confessed mr. switzer. "all ready now--tremble and shake!" ordered the manager. the comic film that was being made was a reproduction of a scene often played in vaudeville theaters, where an amateur paper hanger gets into all sorts of ludicrous mishaps with a bucket of paste, rolls of paper and the step ladder. it was not very new, but had not been done for moving pictures before. "here i goes!" called mr. switzer. "i am shaking!" "good!" encouraged mr. pertell. "now, mr. bunn, you come in, as the owner of the house, to see if the paper hanger is doing his work properly. you find he is not, for he is going to put the wrong sort of paper on the ceiling. then you try to show him yourself." "do i wear my tall hat?" "oh, yes, of course, and i think mr. switzer, you had better let----" but the directions were never completed, for at that moment, in the excess of his zeal, mr. switzer shook the step ladder to such good effect that it toppled over and with him on it. down he came on top of wellington bunn, in all his dignity and the glory of the tall hat, and paste flew all over, liberally spattering both actors. chapter v a queer accident "get that russ! every motion of it!" cried the manager. "that will make it better than when we rehearsed it. spatter that paste all over mr. bunn while you're at it, mr. switzer." "stop! stop, i say! i protest. i will not have it!" "vell, you goin' to git it, all right!" cried the german, and with the brush he liberally daubed the shakespearean actor with the white and sticky stuff. all the other players were laughing at the ridiculous scene. "more paste!" ordered mr. pertell. "more paste there, mr. switzer. don't be afraid of it, mr. bunn! it's clean!" "oh, this is awful--this is terrible!" groaned the tragic actor. "my hat is ruined." and such did seem to be the case, for the shining silk tile was filled with paste, the outside also being well covered. mr. bunn tried to get away from the slapping brush of mr. switzer, but the german was not to be outwitted. the two had fallen to the floor under the impact of the comic player, and were now tangled up in the ladder. "that's good! that's good!" laughed mr. pertell. "get all of that, russ! every bit!" "i'm getting it!" cried the operator, as he continued to grind away at the crank of the moving picture camera. again mr. bunn tried to get up and away, but the ladder, through which his legs had slipped, hampered him. then a roll of the paper got under the feet of both players. it unreeled, and some paste got on it. the next instant part of it was plastered over mr. switzer's face, and, being unable to see, he pawed about wildly, spattering more paste all over, much of it getting on mr. bunn. "better than ever. use some more of that paper!" ordered the manager. "paste some on mr. switzer, if you can, mr. bunn." "oh, i can all right!" cried the older actor. "here is where i have my revenge!" he scooped up a hand full of paste, spread it on a piece of paper, and clapped it over the face of the german, for that player had removed the first piece that was stuck on. and thus they capered about in the scenic room, making a chaos of it. russ took all the pictures for the future amusement of thousands who attended the darkened theaters. of course it was horseplay, pure and simple, and yet audiences go into paroxysms of mirth over much the same things. the love of slap-stick comedy has not all died out, and the managers realize this. "i don't know when i've laughed so much," confessed alice, holding her aching sides as she sat down near ruth, when the little comedy was over. "nor i, my dear. i think the old saying is true, after all, that 'a little nonsense, now and then, is relished by the best of men.'" "this was certainly nonsense," admitted alice. "oh, come over and let's see miss pennington and miss dixon in that new play--'parlor magic.' it's very interesting, and rather funny." the two older actresses were to play in a little scene where a young man--in this case paul ardite--attempted to do some tricks he had been studying. he was supposed to come to grief in making an omelet in a silk hat, and have other troubles when he tried to take rabbits out of parlor vases, and such like nonsense. this was one of the trick films--that is, it was not a straight piece of work. it depended for its success on the manipulation of the camera, on substituting dummies for real persons or animals at certain points, the interposition of films and many other things too technical to put into a book that is only intended to amuse you. "how are you?" asked miss pennington, as ruth and alice came over to their side of the studio. "you are looking quite well." "and we are well," answered alice. "we want to see you act," for the filming had not yet begun. "for instruction or amusement?" asked miss dixon, and her voice had something of a sneer in it. she and her chum were not on the most friendly terms with ruth and alice. "both amusement and instruction," responded alice, sweetly--in a doubly sweet voice under the circumstances. "one can learn from anyone, you know," and she pretended to be interested in one of the tricks paul was practicing while getting ready for the camera. alice could say things with a double meaning at times, and probably this was one of them. "oh!" was all miss dixon said, and then she called: "paul, come here; won't you? i want you to fasten my glove." "certainly," he agreed, with a look at alice which was meant to say: "i don't want to do this, but i can't very well get out of it." paul, i might add, had been quite interested in miss dixon before the advent of alice, and the vaudeville actress rather resented the change. she took advantage of every opportunity to make paul fetch and carry for her as he had been wont to do. the parlor magic play was successfully filmed and then, as alice and ruth had some shopping to do, to get their costumes ready for their appearance before the camera next day, they prepared to leave. they stopped for a moment, however, to watch their father in his play--"a heart's cavalier." this was rather a pretentious drama, and called for really good acting, the nature of which appealed to the veteran player. it was really a delight to watch him, for he gave a finished performance, and the loss of his voice was no handicap here. he could whisper the words, or utter them in a low tone, so that the motion of his lips might be seen by the audience. if you have ever seen motion pictures, and i am sure you all have, you know that often you can tell exactly what the characters are saying by watching the form of their lips. deaf persons, who have learned to know what other persons are saying, merely by watching their lips, are able to "hear" much more than can the ordinary individual what goes on in moving pictures. in this they have a distinct advantage. but of course the story the celluloid film tells is mostly conveyed by the action of the characters, and mr. devere was an expert in this. "good-bye, daddy," called alice, when he was out of the scene for a moment. "we'll be back, and you can take us out to lunch." "all right," he laughed. "make your poor old daddy spend his hard-earned money, will you?" "you know you're just crazy to do it," said ruth. "come on alice." the next day called for hard work for both the moving picture girls, and there were a number of outdoor scenes to do. they were glad of this change, however. some of the scenes ruth and alice had parts in, as well as paul ardite, were filmed out in bronx park, with the still natural wildness of that beauty spot as background. one scene was down near the beaver pond, and with the snow on the ground, and the sleet still on the trees, the pictures afterward turned out to be most effective. special permission had to be obtained to use the camera in the park, there being a rule against it. alice had one part which called for feeding the birds with crumbs scattered over the snow. and, just when they wanted this not a bird--even a sparrow--was in sight. in vain they went to different parts of the park, looking for some, and scattered many crumbs. "i guess we'll have to give it up, and come back some other time," russ said finally. "i don't want to make another trip, either," he went on. "it wastes so much time, and we're going to be be very busy soon." "what about those new plans?" asked ruth. "they are to be announced to-morrow, i believe," was the answer. "a lot of snow dramas are to be filmed." "good!" cried alice. "i love the snow." "oh, quick! there are some birds!" called ruth. "see, over there, alice. scatter the crumbs!" russ had them in his pocket in readiness, and soon the snow was covered. the birds did their part well, and as alice stood near them, throwing crumbs to the hungry sparrows and starlings, they fluttered about her, and flocked at her feet. "good!" cried russ, who was busy with the camera. "it couldn't be better. this will make a fine film." alice presented a pretty picture as she stood there in her furs, scattering crumbs to the birds, and the little feathered creatures proved the best sort of actors, for they were not self-conscious, and did not stop to peer at the camera, the clicking of which they did not mind in the least. "well, that's done; now i think we'll go back," russ said, when he had ascertained, by looking at the register on the side of the camera, that enough feet of the film had been used on that scene. for, in order to have each scene get its proper amount of space, both as regards time and length of film a strict watch is kept on how much celluloid is used. a manager, or director, will decide on the importance of the various scenes, and then divide up the film, giving so many feet to each act. the standard length of film is a thousand feet. it comes in thousand foot reels, but some plays are so elaborate that two, three or even seven reels have been given up to them. great scenic productions, such as "quo vadis?" use up many thousand feet of film. russ and the two girls, with paul, started back from the bronx. they were to stop in at the studio, but on reaching there the girls found that their father had gone home, leaving a note saying he was going to see the doctor about his throat. "poor daddy!" murmured ruth. "he does have such trouble!" "has merley bothered him again?" asked russ. "no, he has heard nothing from him," answered alice. "but daddy worries about it. five hundred dollars means more to him now than five thousand may later. for i hope daddy will get rich some day," she finished, with a laugh. the three walked on together to the subway, and got out at the station nearest their house. on the way they had to cross one of the surface car lines, and, just as they reached the corner, they heard a shout of alarm or warning, evidently directed at someone in danger from an approaching electric car. "what is it?" cried ruth, clinging to alice. "i don't know," answered the younger girl. "oh, yes, there it is!" she cried, pointing. three men were on the car tracks, and two of them seemed to be trying to pull one away, out of the path of an approaching car. the shouts came from a number of pedestrians who had seen the danger of the man. the latter seemed to be caught by the foot on the rail, though how this was possible was difficult to understand, as the rail was flat. the motorman was doing his best to stop the car, but the rails were slippery and it was easily seen that he could not do it. then he added his shouts to those of the others. "oh, he'll be killed!" cried alice, covering her face with her hands. ruth had also turned aside. "no, he won't!" cried russ, with conviction. "they'll get him off, i think. there! he's free! i guess they took off his shoe." as he spoke the girls looked, and they saw the man fall in a peculiar way, to one side, so as to be out of the path of the car, which swept past him. the vehicle, however, seemed to hit him, but of this neither russ nor the girls could be sure. "that's a queer accident," murmured russ, as he started toward the scene of it. "come on, girls." ruth and alice went with him. there was a little crowd about the fallen man, and at the sight of the fellow's face alice suddenly cried: "look! that is dan merley!" chapter vi new plans alice's announcement caused her sister to start in surprise. ruth looked as if she could not understand, and alice repeated: "see, the man who fell is dan merley--the one who says daddy owes him five hundred dollars." "i believe you're right!" agreed russ, who had had a good look at the impudent fellow the night he invaded the devere rooms. "and i know one of those other men--at least by sight. his name is jagle. let's see what is going on here." fortunately no very large crowd gathered, so the girls felt it would be proper for them to remain, particularly as the accident was not of a distressing nature. the motorman had stopped his car and had run back to the scene with the conductor. "what's the matter here? what did you want to get in the way of the car for, anyhow?" demanded the motorman. he was nervously excited, and the reaction at finding, after all, he had not killed a man, made him rather angry. "matter? matter enough, i should say!" replied one of the men with merley. "my friend is badly hurt. someone get an ambulance! fripp, you call one." "that was jagle who spoke," russ whispered to the girls. "but i don't know the other one." "he doesn't seem to be badly hurt," remarked the motorman. the conductor, with a little pad and pencil, was getting the names of witnesses to be used in case suit was brought. this is always done by street car companies, in order to protect themselves. "hurt? of course he's hurt!" exclaimed the man russ called jagle. "see that cut on his head!" there was a slight abrasion on merley's forehead, but it did not seem at all serious. "aren't you hurt, dan?" asked jagle. "of course i am!" was the answer. "i'm hurt bad, too. get me home, jim." "if he's hurt the best place for him is a hospital," remarked the motorman. "but i can't see where he's hurt." "i can't walk, i tell you," whined merley, and he attempted to get up, but fell back. one of his friends caught him in his arms. "there, you see! of course he's hurt!" declared jagle. "go call an ambulance, fripp." "i'll get an ambulance if he really needs one," spoke a policeman, who had just come up on seeing the crowd. "where are you hurt?" "something's the matter with my legs," declared merley. "i can't use my right one, and the left one is hurt, too. my foot got caught between the rail and a piece of ice, and i couldn't get loose. my friends tried to help me, but they couldn't get me away in time. i'm hurt, and i'm hurt bad, i tell you! i think one of my legs must be run over." "nothing like that!" declared the motorman. "there's been no legs run over by my car!" that was very evident. "get me away from here," groaned merley. "well, if you're really hurt i'll call an ambulance and have you taken to the hospital," offered the policeman as he went to turn in a call. "i sure am hurt," insisted merley. "why, i can hardly move now," and he seemed to stiffen all over, though there was no visible sign of injury. "why doesn't someone get a doctor?" a boy in the crowd asked. "there'll be one in de hurry-up wagon!" exclaimed another urchin. "a feller in a white suit--dem's doctors. i know, cause me fadder was in de 'ospital onct." merley's two friends carried him to a drug store not far from the scene of the accident. ruth and alice shrank back as he was borne past them, for they feared he might recognize them, and cause a scene. but if he saw them, which is doubtful, he gave no sign. "here comes de hurry-up wagon!" cried the lad who had thus designated the ambulance. "let's see 'em shove him on de stretcher! say dis is great!" "i think we had better be going, alice, dear," said ruth. "daddy wouldn't like us to be in this crowd." "oh, i want to stay and see what happens. besides, it might be important," alice objected. "this is dan merley, who might make trouble for papa. we ought to see what happens to him. i think that whole accident was queer. he didn't seem to be hit at all, and yet he says he can't move. we ought to stay." "if you want to go, i'll stay and let you know what happens," offered russ. "i don't mind." "perhaps that would be best," said ruth. "all right," agreed alice, and she and her sister, with a last look at the crowd around the ambulance, started for their apartment. russ came along a little later. "what happened?" asked ruth, when he had knocked on the door of their hall and had been admitted. "not much," he replied. "they took merley home, instead of to a hospital. he wouldn't go to an institution, he said." "did those other two men go with him?" asked alice. "who, fripp and jagle? no, they wouldn't be allowed to ride on the ambulance. but they got a taxicab and went off in that. i heard jagle say to the ambulance surgeon, that he was a doctor, and that he'd attend his friend when he got him home." "is jagle a doctor?" asked alice. "he didn't look like one." "he's a _sort_ of doctor," russ replied. "i think he's a quack, myself. i wouldn't have him for a sick cat. but he calls himself a doctor and surgeon. so that's all that happened." "it was enough, anyhow," remarked ruth. "i don't like to see anybody hurt." "i'm not so sure that fellow _was_ hurt," said russ, slowly. "what do you mean?" alice asked, curiously. "well, he might have _imagined_ he was. i guess he was pretty well scared at seeing that car come down on him. but i watched when he was put in the ambulance and he seemed as well as either of his friends. only he kept insisting that he could not walk." "it was certainly a queer accident," said alice. "but, in spite of the fact that he is a bad man, and wants to make trouble for daddy, i hope he isn't seriously hurt." "i don't believe it is serious," said russ. "but it might easily have been, though, if he had fallen in front of the car instead of away from it." "well, there is nothing that hasn't its good side," remarked ruth. "emerson's idea of the law of compensation works out very nicely in this case." "kindly translate, sister mine," invited alice, laughingly. "why, you know emerson holds that one advantage makes up for each defect. in this case merley has had an accident--a defect. that may cause him to stop annoying daddy--a distinct advantage to us." "oh, ruth, how queer you are!" exclaimed alice with a laugh. "i never heard of such an idea." "who was this emerson--a moving picture fellow?" asked russ. "no, he was a great writer," explained ruth. "i'll let you take one of his books." "i wish you would," said russ, seriously. "i never had much of a chance to get an education, but i like to know things." "so do i," agreed ruth. "i never tire of emerson." mr. devere was surprised when he heard about the accident to merley. "i can't understand it," said the girls' father. "he must have been hurt, and yet--er--was he in a sensible condition, russ?" "oh, yes, he seemed to be himself, all right," the young moving picture operator replied, thoughtfully. "i haven't gotten to the bottom of it myself." and indeed it developed that there was a strange plot back of the accident--a plot which involved the moving picture girls in an amazing way, as will soon appear. but puzzle over the odd accident as they might, neither mr. devere, his daughters, nor russ could understand what it involved. "at any rate, as you say, ruth," the actor remarked with a smile, "there is some compensation. he may not annoy me for some time; and, meanwhile, i may think of a plan to prove i really paid that money." "i hope so, daddy!" she exclaimed. "is your throat any better?" "yes, much," he replied with a smile. "dr. rathby is going to try a new kind of spray treatment, and i had the first one this afternoon. it helped me wonderfully." "that's good!" exclaimed alice. the next day's papers contained a slight reference to the accident. it was not important enough to warrant much space, and about all that was said was that merley claimed to have received an injury that made him helpless, though its nature was a puzzle to the physician sent around by the street car company. "well, if he's helpless, and the lord knows i wish that to no man," said mr. devere, reverently, "he will not come here bothering you girls again. if he confines his attacks to me i do not so much mind, but he must leave you alone." "that's what i say!" cried russ. when mr. devere and his daughters arrived at the moving picture studio that afternoon, for they were not to report until then, they found notices posted, requesting all members of the company to remain after rehearsal to hear an "important announcement." "i wonder what it can be?" said ruth. "probably it's about the new plans mr. pertell has been working on," suggested alice. "i think so," russ said. he knew something of them, but had not permission to reveal them. and this proved to be the case. after the day's work was ended, and it included the filming of several scenes for important dramas, mr. pertell called his players together, and said: "ladies and gentlemen--also tommy and nellie, for you will be in on this, i hope--we are going to leave new york city again, and be together in a new place to make a series of plays." "leave new york!" gasped miss pennington. "i hope we don't go to oak farm again!" cried miss dixon. "i want to be in some place where i can get a lobster now and then." "there will be no lobsters at deerfield!" said mr. pertell, with a smile, "unless there are some of the canned variety." "how horrid!" complained miss pennington. "will there be deers there?" asked tommy, with big eyes. "i think there will, sonny," answered the manager. "reindeers--like santa claus has?" little nellie wanted to know. "well, i guess so!" laughed mr. pertell. "at any rate, i plan to take you all there." "where is deerfield, if one may ask?" inquired miss dixon, pertly. "deerfield is a sort of backwoods settlement, in one of our new england states," explained the manager. "it is rather isolated, but i want to go there to get some scenes for moving pictures with good snow, and ice effects as backgrounds." "are there good hotels there?" miss pennington demanded. "we are going to stop in a big hunting lodge, that i have hired for the occasion," mr. pertell replied. "i think you will like it very much." "hold on! one moment!" exclaimed mr. sneed, the grouchy actor. "you may count me out of this! i shall go to no backwoods, in the middle of winter, and freeze. i cannot stand the cold. i shall resign at once!" "one moment. before you decide that, i have something else to say to you," said mr. pertell, and there was a smile on his face. chapter vii off to the woods the moving picture players looked curiously at the manager, and then at mr. sneed. they were used to this action on his part, and also on the part of mr. bunn--that of resigning when anything did not suit them. but matters with either of them seldom went farther than the mere threat. "i know it will not be as pleasant, as regards weather conditions, at elk lodge, deerfield, as it was at oak farm," said mr. pertell. "but the lodge is a big building, very quaint and picturesque, i have been told, and it has all the comforts, and many of the conveniences, of life. there are big, open fireplaces, and plenty of logs to burn. so you will not freeze." "open fires are always cold," complained mr. sneed. "you roast on one side, and freeze on the other." "oh, i think it won't be quite as bad as that," laughed the manager. "but that is not all i have to say. in consideration of the fact that there will be some inconveniences, in spite of all i can do, i am willing to make an increase of ten per cent. in the salaries of all of you, including tommy and nellie," and he smiled at the two children. "oh, goodie! i'm going!" cried the small lad. "so'm i," voiced his sister. there was a moment of silence, while all the members of the company looked at mr. sneed, who had raised the first contention. he seemed to think that it was necessary for him to say something. "ah--ahem!" he began. "yes?" spoke mr. pertell, questioningly. "in view of all the facts, and er--that i would have to give two weeks' notice, and under all the circumstances, i think--er--i will withdraw my resignation, if you will allow me," the grouchy actor went on, in a lofty manner. "ah!" laughed mr. pertell. "then we will consider it settled, and you may all begin to pack up for elk lodge as soon as you please." "when are we to leave?" asked mr. devere. "in a few days now. i have one more play i want to stage in new york, and then we will leave for the country where we can study snow and ice effects to better advantage than here. we want to get out into the open. russ, i must have a talk with you about films. i think, in view of the fact that the lights out in the open, reflected by the snow, will be very intense and high, a little change in the film and the stop of the camera will be necessary." "i think so myself," agreed the young moving picture operator. "in fact, i have been working on a little device that i can attach to our cameras to cut down the amount of light automatically. it consists of a selenium plate with a battery attachment----" "oh, spare us the dreadful details!" interrupted miss pennington, who was of a rather frivolous nature. "well, there is no longer need of detaining you," spoke mr. pertell. "work for the day is over. we will meet again to-morrow and film 'a mother's sorrow,' and that will be the last new york play for some time. i presume it will take a week to get ready to go to deerfield, as there are many details to look after." "oh, i just can't wait until it's time to go to the backwoods!" cried alice, as she and ruth were on their way home that evening. "aren't you crazy about it, sister mine?" "well, not exactly _crazy_, alice. you do use such--er--such strong expressions!" "well, i have strong feelings, i suppose." "i know, but you must be more--more conservative." "i know you were going to say 'lady-like,' but you didn't dare," laughed alice. "well, consider it said, my dear," went on ruth, in all seriousness, for she felt that she must, in a measure, play the part of a mother to her younger sister. "i don't want to consider anything!" laughed alice, "except the glorious fun we are going to have. oh, ruth, even the prospect of that dreadful dan merley making daddy pay the debt over again can't dampen my spirits now. i'm so happy!" she threw her arms about ruth and attempted a few turns of the one-step glide. "oh, stop! i'm slipping!" cried ruth, for the sidewalk was icy. "alice, let me go!" "not until you take a few more steps! now dip!" "but, alice! i'm going to fall! i know i am! there! i told you----" but ruth did not get a chance to use the favorite expression of mr. sneed, if such was her intention. for she really was about to fall when a young man, who was passing, caught her, and saved her from a tumble. "oh!" she gasped, in confusion, as she recovered her balance. "i beg your pardon," laughed the young fellow, with sparkling eyes. "i should beg yours!" faltered ruth, with a blush. "it was all my fault--i wanted her to dance!" cried alice, willing to accept her share of the blame. "yes, this weather makes one feel like dancing," the young fellow agreed, and then with a bow he passed on. "alice how could you?" cried ruth. "how could i what?" "make me do that." "i didn't mean to. really, he was nice; wasn't he? and say, did you notice his eyes?" "oh, alice, you are hopeless!" and ruth had to laugh. the two moving picture girls reached home without further mishap, if mishap that could be called, though all the way alice insisted on waltzing about happily, and trying in vain to get ruth to join in, and try the new steps. passersby more than once turned to look at the two pretty girls, who made a most attractive picture. the drama next day was successfully filmed and then followed a sort of week's vacation, while the picture players prepared for the trip to the woods. they were to go by train to hampton junction, the nearest station to deerfield. this last was only a small settlement once the center of an important lumber industry, but now turned into a hunting preserve, owned by a number of rich men. as the lodge was not in use this season, mr. pertell had engaged it for his company. in due time the baggage was all packed, the various "properties" had been shipped by pop snooks and everything was ready for the trip. the journey from the railroad station at hampton junction to elk lodge, in deerfield, was to be made in big four-horse sleds, several of them having been engaged, for it was reported that the snow was deep in the woods. winter had set in with all its severity there. finally all the members of the company were gathered at the grand central terminal, new york. the players attracted considerable attention, for there was that air of the theater about them which always seems so fascinating to the outsider, who knows so little of the really hard work that goes on behind the footlights. most of the glitter is in front, in spite of appearances. "why, it's like setting off for oak farm!" remarked alice, as she stood beside her sister, paul and russ. "only there isn't any mystery in prospect," spoke paul. "i wonder how the apgars are getting on, now that their farm is safe?" "they're probably sitting about a warm fire, talking about it," russ said. "there may be just as much of a mystery in the backwoods as there was at oak farm, if we can only come across it," suggested alice. "i wish we could discover something queer." "oh, alice!" protested ruth. mr. sneed was observed to be walking about, peering at the various sign boards on which the destination of trains was given. "what are you looking for?" asked russ. "i want to see that we don't start out on track thirteen as we did when we went to oak farm, and had the wreck," the actor answered. "i've had enough of hoodoos." "you're all right this time--we leave from track twenty-seven," called mr. pertell. "all aboard for deerfield and elk lodge!" chapter viii a breakdown there was snow everywhere. never could ruth, alice, and the other members of the comet film company remember so much at one time. they seemed to have entered the polar regions. along the tracks of the railroad the white flakes were piled in deep drifts, and when they swept out from a patch of woodland, and had a view across the fields, or down into some valley, they could see a long, unbroken stretch of white. "it sure is some snow," observed russ, who sat in the seat with ruth, while paul had pre-empted a place beside alice. this last in spite of the fact that miss dixon invitingly had a seat ready for the young actor beside herself. but she was forced to be content with a novel for companionship. "yes, and we're going to get more snow," remarked mr. sneed, who sat behind russ. "we'll get so much that the train will be delayed, and we'll have to stay on it all night; that's what will happen." "und ve vill starf den; ain't dot so?" inquired mr. switzer, with a jolly laugh from across the aisle. "ve vill starf alretty; vill ve not, mine gloomy friendt?" "we sure will," predicted the grouch of the company. "they took the dining car off at the last station, and i understand there isn't another one to be had until we get to hampton junction. we sure will starve!" "ha! dot is vot ve vill _not_ do!" laughed mr. switzer, with conviction. "see, i haf alretty t'ought of dot, und i haf provided. here are pretzels!" and he produced a large bag of them from his grip. "ve vill not starf!" "ha! pretzels!" scoffed mr. sneed. "i never eat them!" "maybe you vill before you starf!" chuckled mr. switzer, as he replaced them. "i like dem much!" the other members of the company laughed--all but mr. sneed and wellington bunn. the former went forward to consult a brakeman as to the prospects of the train becoming snowbound, while mr. bunn, who wore his tall hat, and was bundled up in a fur coat, huddled close to the window, and doubtless dreamed of the days when he had played shakespearean rôles; and wondered if he would play them again. the train went on, not that any great speed was attained, for the grade was up hill, and there had been heavy storms. there was also the prospect of more snow, and this, amid the rugged hills of new england, was not reassuring. "but we expect hard weather up here," said mr. pertell to his company. "the more snow and ice we have, the better pictures we can get." "that's right!" agreed russ. "humph! i'm beginning to wish i hadn't come," growled mr. sneed, who had received information from a brakeman to the effect that trains were often snowbound in that part of the state. a few feathery flakes began falling now, and there was the promise of more in the clouds overhead, and in the sighing of the north wind. "does your throat hurt you much, daddy?" asked ruth, as she noticed her father wrapping a silk handkerchief closer about his neck. "just a little; i think it is the unusual cold," he replied. "but i do not mind it. the air is sharper here than in new york; but it is drier. perhaps it may do me good. i think i will use my spray," and he got out his atomizer. there were not many passengers beside the members of the film theatrical company in the car in which ruth and her sister rode. among them, however, were two young ladies, about the age of alice, and as ruth went down the aisle once, to get a drink of water, she noted that one of the strangers appeared to be ill. "pardon me," spoke ruth, with ready sympathy, "but can i do anything to help you?" "she has a bad headache," replied the other. "my sister always gets one when she travels. fortunately we have not much farther to go." "oh, helen, i shall be so glad when we get there," said the suffering one. "never mind, mabel, we will soon be there," soothed the other. "if you don't mind--i'd like to give you my smelling salts," offered ruth. "they always help me when i have a headache, which is seldom, i'm glad to say." "i wish i could say that," murmured the afflicted one. "suppose you let me give the bottle to you," suggested ruth. "i'll have my sister bring some spirits of cologne, too. then you can bathe your head." "you are very kind," responded the other. soon the four girls were in the ladies' compartment of the parlor car in which the picture company was traveling. there was a lounge there, and on this the girl called mabel was soon receiving the ministrations of the others. her head was bathed in the fragrant cologne, and the use of the smelling salts relieved the slight feeling of indisposition that accompanied the headache. "i feel so much better now," she declared, after a little. "i--i think i could sleep." "that would be the best thing for you, my dear," said ruth, as she smoothed her hair. "come," she whispered to the others, "we will sit back here and let her rest," and she motioned them to come into the curtained-off recess of the compartment. there the other girl said that she and her sister were on their way to visit relatives over the holidays. they were mabel and helen madison, of new york. "and right after christmas we're going to florida," helen confided to ruth and alice. "oh, it must be lovely there, under the palms!" exclaimed the latter. "i do so want to go." "it is quite a contrast to this, i should imagine," remarked ruth, as she gazed out of the window on the snowy scene. "does your company ever get as far as florida?" asked helen, for ruth and alice had told her their profession. "we haven't yet," replied ruth, "though once, when we were small, daddy played in st. augustine, and we were there. but i don't remember anything about it." "we are going to a little resort on lake kissimmee," said helen madison. "perhaps we may see you there, if you ever make pictures in florida." "i hardly think we are going that far," observed ruth. "but if we do we shall look for you." ruth little realized then how prophetic her words were, nor how she and alice would actually "look" for the two girls. a little later mabel awakened from a doze, and announced that her head felt much better. then, as it would soon be time for her and her sister to get off, for they were nearing their destination, they went back to their seats to get their luggage in readiness. "i like them; don't you?" asked alice, as she and ruth rejoined their friends. "indeed i do! they seem very sweet girls. i would like to meet them again." "so would i. perhaps we shall. it would be lovely if we could go to florida, after our winter work is over. i'm going to ask mr. pertell if there's any likelihood of our doing so." but alice did not get the opportunity just then, as she and ruth went to the door to bid their new girl acquaintances good-bye. then came the announcement that in a short time hampton junction would be reached. "better be getting your possessions together," advised mr. pertell to his company. "it is getting late and i don't want to have you travel too much after dark." the train came to a stop at hampton junction, and from the car emerged the picture players. ranged alongside the small building that served as the depot were several large sleighs, known in that country as "pungs," the bodies being filled with clean straw. there were four horses to each, and the jingle of their bells made music on the wintry air. "oh, we're going to have a regular straw ride!" cried alice, clapping her hands at the sight of the comfortable-looking sleighs. "isn't this jolly, ruth?" "i'm sure it will be, yes. come now, have you everything?" "everything, and more too!" "daddy, are you all right?" went on ruth, for she had gotten into the habit, of late, of looking after her father, who seemed to lean on her more and more as she grew older. "everything, daughter," he replied. "and my throat feels much better. i think the cold air is doing it good." "that's fine!" she laughed, happily. "now i wonder which of these sleighs is ours?" "i'll tell you in a minute," said mr. pertell. "i want to see the lodge-keeper. oh, there he is! hello, jake macksey!" he called to the sturdy man, in big boots, who was stalking about among the sleds, "is everything all right for us?" "everything, mr. pertell," was the hearty answer. "we'll have you out to elk lodge in a jiffy. my wife has got a lot of stuff cooked up, for she thought you'd be hungry." "indeed we are!" grumbled mr. sneed. "but if dere iss stuff cooked i can safe mine pretzels!" chuckled mr. switzer. the baggage was stowed in one sled, and in the others the members of the picture company distributed themselves. "all right?" asked jake macksey, who was a veteran guide and hunter, and in charge of elk lodge. "all ready!" answered mr. pertell. "drive lively now, boys!" called the hunter. "it's getting late, and will soon be dark, and the roads aren't any too good." "oh my!" groaned mr. sneed. "i'm sure something will happen!" with cracks of the whips, and a jingling of sleighbells, the little cavalcade started off. the gloom settled slowly down, but ruth and alice helped dispel it by singing lively songs. over the snow-covered road they went, now on a comparatively level place, and again down into some hollow where the drifts were deep. the horses pulled nobly. they came to a narrow place in the road, where the snow was piled high on either side. there was room for but one sled at a time. "i hope we don't meet anyone here," said mr. macksey. "if they do we'll have a hard job passing. g'lang there!" he called to his horses. they were half-way through the snow defile, when the leading sleigh, in which rode ruth and alice, swerved to one side. there was a crashing sound, a splintering of wood, and the two forward horses went down in a heap. "whoa! whoa!" called mr. macksey, as he reined in the others. "what's happened?" asked mr. devere. "some sort of a breakdown," answered the hunter. "serious?" the actor wanted to know, trying to peer ahead in the gloom. "i can't tell yet," was the answer. "here, can someone hold the reins while i get out?" he asked. "i will," offered russ, and he held the rear team. the horses who had fallen had struggled to their feet and were quiet now. but the front part of the sled seemed to have sagged into the snow. "i thought so!" exclaimed mr. macksey, as he got up after peering under the vehicle. "no going on like this." "what happened?" asked alice. "one of the forward runners has broken. there must have been a defect in it i didn't notice." "can't we go on?" asked mr. sneed. "not very well," was the answer. "we've broken down, and unfortunately we're the leading sleigh. i don't know how to get the others past it." "well, i knew something would happen," sighed the human grouch. and he seemed quite gratified that his prediction had been verified. chapter ix the blizzard the two other sleds had, as a matter of necessity, come to a halt behind the first one. the defile in the snow was so narrow that there could be no passing. those who had broken the road through the drifts had not been wise enough to make a wide path, and now the consequences must be taken. in fact it would have been a little difficult to make at this point a path wide enough for two sleighs. the road went between two rocky walls, and though in the summer, when there was no snow, two vehicles could squeeze past, in the winter the piling up of the snow on either side made an almost impassable barrier. to turn out to right or left was out of the question, for the snow was so deep that the horses would have floundered helplessly in it. "well, what's to be done?" asked mr. devere, as he buttoned his coat collar up around his neck, and looked at his two daughters. "i'm afraid i'll have to ask you all to get out," said mr. macksey. "i want to get a better look at that broken runner, and see if it's possible to mend it. bring up a lantern," he called to one of the drivers of the other sleds. "we'll soon need it." the moving picture players in the broken-down sled piled out into the snow. fortunately they had come prepared for rough weather, and wore stout shoes. ruth and alice, as well as russ and paul, laughed at the plight, and mr. switzer, with a chuckle, exclaimed: "ha! maybe mine pretzels vill come in useful after all!" "that's no joke--maybe they will," observed mr. sneed, gloomily. "we may have to stay here all night." "oh, we could walk to elk lodge if we had to," put in mr. macksey, as he took the lantern which the other driver brought up. "it wouldn't be very pleasant," replied mr. sneed, "with darkness soon to be here, and a storm coming up." "you're right about the storm, i'm afraid," answered the veteran hunter. "i don't like the looks of the weather a bit. and it sure will be dark soon. but we'll have a look at this sled," he went on. "give me a hand here, tom and dick," he called to the other drivers, who had left their teams. they managed to prop up the sled, so a better view could be had of the forward runner. then the extent of the damage was made plain. one whole side had given way, and was useless. it could not even be patched up. "too bad!" declared the hunter. "now, if it had only been the rear sled it wouldn't worry me so. "for then we could pile the stuff from the back sled into the others, and go on, even if we were a bit crowded. but with the front sled blocking this narrow road, i don't see how we are to go on." "if we could only jump the two rear sleds over this broken one, it would be all right," said alice. "it's like one of those moving block puzzles, where you try to get the squares in a certain order without lifting any of them out." "that's it," agreed mr. macksey. "but it's no easy matter to jump two big sleds, and eight horses, over another sled and four horses. i've played checkers, but never like that," he added. "but we must do something," insisted mr. pertell. "i can't have my company out like this all night. we must get on to elk lodge, somehow." "well, i don't see how you're going to do it," responded the hunter. "you could walk, of course; but you couldn't take your baggage, and you wouldn't like that." "walk? never! i protest against that!" exclaimed mr. bunn. "'he doth protest too much!'" quoted paul, in a low voice. "come on, ruth--alice--shall we walk?" "i'd like to do it--i'm getting cold standing here," cried alice, stamping her feet on the edge of the road. "will you, ruth?" "i'm afraid we'd better not--at least until we talk to daddy, my dear," was the low-voiced answer. "perhaps they can get the sled fixed." but it did not seem so, for mr. macksey, with a puzzled look on his face, was talking earnestly to the two drivers. the accident had happened at a most unfortunate time and place. "we can't even turn around and go back a different road, the way it is," said the hunter. "there isn't room to turn, and everybody knows you can't back a pung very far before getting stuck." "then what are we to do?" asked mr. pertell. the hunter did not answer for a minute. then he said: "well, we've got twelve horses here, and i can manage to squeeze the two rear teams past the stalled sled. then if you'd like to take chances riding them to elk lodge----" "never!" cried mr. bunn, with lively recollections of a time he had ridden a mule at oak farm. "i shall stay here forever, first!" "well, if you don't want to do that," said mr. macksey, and to tell the truth few members of the company seemed in favor of the idea, "if you don't want to do that i might ride on ahead and get a spare sleigh i have at the lodge. i could get back here before very late, and we'd get home sooner or later." "and we would have to stay here?" asked mr. devere. "i see no help for it. there are plenty of blankets in the sleds, and you can huddle down in the straw and keep warm. i'll get back as soon as i can." there really seemed nothing else to do, and, after talking it over, this plan was practically decided on. but something happened to change it. the wind had been rising constantly, and the snow was ever falling thicker and faster. the players could see only a little way ahead now from the place where they were stalled. "this would make a good film, if you could get it," remarked paul to russ. "too dark," replied the camera operator. "do you know, i don't like this," he went on in a low voice to the young actor. "you don't like what?" paul wanted to know. "the way this weather is acting. i think there's going to be a big storm, and here we are, stalled out in the open. it will be hard for the girls and the women, to say nothing of tommy and nellie." "that's what it will, russ; but what can be done?" as he spoke there came a sudden fierce rush of wind and a flurry of snow. it took the breaths of all, and instinctively they turned from it, for the snow stung their faces. the horses, too, disliked to face the stinging blast, and shifted their places. "get behind such shelter as you can!" cried mr. macksey, above the roar of the storm. "this is a genuine blizzard and it's death to be unprotected. get into the sleds, and cover up with the blankets. i'll have to go for help!" chapter x at elk lodge the warning by mr. macksey, no less than the sudden blast of the storm, struck terror to the hearts of not only the moving picture girls, but to all the other players. for it was something to which they were not used--that terrible sweep of wind and blinding snow. there had been heavy storms in new york, but there the big buildings cut off the force of the wind, except perhaps in some street canyon. but in the backwoods, on this stretch of open fields, there was no protection except that furnished by nature; or, in this case, by the sleds. for a moment after the veteran hunter had called his warning no one moved. they all seemed paralyzed by fear. then mr. macksey called again: "into shelter, every one of you! what do you mean; standing there in this storm? get under the blankets--crouch down at the side of the sleds. i'll go for help." "but you--you'll freeze to death--i can't permit you to go!" protested mr. pertell, yelling the words into the other's ear, to make himself heard above the storm. "no, i'm used to this sort of thing!" the hunter replied. "i know a short cut to the lodge, and i can protect myself against the wind. i'll go." "i don't like it!" repeated mr. pertell, while mr. macksey was forcing him back toward the protecting sled. meanwhile the others, now, if never before, feeling the need of shelter, were struggling through the blinding snow toward the broken sled, from which they had wandered a short time before while listening to the attempts made at solving the problem of getting on. "isn't this awful!" gasped ruth, as she clung to alice. "awful? it's just glorious!" cried the young girl. "i wouldn't have missed it for worlds." "oh, alice, how can you say so? we may all die in this terrible storm!" "i'm not going to think anything of the kind!" returned the other. "we'll get out of it, somehow, and laugh at ourselves afterward for being so silly as to be afraid. oh, this is great!" she was really glorying in the fierce outburst of nature. perhaps she did not understand, or appreciate, it, for she had never seen anything like it before, and in this case ignorance might have been akin to bliss. but the others, especially the drivers of the two sleds, with anxious looks on their cold faces, were trying to seek the shelter they so much needed, and also look to the restless horses. for the animals were now almost frantic with their desire to get away from that cutting wind and stinging snow. "unhitch 'em all!" roared mr. macksey to his men. "take the horses from the sleds and get 'em back of as much shelter as you can find. otherwise they may bolt and upset something. i'll take old bald-face, and see if i can't get some kind of help." though what sort of aid he could bring to the picture actors in this time of storm and stress he hardly knew. but he was not going to give up without trying. ruth and alice were trying to struggle back through the snow to their sled, and not making very successful work of it, when they felt arms at their sides helping them, and russ and paul came along. "fierce; isn't it!" cried russ in ruth's ear. "awful, and yet this sister of mine pretends that she likes it." "i do!" declared alice. "it's glorious. i can't really believe it's a blizzard." "it's the beginning of one, though," paul assured her. "i hear the drivers saying so. their blizzards up here start in with a squall like this, and soon develop into a bad storm. this isn't at its worst yet." "well, i hope i see the worst of it!" said alice. "oh, how can you so tempt fate?" asked ruth, seriously. "i'm not tempting fate, but i mean i do like to see a great storm--that is, if i'm protected, as i am now," and alice laughed through the whirling snow into paul's face, for he had wrapped a fold of his big ulster about her. "oh, dear!" sighed ruth. "what's the matter?" asked russ, anxiously. "i'm so worried." "don't be--yet," he said, reassuringly. "but we may be snowed in here for a week!" "never mind--mr. switzer still has his pretzels, i believe." she could not help laughing, in spite of their distress. "oh, poor daddy!" cried alice, as she reached the sled, and paul prepared to help her in, "he is trying to protect his poor throat." mr. devere wore a heavy coat, the collar of which he had turned up, but even this seemed little protection, and he was now tying a silk handkerchief about his collar. "i have the very thing for him!" cried paul, taking off a muffler he wore. "oh, but you'll need that!" protested alice, quickly. "not a bit of it--i'm as warm as toast," he answered. "here you are, sir!" he called to mr. devere, and when the latter, after a weak resistance, had accepted it (for he was really suffering from the cold), alice thanked paul with a look that more than repaid him for his knightly self-sacrifice. the players were by now in the sled, which, in its damaged condition, had been let down as nearly level as possible. the blankets were pulled up over the side, and mr. macksey was preparing to unhitch one of the horses, and set off for help. then one of the drivers gave a sudden cry, and came running up to his employer. "look!" he shouted. "the wind's shifted. it's blowing right across the top of this cut now. we'll be protected down here!" this was indeed true. at the beginning of the squall, which was working up to a blizzard, the wind had swept up the canyon-like defile between the hills of earth and snow. but now the direction of the gale had shifted and was sweeping across the top of the depression. thus those at the bottom were, in a measure, protected from the blast. "by hickory!" exclaimed mr. macksey, "that's right. the wind has changed. folks, you'll be all right for a while down here, until i can get help." "must you go?" asked ruth, for now they could talk with more ease. indeed, so fiercely was the snow sweeping across the top of the gulch that little of it fell into the depression. "oh, sure, i've got to get help," the hunter said. "you folks can't stay here all night, even if the wind continues to blow across the top, which makes it much better." "indeed and i will not stay here all night!" protested mr. bunn. "i most strenuously object to it." "and so do i!" growled mr. sneed. "there is no need of it. i might have known something unpleasant would happen. i had a feeling in my bones that it would." "well, you'll have a freezing feeling in your bones if i don't get help," observed mr. macksey, grimly. "and i am hungry, too," went on mr. sneed. "why was not food brought with us in anticipation of this emergency?" "haf a pretzel!" offered mr. switzer, holding one out. "away with the vile thing!" snapped mr. sneed. mr. macksey was about to leap on the back of the horse and start off, when the same driver who had noticed the change in the wind called out: "i say, mr. macksey, i have a plan." "what is it?" "maybe you won't have to go for help, after all. why can't we take the forward bob from under the rear sled and put it in place of the broken one on the first sled? we can easily pass the bob by the second sled even if the place is narrow." "by hickory! why didn't you think of that before?" demanded the hunter. "of course we can do it! lively now, and we'll make the change. got to be quick, or it'll be pitch dark." it would have been very dark long ago had it not been for the snow, which gave a sort of reflected light. "come on!" cried mr. macksey. "we'll make the change. i guess i'll have to ask you folks to get out again," he said to the players in the first sled. "but it won't be for long. we'll have a good runner in place of the broken one, and then we can pile into two sleds and get into elk lodge. we'll leave the last sled until to-morrow." "but what about our baggage?" asked miss pennington. "that is in the rear sled. can we take that with us?" "not all of it," answered the hunter, "but you can crowd in as much as possible. the rest can wait." "i want _all_ of mine," declared the former vaudeville actress. "so do i!" cried miss dixon. "you'll be lucky if you get in out of this storm," said mr. pertell reprovingly, "to say nothing about baggage. do the best you can, mr. macksey." "i will. come now, men, lively!" it took some little time to make the change, but finally the work was done. the broken runner was cast aside, and there were now two good sleds, one ahead of the other in the snowy defile. as much of the needed baggage as possible was transferred, and the four horses that had been on the rear sled were brought up and hitched to the remaining sleds--two to each so that each conveyance now had six animals attached to it. "and by hickory!" exclaimed mr. macksey, that appearing to be his favorite expression, "by hickory, we'll need 'em all!" they were now ready to set forth, and all rather dreaded going out into the open again, for the defile offered a good shelter from the storm. but it had to be done, for it was out of the question to stay there all night. "go 'long!" called the hunter, as he shook the long reins of his six horses, and cracked the whip with a report like a pistol. but the lash did not fall on the backs of the ready animals. mr. macksey never beat his horses--they were willing enough without that. lanterns had been lighted and hung on the sleds, to shed their warning rays through the storm. they now gleamed fitfully through the fast-falling snow. "are you feeling better now, daddy?" asked ruth of her father, as she glanced anxiously at him. "much better, yes. i am afraid i ought to give you back your muffler, paul," he added. "no indeed--please keep it," begged the young actor. alice reached beneath the blanket and pressed his hand in appreciation. "thanks," he laughed. "it is i who thank you," she returned, softly. they were now out in the open road, and the fury of the blast struck them with all its cruel force. "keep covered up!" shouted mr. macksey, through the visor of his cap, which was pulled down over his face. "we'll be there pretty soon." on through the drifts plunged the straining horses. it was all six of them could do, pull as they might, to make their way. how cruelly the wind cut, and how the snow flakes stung! soft as they really were, the wind gave them the feeling of pieces of sand and stone. on through the storm went the delayed party. and then, when each one, in spite of his or her fortitude, was almost giving up in despair at the cold and the anxiety mr. macksey shouted out; "whoa! here we are! all out for elk lodge!" chapter xi through the ice warming, comforting beams of light shone from a large, low building set back from the road in a little clearing of the woods. it was too dark to see more than this--that the structure offered shelter, warmth and light. yes, and something else, for there was borne on the wings of the wind the most delicious odor--the odor of supper. "pile out, folks! pile out!" cried the genial old hunter. "here we are! at elk lodge! no more storm! no more cold! get inside to the blaze. i reckon mother's about given us up; but we're here, and we won't do a thing to her cooking! pile out!" it was an invitation that needed no repetition. it was greeted with a merry shout, even mr. sneed, the grouch, condescending to say: "ah, that sounds good!" "ha! den if dere iss food to eat i dinks me dot i don't need to eat my pretzels. i can safe dem for annoder time!" cried mr. switzer, as he got out. there was a laugh at this, and it was added to when mr. bunn called out in his deepest tragic voice: "ha! someone has my silk hat!" for he had persisted in wearing that in the storm, though it was most uncomfortable. "it is gone!" he added. "stolen, mayhap. has anyone seen it?" "probably blew off," said russ. "we'll find it--when the snow melts!" wellington bunn groaned--again tragically. "i'll get you another," offered mr. pertell, generously. "come on, folks! pile out!" cried mr. macksey again. "i'm so stiff i can hardly move!" declared ruth. "so am i," added alice. "oh, but it's good to be here!" "i thought you liked the storm so," observed ruth. "i do, but i like supper too, and i think it must be ready." out of the sleds climbed the cold and cramped picture players, all thought of the fierce storm now forgotten. "go right in," invited mr. macksey. "supper's waiting!" "welcome to elk lodge!" called a motherly voice, and mrs. macksey appeared in the open door of the main corridor. "come right in!" they were glad enough to do it. "i don't know any of you, except russ and mr. pertell," she said, for the manager and his helper had paid a visit to the place sometime before to make arrangements about using it. "you'll soon know all of 'em," declared mr. pertell with a laugh. "i'll introduce you," which he quickly did. "now then, i expect you'll want to wash up," went on the hunter's wife. "i'll have the girl show you to your different rooms, and then you can come down to supper. it's been waiting. what kept you? i'll have to ask you folks because it's like pulling teeth to get any news out of my husband. what happened?" "a breakdown," explained ruth, who took an instant liking to motherly mrs. macksey. "oh, we had such a time!" "such a glorious time!" supplemented alice. "here's a girl who evidently likes outdoors," laughed the hunter's wife. "indeed i do!" cried alice. there was some little confusion, getting the players to their rooms, because of the lateness of the arrival, but finally each one was in his or her appointed apartment, and trying to get settled. the rooms were small but comfortable, and the hunters who had built the lodge for themselves had provided many comforts. "there ought to be a private bath for each one," declared miss pennington, as she surveyed her room. "indeed there ought," agreed her friend miss dixon. "i think this place is horrid!" "how thoughtless and selfish they are," said ruth, who shared a room with alice. "aren't they! i think it's lovely here. oh, but i am so hungry!" "so am i, dear." "glad to hear it for once, ruth. usually you have so little appetite that one would think you were in love." "silly! i'm going to eat to-night anyhow." "does that mean you are _not_ in love?" "silly!" cried ruth again, but that was all she answered. what a glorious and home-like place elk lodge was! yes, even better than the best home the moving picture girls had known most of their lives, for they had spent part of the time boarding, as their father traveled about with his theatrical company, and who can compare a home to a boarding house? down in the big living room a fire burned and crackled, and gave out spicy odors on the great hearth that took in logs six feet long. and how cheerfully and ruddily the blaze shone out! it mellowed and cheered everyone. even mr. sneed smiled, and stretched out his hands to the leaping flames. as ruth and alice were about to go down, having called to their father across the hall that they were ready for him, there came a knock on their door. "come in!" invited ruth. "sorry to trouble you," spoke miss pennington, "but have you any cold cream and--er--powder? our things were left in the other sled--i mean all of those things, and laura and i can't--we simply can't get along without them." "i have cold cream," said alice. "but powder--that is unless it's talcum or rice----" "that will have to do i guess," sighed the vaudeville actress. "but i did hope you had a bit of rouge, i'm so pale!" "never use it!" said alice quickly. too quickly, hospitable ruth thought, for, though she decried the use of "paint," she would not be rude to a guest, and, under these circumstances miss pennington was a guest. "you don't need it," the caller said, with a glance at alice's glowing cheeks, to whom the wind and snow had presented two damask spots that were most becoming. "the weather is very chapping to my face," the former vaudeville actress went on. "i really must have something," and she departed with the cold cream and some harmless rice powder, which ruth and alice used judiciously and sparingly, and only when needed. the fine supper, late as it was, necessarily, was enjoyed to the utmost. it was bountiful and good, and though at first miss pennington and miss dixon were inclined to sniff at the lack of "courses," and the absence of lobster, it was noticed that they ate heartily. "there is only one thing more i want," sighed paul, as he leaned back in his chair. "what, pray? it seems to me, and i have been watching you, that you have had about all that is good for you," laughed alice. "i have seen you get three separate and distinct helpings of fried chicken." "oh, i didn't mean anything more to eat," he said, quickly, "and if you are going to watch me so closely i shall have to cut down my rations, i fear. what i meant was that i would like a moving picture of this supper. it has memories that long will linger, but i fain would have a souvenir of it." "be careful that you don't get indigestion as a souvenir," laughed alice, as he followed her sister from the table. the dining room opened off the great living apartment with that wonderful fire, and following the meal all the members of the company gathered about the hearth. outside the storm still raged, and mr. macksey, who came in from having with his men, put away the horses, reported that the blizzard was growing worse. "it's a good thing we thought of changing the bobs and coming on," he said. "otherwise we might be there yet." "what really happened?" asked his wife. "i was telling one of the young ladies that it was like pulling teeth to get any news out of you." "oh, we just had a little breakdown," he said. "now, folks, just make yourselves at home. go to bed when you like, get up when you please. i'll try and get the rest of your baggage here some time to-morrow, if this storm lets up." "i hope you do get it," complained miss pennington. "selfish thing!" whispered alice. "all she wants is her paint!" "hush," cautioned ruth. "she'll hear you!" "i don't care," voiced her sister. they talked of many things as they sat about the fire, and then mr. pertell said: "we will film no dramas while the storm continues, but as soon as we can get out on the ice i want to start one." "is there skating about here?" asked alice, who was very fond of the sport. "there's a fine lake back of the lodge," replied mr. macksey, "and as soon as the storm lets up i'll have the men clear a place of snow, and you can have all the fun you want." "oh, joy!" cried alice. "save me the first skate," whispered paul to her, and she nodded acquiescence. mr. pertell briefly outlined the drama he expected to film on the ice, and then, after a little more talk, every one voted that bed was the best place in the world. for the wind had made them all sleepy, and they were tired out from the storm and their long journey. alice and ruth went up to their room. alice pulled aside the curtain from the window and looked out on a scene of swirling whiteness. the flakes dashed against the pane as though knocking for admission. "it's a terrible night," said ruth, with a little shiver. "well, much as i like weather, i wouldn't want to be out in it long," alice confessed. "elk lodge is a very good place in a blizzard." "suppose we got snowed in?" asked ruth, apprehensively. "then we'll dig our way out--simple answer. oh dear!" and alice yawned luxuriously, if not politely, showing her pretty teeth. in spite of the portentous nature of the storm, it was not fully borne out, and morning saw the sun shining on the piles of snow that had fallen. there had been a considerable quantity sifted down on what was already about elk lodge, but there was not enough to hinder traffic for the sturdy lumbermen and hunters of that region. the wind had died down, and it was not cold, so when mr. macksey announced that he was going back after the broken-down sleigh, ruth and alice asked permission to accompany him. before starting off mr. macksey had set a gang of men, hired for the occasion, to scraping the snow off the frozen lake, and when ruth and alice came back they found several of the picture players skating, while russ was getting ready to film one of the first scenes of the drama. "you're in this, mr. sneed," said the manager. "you are supposed to be skating along, when you trip and fall breaking your leg----" "hold on--stop--break my leg! never!" cried the grouchy actor. "of course you don't really injure yourself!" exclaimed the manager, testily. "oh, why did i ever come to this miserable place!" sighed mr. sneed. "i despise cold weather!" but there was no help for it. soon he was on the steel runners gliding about, while russ filmed him. mr. sneed was a good skater, and was not averse to "showing off." "all ready, now!" called the manager to him. "get that fall in right there. russ, be ready for him!" "oh!" groaned the actor. "here i go!" and, as luck would have it, he, at that moment, tripped on a stick, and fell in earnest. it was much better done than if he had simulated it. but something else happened. he fell so heavily, and at a spot where there was a treacherous air hole, that, the next instant mr. sneed broke through the ice, and was floundering in the chilly water. chapter xii the curious deer "quick! a rope!" "no, boards are better!" "fence rails will do!" "oh, get him out, someone!" these were only some of the cries uttered, following the accident to mr. sneed. meanwhile he was doing his best to keep himself above water by grasping the edge of the ice. but it crumbled in his fingers, and he was so shocked by the sudden immersion, and by the cold, and his skates were so heavy on his feet, that he went down again and again. fortunately the lake was not deep at that point, and as he went down his feet would touch bottom, and he could spring up again. "don't go out there!" warned mr. pertell, as paul started for the spot. "why not?" asked the young actor. "because the ice is probably thin all around that place. i don't want two of you in. hold on, mr. sneed!" he cried to the desperate actor. "we'll have you out in no time!" "shall i get this?" cried russ, who had not deserted his camera, even as a gunner will not leave his cannon, nor a captain his ship. more than once brave moving picture operators have stood in the face of danger to get rare views. "yes, get every motion of it!" cried the manager. "but it isn't in the play!" "i don't care! we'll write it in afterward. you get the pictures and we'll rescue mr. sneed. hi, there, mr. bunn, you must help with this. get some fence rails! we can slide them out on the ice and they will distribute the weight so that the ice will hold us." "but where will i get fence rails?" asked the actor. "oh, gnaw them out of a tree!" cried mr. pertell, who was much disturbed and nervous. "don't you see that fence?" he cried, pointing to one not far off. "get some rails from that. and then get in the picture!" "oh, such a life!" groaned mr. bunn. "this is to save a life!" the manager reminded him. and while russ continued to make moving pictures of the unexpected scene, the others set about the work of rescue. later this could be interpolated in the drama to make it appear as though it had all been arranged in advance. "hurry with those rails!" called mr. pertell to mr. bunn. "he can't stay in that icy water forever." some of the men who had been working at removing the snow now came up with ropes and trace chains. then, when the rails were spread out on the ice, near the air hole, the rescuers were able to get near enough to throw the ends of several lines to mr. sneed. he managed to grasp one, and, a moment later was hauled out on the ice. "i--i--i'm c-c-c-cold!" he stammered, as he stood with the icy water dripping from him. "shouldn't wonder but what you were," agreed mr. pertell. "now the thing for you to do is to run to the lodge as fast as you can. here, mr. bunn, you and paul run alongside him, with a hold on either arm. we'll call this film 'a modern pickwick,' instead of what we planned. in dickens' story there's a scene somewhat like this. we'll change the whole thing about. "russ, you go on ahead, and when paul and mr. bunn come along with mr. sneed, you get them as they run." "all right," assented the young moving picture operator, as he kept on grinding away at the crank. exercise was the best thing to restore the circulation of the actor who had fallen into the water, and he soon had plenty of it. with paul on one side, and mr. bunn on the other, he was raced back to elk lodge, and there he was supplied plentifully with hot lemonade to ward off a cold. russ got interior pictures of these scenes as well, and later the film made a great success. "in view of the accident, and the fact that you are all more or less upset," said mr. pertell, when some of the excitement had calmed down, "we will give up work for the rest of the day. you may do as you please until to-morrow." "then i'm going for a walk," cried alice. "i'm with you," spoke paul, "only we ought to have snowshoes." "oh, could we get any?" she cried. "i can arrange for some for you," promised mr. macksey, "but i haven't any now." "good idea!" exclaimed the manager. "an idea for a new film--'the snowshoe rescue!' here, russ, make some notes of this for future use," and he began to dictate to the young operator, who with his employer frequently thus improvised dramas out of a mere suggestion. "if you want to walk," said mr. macksey to alice, "you'd better stick to the road. the men have been out with homemade snowplows breaking a trail. that's what we do around here after a storm. you'd better stick to the road." "we will!" cried alice. "will you come, ruth?" "later perhaps--not now. i want to study a new part i have." "i suppose you're waiting for russ," whispered alice. "don't be silly!" flashed ruth. but she did not go out with her sister. alice and paul had a glorious walk in the snow, and saw a beautiful country, even though it was hidden under a mantle of white. for deerfield was a lovely place. "aren't you cold?" asked ruth, when her sister returned. "not a bit. it's glorious. what did you do, and how is mr. sneed?" "he's doing nicely, i believe. as for me, i stayed in. i had some mending to do." "is that why russ has threads on his coat sleeve--was it his coat you were mending?" "oh, alice--you are hopeless!" protested ruth, but she blushed vividly. that afternoon, as mrs. macksey was overseeing the getting of supper, alice, who went to the kitchen for something, heard the veteran hunter and his wife in conversation. "you say they are strangers about here?" he asked. "yes, three men. i saw them after you had gone to the station to get the moving picture folks. there were three men, and i think they were after deer." "after deer, eh? don't they know that this is a private preserve?" "they didn't seem to care. they came to ask their direction. they all had guns, and i'm sure they were after deer." "and you never saw them before?" "no, i never did." "and you have no idea where they came from?" "i couldn't tell--no. i heard one of them ask the other if he thought it was safe." "if what was safe?" "he didn't say. maybe he meant to hunt deer around here." "it won't be safe if i catch them!" declared mr. macksey, as he went out. alice wondered who the men could be. it was so quiet and peaceful at elk lodge that mr. devere soon forgot all about the annoyance caused by the demand of dan merley for the five hundred dollars. at first he had expected some sort of legal summons in a suit, but when none came he breathed easier. several days passed, and a few snow scenes were filmed to be used later, and worked into dramas. mr. sneed suffered a little cold from his unexpected bath, but that was all. meanwhile the weather had remained about the same. there was plenty of snow, but no more storms. elk lodge was voted the finest place in the world, and even miss pennington and miss dixon condescended to say that they liked it. then, one day, plans were made for filming a little drama in the snowy woods, and thither many members of the company went to act. ruth was supposed to be lost in a dense thicket, and paul was soon on his way to find her, in the guise of a woodman. he had sighted ruth, over a clump of bushes, and was making his way to her, when he heard her scream. this was not in the play and he wondered what could have happened. "quick!" he heard her cry. "he's going to jump at me!" paul broke into a run, and the next moment saw a deer, with large, branching antlers, spring through the underbrush directly in front of ruth, while russ, at the camera, yelled to drive away the curious animal. chapter xiii the coasting race "oh, i'm so frightened!" cried ruth. "don't be alarmed!" russ called to her, while he continued to grind away at the camera. "he won't hurt you. this will make a dandy picture! i'm going to film the deer." "oh, but suppose he jabs me with his horns?" wailed ruth, who was not quite so alarmed now. "they are terribly sharp." "don't worry!" russ answered. "this is coming out great. the deer was just the one thing needed to make this film a success." "then i won't spoil it by coming in now!" called paul, who was keeping out of the focus of the camera by crouching down behind some bushes. he had heard what russ said, and had given up his plan of rushing to rescue ruth. evidently there was no need. the deer, strange to say, did not seem at all alarmed, and stood gazing at ruth with great brown eyes. she too, realizing that she was not to be harmed, acted more naturally now, and with an appreciation of what was needed to make the film a proper one. she first "registered" fear, and then delighted surprise, at seeing the animal. i might explain that in making moving pictures certain directions are given to the actors. as they can not depend on speaking words to let the audiences know what is going on, they must intimate, by appropriate gesture, or facial expression, the action of the play. this is called "registering," and when in the directions, or scenario, an actor or actress is told to "register" fear, surprise, anger, love, jealousy--in fact any of the emotions--he or she knows what is meant. in this case ruth was without specific directions save those called out by russ. and often, in an emergency a good moving picture camera operator can save a film from being spoiled by improvising some "stage directions," if i may call them such. "shall i approach him, russ?" ruth asked, as she saw that the deer showed no intentions of fleeing. "yes, if he'll let you. it will make a dandy scene." "not too close," cautioned paul, who was still out of sight behind the bushes, waiting until he could properly come into the scene. "he might accidentally hit you with a sweep of his horns." "i'll be careful," answered ruth. "i believe the poor thing is hungry." "if we only had something to feed him!" exclaimed russ. "that would work in fine." "i have some lumps of sugar," said ruth, speaking with her head turned aside. the reason for this was that she did not want the movement of her lips to show on the film, and the camera will catch and fix even that slight motion. the reason ruth spoke aside was because the little scene was being improvised, and she had no proper lines to speak. and, as i have already explained, often persons in the audience of a moving picture theatre are able to understand what is said, merely by watching the lips of the performers on the screen. "sugar! good!" cried russ. "see if he'll take it. i don't know what deer like best, but if they're anything like horses they'll revel in sugar. go ahead!" ruth had in her pocket some lumps she had intended giving to the horses attached to the sleds in which they had come to the woods. she now took out some of these and held them out to the timid deer. the beautiful creature, made bold, perhaps, by hunger, came a step nearer. "oh, that's fine!" cried russ, squinting through the focusing tube to get clear, sharp impressions on the film. "keep at it, ruth." the deer came nearer, thrusting forth its velvet nose. it sniffed at the sugar ruth held, and then put out its lips and tongue and picked up the lumps. "fine!" cried russ. "maybe he'd like salt better, for i've read of salt-licks that animals visit, but sugar will do on a pinch; won't it, old fellow?" perhaps it was the loud, laughing voice that russ used, or it may have been because there was no more sugar, but, at any rate, the deer, after taking the sweet lumps gave a sudden turn, and rushed off through the bushes, going rather slowly because of the deep snow. russ caught every motion of the graceful creature, however, and called out to ruth to pose with her hand shaded over her eyes, as though she were looking after the deer. she did this, and that ended the little scene with the timid woodland creature, who, if he ever saw moving pictures, would doubtless be very much surprised to perceive a presentment of himself on the screen. "come on now, paul!" called russ, indicating to the young actor to show himself so that he would get into the picture. the other players who had come up on hearing ruth call out were now ready for their parts in the play. they had kept out of sight of the camera, however, so as not to spoil the picture. "very well done!" declared mr. pertell, when ruth had finished her part in the play. "that deer will make a very effective picture, i think." "it was a dear deer!" punned alice, and the others laughed. on the way back to elk lodge the manager made an announcement that interested all in the company, the young people especially. "i have a drama," he said, "that calls for a coasting race in one scene. i wonder if we couldn't do that to-morrow." "oh, riding down hill!" cried alice, with girlish enthusiasm. "what fun! may i steer a bob?" "alice, you never could!" cried ruth. "pooh! i've done it lots of times!" her sister answered. "yes, when you were a little girl, perhaps, with two sleds held together," laughed mr. pertell. "this will be different. mr. macksey tells me he has two big, old-fashioned bobsleds in one of the barns. now i think we can get up two parties and have a big coasting race. the play calls for it, and the young men who steer the bobs are rivals for the hand of the same girl. she has made a condition that whoever gets first to the bottom of the big hill may marry her. so you see the plan of the play." "me for a bob!" cried paul. "i wish i didn't have to film the play--i'd steer one, too!" exclaimed russ, with a look at ruth that made her blush. "must i get into this silly coasting play?" asked mr. bunn. "you surely must," answered mr. pertell. "and i want to warn you of one thing--you are not to wear a high hat--it would only blow off and embarrass you." "not wear my high hat? then i refuse to take part!" cried the tragic actor. but mr. pertell paid no attention to him, for he had heard the same thing before. the details of the coasting race were discussed on the way to elk lodge, and it was arranged that a partial rehearsal should be held next day. that night, as alice and ruth were going to bed rather early, on account of the wearying work of the day, they heard voices out in the hall near their room. "listen!" warned alice, raising her finger, for ruth was talking. "it's mr. and mrs. macksey," said ruth. "i know. but what are they saying? it's something about those strange hunters who were seen about here once before." mr. macksey, who had been summoned to the upper hall by his wife to fix a broken window, was speaking in his deep voice. "so those fellows were around again; eh?" he asked. "yes, and i don't like it, jake," mrs. macksey replied. "you know what it means if they kill any of the club deer. it may cost you your place here. the members of the club may say you were not careful enough." "that's so, wife. i reckon i'd better look after those chaps. if they're trespassing on elk lodge i can have them arrested anyhow." the next day was clear and calm, just right for taking pictures, and after breakfast the entire company went out on the hill where the bobsled race was to take place. the hill had been prepared in advance by men from elk lodge, so that the sleds would attain good speed. the snow had been packed down, and a place made for russ to set up his camera. "paul, you will steer one bob," said mr. pertell, as he was arranging the affair, "and mr. sneed will take the other." "what, me steer a bobsled down that hill?" cried the grouchy actor, as he looked at the steep slope. "of course," said the manager. "something is sure to happen," declared mr. sneed. "nonsense!" exclaimed mr. pertell. "all you have to do is to keep the wheel steady." the company of players, with a number of men from elk lodge, added to fill the bobs, now divided themselves into two parties. ruth was to go on the sled with mr. sneed, and sit directly behind him so as to show well in the camera. alice was to ride next to paul on the other sled. the bobs were long ones, with bells and large steering wheels in front. "all ready?" called mr. pertell, when the players were seated. "all ready!" cried russ, indicating that the camera was prepared. "go!" ordered the manager, and the men detailed to push the bobs shoved them ahead. the moving picture coasting race was on. chapter xiv on snowshoes "here we go!" "hold on tight, everybody!" "let's see if we can't win!" with shouts and laughter the merry coasters thus enlivened the race down hill. in order to make the moving pictures appear as realistic as possible mr. pertell had told the players to forget, for the time being, that they were actors, and to imagine that they were just boys and girls, out for a real frolic. "and i'm sure i feel like one!" cried alice, as she clung to the sides of the bob, where she sat behind paul. "that's the way to talk!" he laughed. "look out for yourself now, we're going to bump!" at that moment they came to a "thank-ye-ma'am," as they are called in the country. this is a ridge, or bump in the road, made to keep the rain water from rushing down the highway too fast. the ridge turns the water to one side. as paul spoke the sled reached this place, rose into the air, and came down heavily. "gracious!" cried alice. "i was nearly bounced off!" "i warned you!" laughed paul. "there's another one just below. watch out for it." paul's sled was a little ahead of the one steered by mr. sneed, and the latter was unaware of the treacherous nature of the road. so he did not warn his fellow coasters. the result was that two of those on the rear fell off, but as they landed in soft snow they were not hurt. "all the better!" cried russ, who was making the pictures. "that will add to it. keep going, mr. sneed!" "if i go much farther i'll fall off!" cried the grouchy actor. "i can't hold on much longer!" "you've got to!" ordered mr. pertell. "i'm not going to have this picture spoiled." "please don't fall off, whatever you do!" cried ruth, who was back of mr. sneed. "that would leave me to do the steering and i don't know the first thing about it." "well, i'll do my best," he said, as graciously as he could. "certainly i don't want to make trouble for you, miss devere." "thank you," she said, and then as she looked ahead and saw another bump in the road, she cried: "look out! we're going to hit it." now mr. sneed was still suffering from the effects of the first bump, and not wishing to repeat it he sought to avoid the second by steering to one side. but in steering a long and heavy bobsled, well-laden with coasters, there is one thing to be remembered. that is, it must not be steered too suddenly to one side, for it has a propensity to "skid" worse than an automobile. this was what happened in the case of mr. sneed. he turned the steering wheel suddenly, the bobsled slewed to one side, and, in another instant, had upset. "oh, dear!" "we'll be killed!" these two expressions came respectively from miss pennington and miss dixon. some of the men cried out and a number of the girls screamed; but, after all, no one was hurt, for the snow was soft and luckily the bob rolled to one side, not hitting anyone. the moment he realized that it was about to capsize mr. sneed let go of the steering wheel, and gave a jump which carried him out of harm's way, so the only mishap he suffered was a rather severe shaking up, and being covered with snow. considerable of the white stuff got in his mouth. "wuff!" he spluttered. "i--gurr--will never--burr--steer--another--whew--sled!" by this time he had cleared his mouth of snow, and repeated his determination, without the interruptions and stutterings. "did you get that spill, russ?" asked mr. pertell, who could not keep from laughing. "every move of it; yes, sir!" "good. i think we can make use of it, though it wasn't in the scenario. but we'll have to start over again. i want to get a good close finish." "what's that you said?" asked mr. sneed, as he dusted the snow from his clothes, and looked at the overturned bob. "i said," repeated the manager, "that we'd have to do the coasting scene over again, as i wanted to show a close finish of the two sleds at the foot of the hill, and now we can't, for one is down there, and the other is up here." this was true enough, since paul had steered his sled properly, and had reached the foot of the slope, where he and the others waved to their less fortunate competitors. "well, you can have the race over again if you like," said mr. sneed, with decision, "but i am not going to steer. i knew something would happen if i steered a bob." "well, you were right--for once," conceded mr. pertell, with a smile. "and perhaps you are right not to want to steer again. it may not be safe." "i'll do it!" offered mr. switzer. "in der old country yet i haf steered sleds bigger yet as dis von." "all right, you may try," said mr. pertell. "now then, is anyone hurt?" "i am not, i'm glad to say," laughed ruth, who was brushing the snow from her garments. "but it was a narrow escape." "indeed it was!" snapped miss dixon. "it was all your fault, too, mr. sneed!" "my fault, how?" "you steered to one side too quickly. don't you try that, mr. switzer." "indeed und i vill not. you can trust me!" "get ready then," ordered mr. pertell. "come on back!" he called to paul and his companions at the foot of the hill. as the story in which the coasting race figured would have to be changed to make the accident fit in, mr. pertell had russ get all the incidental scenes he could, showing the overturned bob being righted, the coasters getting ready for the new race, and the other bob being pulled up hill. once more the rival coasters prepared to start off, with mr. switzer replacing mr. sneed. this time there was no upset, and the two sleds went down close together. then something new developed. mr. switzer spoke truly when he said he had been used to steering bobs in germany. he knew just how to do it to get the best results, and take advantage of every favorable spot on the hill. paul, too, seeing that it was to be a real race, as well as one for the benefit of the moving picture audiences, exerted himself to get the best out of his sled. there is little a steersman on a bob can do except to take advantage of the easiest course. and this paul did. on and on went the big bobs, nearing the foot of the hill. "this is great!" cried mr. pertell. "this will be some picture!" declared russ, with enthusiasm. "come on, paul, he's going to win!" "not if i know it!" avowed the young actor. "oh, don't let them get ahead of us!" cried alice in paul's ear. "i'll do my best," he said, with a grim tightening of his lips. but it was not to be. either a little more skillful steering on the part of mr. switzer, or a more favorable course enabled his sled to shoot ahead, just at the finish, and he won the race. and then a curious thing happened. the sled kept on going, and slid into a little clump of bushes, from which, a moment later, a man with a gun sprang. this man seemed as surprised at being thus driven from his shelter as were the coasters at seeing him. "ha! vot does dis mean?" demanded mr. switzer. "vos you vaiting for us mit dot gun?" really the man did look a little menacing as he stood there with poised weapon, looking at the coasters. "i beg your pardon," he managed to stammer, at length. "i did not see you coming." "i guess it's our part to beg your pardon," said mr. sneed, who, though he did not steer the bob, had been obliged to ride on it. "we did not mean to run into you." "no harm done; none at all," the man said. "i was hiding here, waiting for a chance to shoot at a fox that has a particularly fine pelt, but i guess i may as well give up. i heard the shouts of you folks, but i had no idea you would coast away down here." "i didn't haf no idea like dot myself," confessed mr. switzer. "but if dere iss no hart feelings ve vill let comeons be bygones." "that suits me," laughed the stranger, as he turned aside. and, as he went away ruth had a queer feeling that she had seen him before and under odd circumstances. the coasting incident was over, the race had been successfully filmed, and the coasters were turning back up the hill, while russ was demounting his camera, for there would be no more scenes taken at present. "did you notice that man, alice?" asked ruth, as she went up the hill beside her sister. "you mean the hunter who looked as though he wanted to shoot some of us?" "oh, what a way to talk! but that's the one i had reference to. did you notice him particularly?" "not very. why?" "do you think you ever saw him before?" ruth put the question in such a peculiar way that alice looked at her sharply. "you don't mean he was one of the men who tried to get russ's patent; do you?" "no. i can't, for the life of me, though, think where i have seen that man before, but i'm sure i have. i thought you might remember." alice tried to recall the face, but could not. "i don't believe i ever saw him before," she said, shaking her head. "he might be one of the many actors we have met on our travels, or in going around with daddy." "no, i'm sure he never was an actor," spoke ruth. "never mind, perhaps it will come to me later." and all the remainder of the day she tried in vain to recall where she had seen that face before. mr. macksey seemed a trifle disturbed when told of the man being on the hill with a gun. "one of those pesky hunters!" he exclaimed. "i've got notices posted all over the property of elk lodge, but they don't seem to do any good. i guess i'll have to get after those fellows and give 'em a piece of my mind. i'd like to find out where they are stopping." the next few days were busy ones for the picture actors, and a number of dramas were filmed. in one, two snow forts were built, and the company indulged in a snowball battle before the camera. "and now for something new," said mr. pertell one day, as he called the company together in the big living room of the lodge, and pointed to something piled in one corner. "you'll have to have a few days' practice, i think, so i give you fair notice." "more coasting?" asked mr. sneed, suspiciously. "no--snowshoes, this time," replied the manager. "i am going to have you all travel on them in one scene, and as they are rather awkward you had better take a few lessons." "lessons on snowshoes!" cried ruth. "who can give them to us?" "i have a teacher," said the manager. "russ, tell billy jack to come in," and there entered from the porch a tall indian, dressed in modern garb. miss pennington screamed, as did miss dixon, but the indian smiled, showing some very fine and white teeth, and said in a gentle voice: "don't be alarmed, ladies, i have no scalping knife with me, and i assure you that you will soon be able to get about on snowshoes." chapter xv a timely shot surprise, for the moment, made every member of the moving picture company silent. that an indian should speak so correctly was a matter of amazement. mr. pertell smiled quizzically as he remarked. "billy jack is one of the last of his tribe. he is a full-blooded indian, but he has been to carlisle, which may account for some things." "i should say it would," murmured paul ardite. "i'm glad i didn't give a war whoop!" "i learned to use snowshoes when i was a boy," went on the indian, who, though roughly dressed was cultured. "i have kept it up ever since," he went on. "i have charge of a gang of men getting out some lumber, not far from here, and when mr. macksey told me there was a company of moving picture actors and actresses at elk lodge i spoke of the snowshoes." "and when mr. macksey told me of it," put in the manager, "i saw at once that we could use a scene with some of you folks on the shoes. so i arranged with billy jack." "is that your real name?" asked alice, who had taken a sudden liking to the rugged son of the forest. "that's one of my real names, strange as it sounds," he answered. "i don't much fancy it; but what am i to do?" "i like it!" the girl announced, promptly. "it's better than being running bear or something like that." "i had one of those names--in fact, i have it yet," he said, "but i never use it. flaming arrow is my real indian name." "flaming arrow! how romantic!" exclaimed miss dixon. "how did you come to get that?" "oh, when i was a boy an indian from a neighboring tribe shot an arrow, with some burning tow on it, over into our camp, just in a spirit of mischief, for we were friendly. i snatched the arrow out of a pile of dry bark that it might have set on fire, and so i got my name. i am a western indian," billy jack explained, "but of late i have made my home in new england. now, if you like, i will show you how to use snowshoes." a number of the queer "tennis racquets," as alice called them, had been obtained through the good offices of billy jack, he having arranged for them in the lumber camp. snowshoes, as you all know, consist of a thin strip of wood, bent around in a curve, and shaped not unlike a lawn tennis racquet, except that the handle or heel part is shorter. the shoes are laced with thongs, and the feet are placed in the centre of the criss-crossed thongs, and held there by other thongs or straps. the idea of snowshoes is to enable travelers to make their way over deep drifts without sinking, the shoes distributing the weight over a larger area. they are not easy to use, and the novice is very apt to trip by putting one shoe down on top of the other, and then trying to step out. billy jack, or flaming arrow, as ruth and alice voted to call him, first showed the members of the company how to fasten the snowshoes on their feet, allowing for the play of the heel. he put a pair on himself, first, and stepped out over a stretch of unbroken snow. instead of sinking down, as he would have done under ordinary circumstances, he slipped over the surface as lightly as a feather. "now, you try," he told mr. sneed, who was near him. "who, me? oh, i can't walk on these things," protested the grouchy actor. "try!" ordered mr. pertell. "i have a very important part for you in the new play." "all right, if you say so, i suppose i must. but i know something will happen," he sighed. it did, and within a few seconds after mr. sneed started out. he took three steps, and then, forgetting that the snowshoes were rather large, he tried to walk as though he did not have them on. the result was he tripped, and came down head first in a deep drift, and there he remained, buried to his shoulders while his feet were up in the air, wildly kicking about. he was probably saying things, but they could not be heard, for his head was under the snow. "somebody help him out!" cried mr. pertell, trying to keep from laughing too hard. in fact everyone was so amused that, for the moment, no one rendered any aid to mr. sneed. but flaming arrow finally went over to him, and succeeded in righting him. "take--take 'em off!" spluttered the actor, when he could speak. "i am through with snowshoes." he tried to unlace the thongs that bound his feet, but could not manage it. "better try once more," advised mr. pertell. "i really need you in the scene, mr. sneed, and you will soon learn to get along on the snowshoes." "i never will!" cried the grouch. "take 'em off, i say!" but no one would, and finally, after flaming arrow had given a few more demonstrations, mr. sneed consented to try again. this time he did a little better, but every once in a while he would trip. he did not again dive into a snow bank, however. other members of the company had haps and mishaps, and mr. bunn stumbled about so that he lost his new tall hat in a drift, and he refused to go on with the act until the silk tile was dug out. but finally after two day's practice, the indian declared that the company was sufficiently expert to allow the taking of pictures, and russ began to work the camera. "could we come over to your lumber camp some day?" asked alice of flaming arrow, when the little drama was over. "i would be pleased to have you," he replied, with a smile. "there are a rough lot of men there, but they are always glad to see visitors--especially ladies. it is rather dull and lonesome in the backwoods. this has been quite a little vacation for me." "then we'll come and see you; won't we ruth?" "i don't know, dear. we'll have to ask daddy," responded ruth, rather doubtfully. "oh, he'll say yes!" alice cried. "he likes us to see new sights, and i've never been in a lumber camp yet." "bring your father along," invited flaming arrow. "i think he would be interested." alice promised and then the indian took his leave. he promised to come another day and bring a pair of skis, those long barrel-stave-like affairs, on which experts can slide down a steep hill, and make the most astonishing jumps. it was a few days after the snowshoe film had been made that mr. pertell decided on getting some scenes farther back in the woods than he had yet gone for views. ruth and alice, with paul and mr. switzer, were alone needed for those particular acts, and as there was a good road part way it was decided to go as near as possible in a sled, and use snowshoes for the rest of the trip, since there had been quite a fall. mr. pertell went along to see that the proper posing and acting was carried out, and when he reached the place he had ruth and alice go on alone into the woods, russ filming them as they advanced. later paul and mr. switzer were to come into the picture. "that's about right," said the manager when ruth and alice were in a dense thicket. they were attired as the daughters of lumbermen, and this particular scene was one in a drama to be called "the fall of a tree." "begin now," ordered mr. pertell, and ruth and alice started the "business," or acting, called for. russ was grinding away at the crank of the camera. everything went off well and that part of the play came to an end. for the next act another background was to be selected, and russ went to it with his camera, leaving ruth and alice standing together in the thicket. "we have to wait a few minutes, while paul and mr. switzer go through their parts," said ruth. "then we'll go over." "all right," alice said. "oh, but isn't it perfectly heavenly out here? i just love it at elk lodge!" "so do i, dear! hark! what was that?" a sound came from the bushes behind them--a growling, menacing sound, and as they heard it the girls drew together in fright. "it--it's some animal!" gasped ruth. "oh, alice!" "look. there it is! it's going to spring at us!" cried the younger girl and with trembling finger she pointed to a crouching beast not far away. its eyes gleamed balefully, and with sharp switchings of its tail it glared at the girls, ready to spring. the moving picture girls were faint with fear, and too frightened to shout for help. but suddenly a voice behind them called: "don't be afraid! stand still. i'm going to shoot!" the next moment a shot rang out. the beast quivered and then whirled in its death struggle, while strong arms reached through the floating powder smoke, and pulled ruth and alice back, and out of danger. chapter xvi in the cave the animal, in its death struggle, bit and clawed at the snow and bushes about it, and actually came almost to the feet of the shrinking girls; but they were safe from harm, for the shot had come just in time. "i guess i'll have to give him another bullet," said the man who had ended the career of the beast. "i'll put it out of its misery," and he did so. the shot, so close at hand, caused ruth and alice to jump nervously, and then, for the first time, as the beast stretched out, and lay still, they took a look at their rescuer. "why it's flaming arrow!" exclaimed alice, in delight. "at your service!" he laughed. "i am glad i happened to be near here." "so are we!" exclaimed ruth, with a nervous laugh. "what sort of a beast is that--a young bear?" "no, it's a wildcat, and a mean sort of animal, once it attacks you. this one must have felt that it was cornered, for they are not usually so bold. it's a big one, though, and the pelt will make a fine rug for your room. may i have the pleasure of sending it to you?" he asked. "oh, can you make it into a rug?" asked alice. "yes, i know something of curing, and i have the materials at my shack in the lumber camp. i'll make a rug for you, only i'm afraid it isn't big enough for two," he said, ruefully. "oh, alice may have it!" exclaimed ruth, generously. "then i'll get another for you," offered flaming arrow. "they usually travel in pairs, and the mate of this one is sure to be around somewhere. i'll get him." later the indian did get another wildcat, whether or not the mate of the first one he shot could not be determined; but, at any rate, ruth and alice each received a handsome fur rug for their room. the sound of the shots brought up the others of the moving picture company, and paul turned rather pale when he realized the danger alice had been in. "why didn't you call for help?" he asked. "we didn't need to. flaming arrow was right on the spot when he was needed," replied alice. "i happened to be out on a little hunting trip," the indian explained, "and i saw the wildcat sneak in this thicket. i did not see the girls, though, until just as it was about to jump on them. then i fired." "and just in time, too," declared ruth. "oh, if that beast had ever jumped on me i don't know what i'd have done!" "they're pretty bad scratchers," said flaming arrow. "i was clawed by one once, and i carry the scars yet." "will you be able to go on with the play?" asked mr. pertell of the girls, when he had heard the story. "oh, yes," returned alice. "my nerves are all right now. we are getting used to such experiences," she laughed. "i am all right too," ruth agreed. "but it was a trying moment." flaming arrow stood to one side and looked on interestedly while the remainder of the drama was being filmed, and then he showed the players the road to his lumber camp. he invited them to come over to it, but as the hour was late and as mr. pertell wanted to get a few more scenes in a different locality, it was decided to defer the visit to some other time. flaming arrow said good-bye, and went off with the dead wild cat slung over his shoulder. "isn't he just fine!" exclaimed alice, as she watched him stalking over the drifts on his snowshoes. "i'm getting jealous!" laughed paul, and there was more of meaning in his remark than his outward manner indicated. "well, i do like him!" alice went on. "he is so big and strong and manly. and he can shoot straight!" "hereafter i'll bring along a gun every time we come out," vowed paul. "and i'm going to take shooting lessons." "yah! dot vould be a goot t'ing," decided mr. switzer. "i gets me too a gun!" "gracious! the game around here had better seek new quarters!" laughed alice. "next we'll be having mr. bunn and mr. sneed taking up the calling of nimrod." mr. devere was rather disturbed when he heard the story of the wildcat, and once more he spoke seriously of taking his daughters out of moving picture work. "i really am afraid something will happen to you," he said. "i think you had better resign. i can earn enough for all of us now, for mr. pertell has given me another advance in salary." "oh, daddy! we simply couldn't give it up!" cried alice. "could we, ruth?" "i wouldn't like to give it up," responded ruth, quietly. she was always less demonstrative than her sister. "and really, daddy, we don't run into danger." "i know, my dear, but danger seems to have formed a habit, of late, of seeking you out," said the actor. "however, we will wait a few days. i suppose it would be too bad to disappoint mr. pertell now." the next day, owing to a slight indisposition on the part of miss pennington, a drama that included her as one of the cast had to be postponed, and as no other was ready to be filmed, the players had a little holiday. "who wants to come for a trip to the ice cave?" asked russ, when he found that he would not have to use his camera. "what's the ice cave?" asked ruth. "why, it's a cave made out of ice. there's one about two miles from here, and mr. pertell is thinking of having some scenes made there. i'm to go out and size up the situation. want to come?" "it sounds interesting," observed ruth. "i believe i would like to go. shall we, alice?" "indeed, yes." "count me in!" cried paul. so a little later the four young people set off for the ice cave. this was a natural curiosity not far from elk lodge. every year, at a waterfall in a local stream, the ice piled up in fantastic shapes. the flow of the water, and the effect of the wind, made a large hollow or cave at the cascade large enough to hold several persons. mr. pertell had heard of it and had laid one scene of a drama there. there was a fairly good road almost to the ice cave, and then came a trip across an unbroken expanse of snow, the snowshoes being used, they having been carried strapped to the backs of the four. "oh, how beautiful!" "see how the sun sparkles on the ice." "and what big icicles!" "oh, if we could only keep that until summer!" thus the young people cried as they saw the beautiful ice cave. it was indeed a pretty sight. nature, unaided, had done more than man could ever hope to achieve. "let's go inside," suggested russ. "will it be safe?" asked ruth. "oh, surely. why, we have to go in it when we make the moving picture, so we might as well get used to it. they say this ice lasts nearly all summer. it's down in a deep hollow, you see. come on in." "go ahead! i'm game!" paul said, grimly. the girls hesitated, but only for a moment. then they followed the young men into the cavern. the entrance was rather small, and they had to stoop to get through it, but once inside the cave widened out until there was room for perhaps a dozen persons. "what a lovely place for a dance!" cried alice, as she slid about. "it's so slippery that you'd need those new slippers with rubber set in the sole. come, on, try a hesitation waltz," she cried gaily to ruth. paul whistled one of the latest popular airs, and ruth and alice slid about. "come on!" cried paul to russ. "i'm getting the craze, too." the two young men danced together a moment, and then came an interruption that caused them all to look at one another. there was a grinding, crashing sound outside, and the next moment the entrance to the cave was darkened. chapter xvii the rescue "what happened?" "there must have been an ice slide!" it was alice who asked the question, and paul who answered it. standing in the darkened ice cave, through the walls of which, however, some light filtered, the four looked anxiously at one another. "it was the dancing that did it," declared ruth, in a low voice. "it loosened the ice and it slid down." "perhaps not," said paul, not wanting alice blamed, for she had proposed the light-footed stepping about on the slippery floor of the cavern. "it might have slid down itself." "well, let's see what the situation is," proposed russ. "we can't stay in here too long, for it's freezing cold." "yes, let's see if we can get out," added paul. "see if we _can_ get out!" repeated ruth. "why, is there any danger that we can not?" "every danger in the world, i should say," spoke russ, and there was a worried note in his voice. "i don't want to alarm you," he went on, "but the fact is that we are shut up in this ice cave." "oh, don't say that!" cried ruth. "why shouldn't he--if it's true?" asked alice. "let's face the situation, whatever it is. russ, will you see just how bad it is?" without speaking, the young moving picture operator went to the hole through which they had stooped to enter the cavern. in a moment he came back. "it's closed tighter than a drum," he announced. "a lot of ice slid down from above and closed the entrance to the cave as if a door had been shoved across it. we can't get out!" for a moment no one spoke, and then paul asked, quietly: "what are we going to do?" "have you a knife?" asked russ. "a knife? yes, but what good is that?" "we've got to cut our way out--that's all." ruth and alice looked at each other. they began to understand what it meant. "someone from elk lodge may come for us--if we don't get back," murmured the younger girl, in what was almost a whisper. "yes, they may, but it's dangerous to wait," said paul. "it is cold in here, and it isn't getting any warmer. it's like being locked in a refrigerator. we've got to keep in motion or we'll freeze." "then let's tackle that block of ice at the entrance," suggested russ. "get out your knife and we'll see if we can't cut a hole large enough to crawl through." if you have tried to cut with a pocket knife even the small piece of ice which you get in your refrigerator, you can appreciate the task that confronted the two young men. a solid block of ice had slid down from some higher point, and had blocked the opening to the odd cavern. but the two were not daunted. they realized the necessity of getting out, and that within a short time. though they were all warmly dressed, the air of the cavern was chilly, to say the least. "keep moving, girls!" called russ to ruth and alice, as he and paul chipped away at the ice. "this exercise will keep us warm; but you need to do something to keep your blood in circulation. here, take my coat!" he called, as he arose from his knees, and tossed the garment to ruth. "i shall do nothing of the sort!" she answered, promptly. "you need it yourself." "no, i don't," he replied, earnestly. "it only bothers me when i try to cut the ice. please take it." "but i can't get it on over my cloak." "yes, you can. put it around your shoulders. i'll show you how." and he did it quickly, wrapping it warmly around her. "here, alice, you take mine!" cried paul, as he saw what his companion had done. "you need it more than i do, and i can't get at that ice with a big coat like this on." in spite of her protests he put it about her, and the added warmth of the garments was comforting to the girls. the boys, really, were better off without them, for they had much vigorous work before them, and in the narrow quarters the heavy coats only hampered them. for it was an exceedingly narrow space in which they had to work. the fall of the mass of ice had crushed part of the opening into the cave, so that russ and paul had to crouch down and stoop in a most uncomfortable position in order to reach the block that had closed the doorway. with their knives they hacked away at the frozen mass, sending the chips flying. much of it went in their faces and soon their cheeks were glowing from the icy spray of splinters. then, too, they had to stop every now and then to clear away the accumulated ice crystals that fell before the attack of their knives. "keep moving, girls," paul urged ruth and alice. "keep circling around or you'll surely freeze." "let's dance," suggested alice. "oh, how can you think of such a thing!" cried ruth, "when it was that which caused all the trouble." "i'm not going to believe that!" declared alice, firmly. "and it isn't such a terrible thing to think of, at all. it will keep us warm, and keep up our spirits." and then she broke into a little one-step dance, whistling her own accompaniment. surely it was a strange proceeding, and yet it came natural to alice. the young men, too, took heart at her manner of accepting the situation, and chopped away harder than ever at the ice barrier. "think we'll make it?" asked paul of russ, in a low voice, when they had been working for some time. "we've got to make it," answered the other. "we've just got to get the girls out." "of course," was the brief reply, as if that was all there was to it. and yet, in their hearts, russ and paul felt a nameless fear. ice, which melts so easily under the warm and gentle influence of the sun, is exceedingly hard when it is maintained at a low temperature, and truly it was sufficiently cold in the cave. now and then the boys stopped to clear away the accumulation of ice splinters, and to note how they were progressing. yet they could hardly tell, for they did not know how thick was the chunk of ice that covered the cave opening. the edges of the opening itself were several feet in thickness, and if this hole was completely filled it would mean many hours of work with the pitifully inadequate tools at their disposal. "how are we coming on?" asked paul. russ looked back at the girls who, in one corner of the cave, were pacing up and down to drive away the deadly cold. "not very well," he returned, in a low voice. "don't talk--let's work." he did not like to think of what might happen. desperately they labored, eating their way into the heart of the ice. the splinters fell on their warm bodies, for they were perspiring now, and there the frosty particles melted, wetting their garments through. suddenly paul uttered a cry as he dug his knife savagely into the barrier. "what's the matter--cut yourself?" asked russ. "no," was the low-voiced reply. "but i've broken the big blade of my knife. now i'll have to use the smaller one." it was a serious thing, for it meant a big decrease in the amount of ice paul could chop. but opening the small blade of the knife he kept doggedly at the task. it was growing darker now. they could observe this through the translucent walls of the cave. "do you think they will come for us?" asked ruth, in a low tone. "oh, yes, of course. if we don't get back by dark," responded russ, as cheerfully as he could. "but we'll be out before then. come on, paul. dig away!" but it was very evident that they would not be out before dark. the ice block was thicker than russ and paul imagined. "please rest!" begged alice, after a period of hard work by the two young men. "please take a rest!" "can't afford a vacation," returned russ, grimly. but when he did halt for a moment, to get his breath, there came from outside the cave a sound that sent all their hearts to beating joyfully for it was the voice of some calling: "where are you? where are you? alice! ruth!" "oh, it's daddy!" cried the girls together, and then russ took up the refrain, shouting: "we're in the cave! get axes and chop us out! we've only got our knives!" "we'll be with you in a moment!" said another voice, which they recognized as that of mr. macksey. "we'll have to go for a couple of axes!" and then, as the hunter started back to elk lodge, mr. devere, who remained outside the ice cave, explained through a crevice in the ice wall that made conversation possible how, becoming uneasy at the failure of his daughters to return, he had set out, in company with mr. macksey to look for them. in their turn ruth and alice, with occasional words from russ and paul, told how they had become imprisoned. "are you hurt?" asked mr. devere, anxiously. "not a bit of it, but we're awfully cold, daddy," replied alice. "we must give the boys back their coats," said ruth to her sister in a low tone. "they are not chopping now, and they'll freeze." russ and paul did not want to accept their garments, but the girls were insistent, and made them don the heavy coats. then the four walked rapidly around the cave to keep their blood in circulation. "i wish mr. pertell would come and bring the camera," said russ. "he could get a good moving picture of the rescue." "maybe he will," suggested paul. there was a little silence, and then mr. devere called, from outside the cave; "here they come! now you will soon be rescued! there's help enough to chop away the whole cave!" chapter xviii snowbound alice and ruth fairly flew together, holding their arms tightly about one another in the excess of their emotion, as they heard this joyful news shouted to them by their father. ruth cried on her sister's shoulder. she could not help it. perhaps alice felt like crying, too, so great was the relief; but she was of a different temperament. she laughed hysterically. "is mr. pertell there?" called russ, getting down close to the hole he and paul had made in the ice barrier to enable his voice to carry better. "is he there, mr. devere?" "yes, he's there, and i guess the whole company." "has he the camera?" "that's what he has, russ." "good! tell him to get a moving picture of the rescue. we can fix up a story to go with it." "i will, russ!" exclaimed the actor. then, as those within the ice cave waited, they faintly heard other voices outside, and a little later the sound of axes vigorously applied told that the ice which had imprisoned them was being chopped away. fast and furiously the rescuers worked. the ice flew about in a sparkling spray as the keen weapons bit deep into it, and the hole grew larger and larger. meanwhile mr. pertell was operating the moving picture camera, getting view after view of the rescue. there were enough helpers so that his aid was not needed in chopping the ice. "there she goes!" cried mr. macksey, as his axe went through an opening and into the cave. "i've made the hole!" and he capered about like a boy, so delighted was he that he had been the first to bring aid to the imprisoned ones. "oh, now we can get out!" cried ruth, as she saw the head of the axe come through. "as if there had ever been any doubt of it," laughed alice. she could laugh now, but even with all her gay spirits, there had been a time, not many minutes back, when it was quite a different story. the hole once made, was soon enlarged, and then, when it was of sufficient size to enable a person to crawl through, russ shouted to the rescuers; "that'll do! don't chop any more! we can wriggle out." "surely, yes," agreed ruth, as the young moving picture operator looked to her for confirmation. "i'm not a bit fussy," she added. "i've done harder things than crawl on my hands and knees out of an ice cave." "don't chop any more!" called paul, for russ was leading ruth to the opening. "come ahead!" called mr. devere, and a moment later he was holding his daughter in his arms. alice soon followed, and she too was clasped tightly. "hurray!" cried mr. switzer, as russ and paul emerged from their strange prison. "dis is der best sight vot i have yet had in more as a month. half a pretzel!" he exclaimed, holding out one of the queer, twisted things. he was never without them since the sled breakdown. he said they were his mascots. there was a scene of rejoicing, and even the gloomy mr. sneed condescended to smile, and looked almost happy. "there, i guess we can use this film in some sort of a play, if i have to write it myself!" exclaimed mr. pertell, as he finished grinding away at the camera crank. "i can call it 'caught in the ice,' or something like that," he went on, "we can make some preliminary scenes, and some others to follow, and get quite a play out of it." "i'm glad you thought to bring the camera," said russ. even in the stress of what had happened to him and his companions, his instinct as a moving picture operator was ever foremost. "we had better get them to elk lodge, and feed them upon something warm," suggested mr. macksey. "i told the wife to have a good meal ready, for i knew they would be chilled through." "it _was_ pretty cold in there," confessed alice. "oh, don't let's talk about it!" cried ruth. "it was too terrible." an examination of the exterior of the ice cave showed that just what the young men surmised had taken place. a large chunk of ice had slid down from above, and had jammed against the opening to the cavern. back at elk lodge, with warm garments on, the four who had passed through such a trying experience soon forgot their troubles. they had to tell all over again just what had happened, and the young men were considered quite the heroes of the hour. the next day none of the four was any the worse for the experience, save in the matter of a nightmare memory, and that would gradually pass away. feeling that the two girls were not capable of doing any hard work in posing for the camera that day, mr. pertell announced another vacation, save that russ was engaged in making some scenes of snow and ice effects. late in the afternoon, when the shadows were lengthening, and the long winter evening was about to close in, alice, who was out on the side porch, saw mr. macksey coming in from the barn. the hunter had an anxious look on his face, and as he walked toward the house he cast looks up at the sky now and then. and alice heard him murmur: "i don't like this! i don't for a cent, by hickory!" "what's the matter now?" she asked, merrily. "have you seen some of those strange men about again, hunting on your preserves?" "no, miss alice. not this time," he replied, slowly. "what is it then?" "well, to tell you the truth, i don't like the looks of the weather." "do you think we're going to have another blizzard?" and there was a note of alarm in her voice. "i'm thinking that's what's coming," he made answer. "i never knew the weather to act just this way before except once, and then we had the worst storm i ever remember. that was when i was a boy, and more snow fell in that one storm than in any three winters put together." "gracious! i hope that won't happen now!" cried the girl. "so do i," went on the hunter. "and i'm going to take all precautions. i'll get the men, and we'll pile the fodder in the barn so if we can't get out to feed the stock they won't starve for a week, anyhow." "does it ever happen that you can't get out to the barns?" alice wanted to know. "indeed it does, young lady. when there is a heavy fall of snow, and the wind blows hard, it drifts almost as high as the house. yes, i think we're in for a storm, and i'm going to get ready for it. best to be on the safe side." a little later he and a number of his hired men, as well as some of the picture players, were engaged in looking after the horses and cows. great piles of hay and grain were moved from the barns where the fodder was kept in reserve, to the buildings where the stock were stabled. "how about our rations?" asked mr. bunn, who was not of much help in work of this sort. "have we enough to last through a storm?" "well, we've got some," mr. macksey admitted. "but i own i would like a little better stock in the lodge. i counted on some supplies coming in to-day; but they haven't arrived. we'll have to do the best we can." "what is all the excitement about, alice?" asked ruth as she came out to join her sister on the porch. "a big storm coming, mr. macksey says. they're getting ready for it. i want to see it!" "oh, alice. suppose it should be a blizzard!" "well, i want to see it anyhow. if it's going to come i can't stop it; but i can enjoy it," alice remarked in her characteristically philosophical way. there was a curious humming in the air, as though someone, a great way off, were moaning in pain. it did not seem to be the wind, and yet it was like the sigh of a breeze. but the gaunt-limbed trees did not bow before this strange blast. the air, too, had a bite and tingle to it as though it were filled with invisible particles of ice. the clouds were lowering, and as the afternoon wore away there sprang up in the west a black band of vapor, almost like ink. alice induced ruth to pay a visit to the barn, to watch the preparations for providing for the stock. even the animals seemed uneasy, as though they sensed some impending disaster. the horses, always nervous, were doubly so, and moved restlessly about, with pricked-up ears, and startled neighs. the cows, too, lowed plaintively. "well, we've done all we can," announced mr. macksey, as night came on. "now all we can do is to wait. there's plenty of fuel in the cellar, and we'll not freeze, at any rate." there was a sense of gloom over all, as they sat in the big living room of elk lodge that night, and looked at the blazing logs. everyone listened apprehensively, as though to hear the first message of the impending storm. the sighing of the wind, if wind it was that made that curious sound, was more pronounced now, and as the blast came down the chimney it scattered ashes and embers about, and at times rose to an uncanny wail. "oh, but that gives me the shivers!" exclaimed miss pennington, tossing aside the novel in which she had tried to become interested. "this is positively awful! i wish i were back in new york." "so do i!" added her chum. "oh, but a good snow storm is glorious!" cried alice. "i am just wild to see it." "that's right," exclaimed her father, with a smile. "take a cheerful view of it, anyhow." some one proposed a guessing game, and with that under way the spirits of all revived somewhat. then came another simple game, and the time passed pleasantly. mr. macksey, coming back from a trip to the side door, startled them all by announcing: "she's here!" "who?" asked his wife, looking up from her sewing. "the storm! it's snowing like cotton batting!" alice rushed to the window. she shaded her eyes with her hands at the side of her head and peered out. it seemed as though the lamplights shone on a solid wall of white, so thickly was the snow falling. the wind had now risen to a blast of hurricane-like velocity and it fairly shook elk lodge, low and substantial as the house was. by ones and twos the picture players went to their rooms, and soon silence and darkness settled down over the lodge. that is, silence within the house, but outside there was the riot of the storm. two or three times during the night alice awakened and, going to the window, looked out. she could make out a dim whiteness, but that was all. around the window there was a little drift of snow on the sill, where it had been blown through a crack. and in the morning they were snowbound. so heavy was the fall of snow, and so high had it drifted, that some of the lower windows were completely covered, from the ground up. and before each door was such a drift that it would be necessary to tunnel if they were to get out. "the worst storm i ever see!" declared mr. macksey, as he closed the door against the blast. "it would be death to go out in it now. we are snowbound, by hickory!" chapter xix on short rations apprehensive as all had been of the coming of the big storm, and fully warned by the hunter, none of the picture players was quite prepared for what they saw--or, rather, for what they could not see. for not a window on the lower floor of the lodge but was blocked by a bank of snow, so that only the tops of the upper panes were clear of it. and through those bits of glass all that could be seen was a whirling, swirling mass, for the white flakes were still falling. not an outer door of the house but was blocked by a drift, and it was useless to open the portals at present, as the snow fell into the room. "but what are we to do?" asked mr. pertell, when the situation had been made plain to him. "we can't take any moving pictures; can we?" "not in this storm," mr. macksey declared. "it would be as much as your life is worth to go out. it is bitter cold and the wind cuts like a knife!" "i wish i could get some views," spoke russ. "it would give new york audiences something to talk about, to see moving pictures of a storm like this." "you might go up in the cupola on the roof," suggested mr. macksey. "you could stand your camera up there and possibly get some views." "i'll do it!" cried russ. "and may i come?" asked alice, always ready for an adventure of that sort. "come along!" he cried, gaily. the cupola was more for ornament than use, but it was large enough for the purpose of russ. after breakfast he took his moving picture camera up there, and managed through the windows, to get some fairly good pictures. the trouble was, however, that the snow was falling so thickly that it obscured the view. at times there would come a lull in the storm, and then russ was able to get scenes showing the great black woods, and the white banks of snow. "oh, but it's cold work!" he cried, as he stopped to warm his hands, for the little room on the roof was draughty, and the snow blew in. "it's a wonderful storm," cried alice. "i wouldn't have missed it for worlds!" all that day the storm raged, and all that night. there was nothing which could be done out of doors, and so the players and the men of the lodge were forced to remain within. great fires were kept up, for the temperature was very low. the wise forethought of mr. macksey in providing for the stock prevented the animals from starving, as they would have done had not a supply of fodder been left for them. for it was out of the question to get to the barns. after two days the storm ceased, the skies cleared and the sun shone. but on what a totally different scene than before the coming of the great blizzard! there had been plenty of snow in deerfield before, but now there was so much that one old man, who worked for mr. macksey, said he never recalled the like, and he had seen many bad storms. "well, now to tunnel out!" exclaimed mr. macksey when it had been ascertained, by an observation from the cupola, that the fall of snow was over. "we'll see if we can't raise the embargo." but it was no easy matter. all the doors were blocked by drifts, and in making a tunnel through snow it is just as necessary to have some place to put the removed material as it is in tunneling through the side of a hill. "we can't start in and dig from the door, for we'd have to pile the snow in the room back of us," said the hunter. "so the only other plan is to get outside, somehow, and work up to the house, tossing the snow to one side. i may have to dig a trench instead of a tunnel. i'll soon find out." finally it was decided that the men should go to the second story, out on a balcony that opened from mr. devere's room, and get down into the snow that way. they would use snowshoes so as to have some support, and thus they could attack the drifts. this plan was followed. fortunately mr. macksey had thought to bring in snow shovels before the storm came, and with these the men attacked the big white piles. it was hard work, but they labored with a will, and there were enough of them to make an effective attack. mr. macksey, in spite of the fact that he had food and water for his stock, was anxious to see how the animals were doing. so he directed that first paths, tunnels or trenches be made to the various barns. in some places, around the lee of a building, the ground was bare of snow, and in other places the drifts were fully fifteen feet high. russ, who had not gone out to shovel snow, was observed to be nailing some light broad boards together in a peculiar way. "what are you making?" ruth asked him. "snowshoes for my camera," was his surprising answer. "snowshoes for your camera?" "yes, i want to get out and take some views, but i can't stand the thin legs of the camera on the snow. they'd pierce through it. so i'm going to put a broad board under each leg, and that will hold the machine up as well as snowshoes hold me." "what a clever idea!" she cried. "i'm going to watch you. what sort of views do you expect to get?" "some showing the men digging us out. we can get up a film story and call it 'prisoners of the snow,' or something like that." "fine!" cried alice. "i'm coming out, too." she and ruth got their snowshoes, and by this time the men had a deep trench up to the front door, so that it was not necessary for the girls to go out by the way of the balcony. they were delighted with the strange scene, and russ obtained many fine pictures of the men laboring in the snow. it was hard work to tunnel and trench out to the barn where the animals were, but finally it was done. they were found to be all right with two exceptions. a horse had died from getting into the oat bin and eating too much, and a cow was frozen, having gotten away from the rest, and broken into a small outbuilding. but the rest of the stock was in good condition, and, as alice said, they seemed almost human, neighing or lowing at the sight of the men. "i believe they were actually lonesome," said alice. "indeed, animals do get that way!" declared mr. macksey. as the snow was so deep, no dramas could be filmed in it, so mr. pertell and his players were enjoying enforced idleness. the time was spent, however, in learning new parts, in readiness for the time when some of the snow should have melted. many more paths, tunnels and trenches were made, but it was impossible to go more than a short distance from elk lodge, even on snowshoes. later, when the snow had packed more, and a crust had been formed, it was planned to take many pictures of various happenings in the great piles of white crystals. three days after the storm saw little change in the appearance of the country and landscape about the hunting lodge. it was snow, snow, snow everywhere--on all sides. within the house it was warm and cozy, and for months afterward it was a pleasant recollection to talk of the hours spent about the great fire in the living room. but in spite of the fact that his animals were safe, except for the two that had died, mr. macksey seemed worried. several times he paid a visit to the cellar, or the store room, where the provisions were kept, and more than once the girls heard him murmuring to himself. "what is the trouble?" alice asked him once, as he came up from a trip to the cellar. "well, i'm afraid you folks will have to go on short rations if the supplies don't come in soon from the store," he replied. "i've got plenty of meat on hand, but other things are somewhat scarce." "then we won't starve?" she asked. "well, maybe not actually starve, but you may be hungry for certain things." "oh, i'm not fussy!" alice laughed. "i can eat anything." the storm was so severe and so wide-spread, that, in about a week, there was an actual shortage of provisions at elk lodge. the meals had to be curtailed in regard to certain dishes, and there were loud complaints from mr. bunn and mr. sneed, as well as from miss pennington and miss dixon. but the others made the best of it. "i wish i had never come to this horrid place!" exclaimed miss pennington, when her request for a fancy dish had to be denied. "you may go back to new york any time you wish," observed mr. pertell, with a grim humor, as he looked out on the great piles of snow. it would have been impossible to get half-way to the station. miss pennington "sniffed" and said nothing. but there was no actual suffering at elk lodge. before it got to that point mr. macksey hitched up six horses to a big sled and made his way into town. he brought back enough provisions for a small company of soldiers. "now let it 'bliz' if it wants to!" he cried, as he and his men stocked up the storeroom. chapter xx the thaw "now for some hard work," said mr. pertell one day, about ten days after the big storm. "i think we can safely go out, and make some of the scenes in the play 'snowbound,'" he went on. "there will not be much danger that we will be caught in another blizzard; will there?" he asked of mr. macksey. "i should hope not!" was the answer. "i don't believe there is any snow left in the clouds. still, don't take too many chances. don't go more than ten miles away." "oh, i wasn't thinking of going half that distance!" said mr. pertell. "i just want to get a scene or two at some place where the snow is piled in fantastic forms. the rest of the story takes place around the lodge here." "is it the one that is something like the story of lorna doone?" asked alice, who had been reading that book. "that's the one," said mr. pertell. "and i think i shall cast you as lorna." "oh, how nice!" she laughed. "but who will be john ridd? we need a great big man for him!" "well, i was thinking of using mr. macksey," went on the manager, with a look at the hunter. "what? me have my photograph took in moving pictures!" cried the keeper of the lodge. "why, i don't know how to act!" "you know how a great deal better than some that are in the business," returned mr. pertell, coolly. "present company always excepted," he added, as mr. bunn looked up with an injured air. "what i mean is that you are so natural," he continued. "in fact, you have had your pictures taken a number of times lately, when you and your men were clearing away the snow. so you see it will be no novelty for you." "but i didn't know when you took my pictures!" objected the hunter. "no, and that's just the point. don't think of the camera at all. be unconscious of it. i'll arrange to have it masked, or hidden, if you think you can do better that way. but i have some scenes calling for a big man battling in the snow to save a girl, and you and miss alice are the proper characters. so i hope you won't disappoint me." "i'll do my best," promised mr. macksey. "but i'm not used to that sort of work." however, when the preliminary scenes for the big drama were filmed he did some excellent acting, the more so as he was totally unconscious that he was acting. several days were spent in making films of the play, for mr. pertell wanted to take advantage of the snow. "it won't last a great while longer," remarked the hunter. "it's getting warm, and there'll be a thaw, soon." he proved to be a true weather prophet for in two weeks there was scarcely a vestige of the snow left. it grew warm, and rained, and there was so much water about, from the rain and melting snow, that it was nearly as difficult to get about as it had been in the big drifts. but the thaw proved an advantage in one way, for it opened up the roads that had been well-nigh impassable, and mail and other supplies came through. the storm, while it gave mr. pertell a chance to make some fine pictures, had one drawback. he was not able to send the reels of film in to new york for development and printing. he lost considerable time and some money on this account, but it could not be helped. but with the passing of the snow the highways were clear, and traffic to and from the village was made easy. one day mr. macksey came back from town with a good-sized bag, filled with mail for the picture players. "oh, here's a letter for you, ruth, and one for me!" cried alice, as she sorted them over. "one for daddy, too! oh, it's a big one!" the moving picture girls were busy over their epistles for some time, as there proved to be a number of missives for them, from relatives, and from friends they had made since posing for the camera. but when alice read all hers and was passing some of them to her sister, she happened to glance at her father's face. "why daddy!" she cried, "what is the matter?" "oh--nothing!" he murmured, hoarsely for he had caught a little cold, and his voice was almost as bad as it had been at first. "but i'm sure it's something!" alice insisted. "is it bad news? ruth, make him tell!" the three were in mr. devere's room, where they had gone to look over the mail. "oh, it isn't anything!" declared the actor, and he tried to slip into his coat pocket the letter in the large envelope that alice had handed to him. "i'm sure it is," she insisted. "please tell me, daddy." the letter fell to the floor, and alice could not help seeing that it was from a firm of new york lawyers. "oh, is it the trouble about the five hundred dollars?" the girl cried. "is dan merley making more trouble?" "yes," answered mr. devere. "he has brought suit against me, it seems. this is a notice from the lawyers that if i do not pay within a certain time i will be brought to court, and compelled to hand over the money." "can they make you do that, daddy?" asked ruth, anxiously. "i'm afraid they can, my dear. as i told you, i have no proof, except my own word, that i paid merley. he still holds my note, and that is legal evidence against me. oh, if i had only been more business-like!" "never mind, daddy!" alice comforted him, putting her arms about his neck. "perhaps there will be a way out." "i hope so," her father murmured, in broken tones. "how did the lawyers know you were here?" asked ruth. "they didn't. they sent it to the apartment, and the postman forwarded it to me." "they can't sue you up here in this wilderness though; can they?" asked alice. "i don't know anything about the law part of it," replied mr. devere. "i presume, though, that they can sue me anywhere, even though i have paid the money, as long as merley holds that note. they can make a great deal of trouble if they wish." "poor daddy!" ruth sighed. "oh, but i mustn't make you worry this way," he said spiritedly. "i shall find some way to fight this case. i'll never give in to that scoundrel." "i wonder where he is?" mused alice. "we thought he was injured in the accident, and would not bother you." "this notice does not mention him," replied mr. devere, as he paused over the letter again. "it merely speaks of him as 'our client.' he may be in the hospital, for all i can tell." they discussed the matter from all viewpoints, but there was nothing to be done. "you will have to reply to the lawyers, though; won't you, daddy?" asked ruth. "oh, yes, i must write to them. i shall state the case plainly, and, though, i have no proof, i shall ask them to drop the suit, as it is an unjust one." "and if they don't?" suggested alice. "if they don't--well, i suppose i shall have to suffer," he replied, quietly. "i cannot raise the money now." "oh dear!" cried alice, half petulantly. "i wish the blizzard was still here!" "why, alice!" cried ruth. "well, i do! then there wouldn't have been any mail, and daddy wouldn't have received this horrid letter." "oh, well, it's best to know the plans of one's enemies," said mr. devere. "now i know what to expect. i think i shall write to dan merley myself, and appeal to his better nature. surely, even though he was not entirely sober when i paid him the money, he must recall that i did. i confess i do not know whether he is merely under the impression that i did not pay him, or is deliberately telling a falsehood. it is hard to decide," he added, with a sigh. mr. devere sent a letter to merley the next day, and a few days later an answer came back from new york, from the same firm of lawyers who had served the legal notice, to the effect that their client had left the matter entirely in their hands, and that the money must be paid. mr. merley, the lawyer said, preferred to have no direct communication with mr. devere. "that settles it! they mean to push the case to the limit!" exclaimed the actor. chapter xxi in the storm "that's the way to drive!" "come on now!" "faster, if you can make the horses go!" "get all that in, russ!" it was a lively scene, for a spirited race in cutters was in progress between mr. bunn and mr. sneed. it was taking place on the frozen surface of the lake, and each actor had been instructed to do his best to win. the race was a scene in the big snow drama, and it was being filmed several days after the events narrated in the preceding chapter. the thaw was over, there had been a spell of cold weather, and deerfield was icebound. the lake was a glittering expanse, and the ice on it was thick enough to support a regiment. "a little more to the left, mr. sneed!" called russ, who was taking the pictures. "i want to get a better side view." "but if i go too far to the left i'm afraid i'll run into mr. bunn," objected the gloomy actor. "no matter if you do--if you don't run into him too hard," cried mr. pertell. "it will make it look more natural." "if he runs into me--and does me any damage--i shall sue him and you too!" declared mr. bunn. "this is a farcical idea, anyhow. you said i might get a chance to do some shakespearean work up here; but so far i have done nothing." "i'll see what i can do on that line next week," promised the manager. "go on with this race now. the idea is for you, mr. sneed, to be in pursuit of mr. bunn. you must look as though you really wanted to catch him. put some spirit into your acting." "it is too cold!" complained mr. sneed. "i would a great deal rather be sitting beside the fire in the lodge." "no doubt," commented mr. pertell, drily. "but that won't make moving pictures. come on, now, start your horses again," for they had, so far, been only rehearsing. finally mr. pertell was satisfied that the play would be done to his satisfaction, and gave the word for russ to start unreeling the film. away started the two cutters over the ice, and the two actors really managed to put a little enthusiasm into their work. then, as russ called to mr. sneed to edge over a little to the left, as he had done before, at the rehearsal, the gloomy actor pulled too hard on one rein. his horse swerved too much, and, the next instant, the cutter upset, and mr. sneed was neatly deposited on the ice. fortunately he fell clear of the vehicle, and was not entangled in the reins, so he was not hurt. the horse, an intelligent animal, feeling that something was wrong, came to a stop after running a little distance. "stop! stop!" called mr. pertell to mr. bunn, who was still urging on his horse, unaware of the accident to his fellow actor. "the scene is spoiled. don't take that, russ. sometimes i like an accident on the film, but not in this case. it would spoil the action of the play. it will have to be done over again." "not with me in it!" said mr. sneed, as he got up and went limping toward shore. "why not?" asked mr. pertell. "why don't you want to do this act?" "because i am hurt. i knew something would happen when i got up this morning, and it certainly has. i may be injured for life by this." "nonsense!" exclaimed the manager. "you're not hurt. you only think so. here, mrs. maguire, give him that bottle of witch hazel i saw you use for little tommy the other day. that will fix you up, mr. sneed." "humph!" exclaimed the "grouch." and then, as the motherly irish woman, with a quizzical smile on her face, started to the house for the liniment, mr. sneed said: "oh, you needn't make such a fuss over me. i suppose i can go on with this, if i am suffering. bring back the horse." the overturned cutter was righted, and the play went on. this time no mishap occurred and the race was run to a successful finish. "now, alice and ruth, you will get into the larger cutter, and with paul for a driver we'll make the next scene," directed mr. pertell, and so the making of the play went on. the filming of the big drama was to occupy several days, as some of the scenes were laid in distant parts of the game preserve belonging to elk lodge, and there was not time to take the company there, and come back for other scenes, the darkness falling early, as the year was dying. there came fair weather, and storms, alternating. a number of fine films were obtained by russ, some of them showing weather effects, and others views of the ice at the falls where the two girls and their companions had been imprisoned in the ice cave. it was on one comparatively warm afternoon that alice, who had been out in the barn to give some sugar to a favorite horse, came back and called to ruth: "let's go for a walk. it's perfectly lovely out, and it will do us both good." "all right!" agreed ruth. "i've been sewing all morning and my eyes are tired. where are you going?" "oh, in a direction we have never taken before." "don't get lost," advised their father. "we won't," returned alice. "don't you want to come, daddy?" "too busy. i'm studying a new part," he said. so the two moving picture girls started off, and soon were tramping through the woods, following an old lumber trail. "this leads to the camp of flaming arrow," said alice, for they had paid the promised visit some time before. "shall we take it?" "yes, but not all the way to the lumber camp," objected ruth. "that is too far." "oh, i wouldn't think of going there now," responded alice. "i mean to branch off on the new path i spoke of." the day was pleasant, but there was the hint of a storm in the feeling of the air and in the clouds, and the hint was borne out a little later, for a fine snow began sifting down. the girls kept on, however though ruth wanted to turn back at the first white flake. "there's going to be a storm," she declared. "what of it?" asked alice, with a merry laugh. "it will be all the more fun!" but a little later, when the wind suddenly sprang into fury, and lashed the flakes into their faces with cutting force, even alice was ready to turn back. "come on," she cried to her sister. "we'd better not go to the snow grotto--that was a natural curiosity i wanted to show you. but we'll have to wait until another time." "i should think so!" exclaimed ruth. "this is terrible! oh, suppose we should be lost?" "how can we be, when all we have to do is to follow the path back to elk lodge?" alice thought it would be as easily done as she had said, and ruth trusted to the fact that her sister had been that way on a previous occasion. but neither of them realized the full force of the storm, nor how easy it was to mistake the way in blinding snow. they emerged from a little clump of woods, and then they felt the full force of the blast in their faces. "oh, alice, we can't go on!" cried ruth, halting and turning her face aside. "but we must!" alice insisted. "we've got to get back. we can't stay out in this snow. it's a small-sized blizzard now, and it is growing worse." "oh, what shall we do?" cried ruth, almost sobbing. "we must keep on!" declared alice, grimly. they locked arms and bent their heads before the blast. they tried to keep to the path, but after a few moments of battling with the storm, ruth cried: "alice where are we?" "on the way to elk lodge, of course." "no, we're not. we're off the path! see, we didn't come past this big rock before," and she pointed to one that reared up from the snow. alice paused for a moment, and then, with a curious note of fear in her voice, she said: "i--i am afraid we are lost, ruth. oh, it is all my fault!" chapter xxii the three men they stood there together--the two moving picture girls--in the midst of the sudden storm. they stood with their arms about each other, and the frightened eyes of alice gazed into the terror-stricken ones of ruth. "alice," cried ruth, "do you really think we are lost?" "i'm afraid so. i didn't notice which way we were going; but, as you say, we didn't pass that rock before. we must be lost!" "but what are we to do?" "we've got to do something, that's sure!" alice exclaimed. "we can't stay here and freeze." "of course not. but if we go on in the storm we may be snowed under." "and i'm more afraid to stay here. we must keep on the move, ruth." "yes, i suppose so. oh, if we could only see our way! we can't be so very far from elk lodge." "we are not," agreed alice. "we did not walk fast, and we have not been gone very long. the lodge can't be more than two miles away; but it might just as well be two hundred for all the good that does us in this storm." indeed the snow was so thick that it was impossible to see many feet ahead. the white flakes swirled, seeming to come first from one direction, and then from another. the wind blew from all points of the compass, varying so quickly that the girls found it impossible to keep it at their backs. "well, there is one thing we can do," said alice, when they had advanced a few steps and then retreated, not knowing whether it was better to keep on or not. "and what is it?" asked ruth. "if there's any one thing to do in a case like this i want to know it." "we can go over behind that rock and get a little protection from the wind and snow," alice went on. "see, the snow has drifted on one side; and the other is quite bare. that shows it affords some shelter. let's go over there." "come on," agreed ruth. she caught her sister's arm in a firmer grasp, and the two girls plowed their way through the snow. they had, heretofore, been on a sort of path, that had been formed over the crust. the girls had on their snowshoes or they would have scarcely been able to progress. as it was the going was sufficiently difficult. "oh, wait a moment!" panted ruth, half way to the sheltering rock. "what's the matter?" asked alice, quickly. "are you ill?" "no, don't worry about me, dear. i'm only--out of breath!" "i positively believe you're getting stout!" laughed alice, and ruth was glad that she could laugh, even in the face of impending danger. "you must take more exercise," she went on. "i'm getting plenty of it now," observed ruth. "oh, but it is hard going in this snow!" together they struggled on, and finally reached the rock. as alice had surmised, the big boulder did give them shelter, and they were grateful for it, as they were quite exhausted by their battle with the storm. "what a relief!" sighed alice, as she leaned back against the big stone. "oh, isn't it!" agreed ruth. "but, alice, if we are so played out by that little trip, how are we ever going to get back to elk lodge?" "i don't know, dear," was the hesitating answer. "but we must get back. maybe the snow will stop after a little, and we can see our way. that is really all we need--to see the path. i'm sure i've been out in worse storms than this." "it is bad enough," responded ruth, apprehensively. "see how it snows!" indeed the white flakes were coming down with increased violence, and the wind swept and howled about the rock with a melancholy sound. the girls huddled close together. "can you ever forgive me for bringing you out in such weather as this?" begged alice, self-reproachfully. "it wasn't your fault at all, dear," ruth reassured her and her arms went about her sister in a loving embrace. "i wanted to come. neither of us knew this storm would make us get lost." alice said nothing for a moment. she was busy arranging a scarf more tightly about her throat, for she felt the flakes blowing and sifting on her, and did not want to take cold. the girls were warmly dressed, which was in their favor. for five or ten minutes they remained under the lee of the rock, not knowing what to do. they realized, though neither wanted to mention it to the other, that they could not remain there very long. night would settle down, sooner or later, and they could not remain out without shelter. yet where could they go? "if it would only stop!" cried ruth. "yes, or if someone from elk lodge would come after us!" added alice. "i'm sure they will!" cried ruth, catching at this slender hope. "oh, alice, i'm sure they'll come." "and so am i, as far as that is concerned," agreed alice. "the only trouble is they will not know where to come. don't you see?" "but they know where we were going--you mentioned it to daddy." "i know, but don't you understand, my dear, we're not where we said we would go. we're lost--we're off the path. if it was only a question of someone from the lodge following the proper path it would be all right. but we're far from it, and they will have no idea where to search for us." "couldn't they trail us with--with bloodhounds?" "oh, i don't believe it will get as desperate as that. not that there are any bloodhounds at elk lodge. but there are some hunting dogs, and i presume they might be able to follow our trail. won't it seem odd to be trailed by dogs? just as if we were fugitive slaves!" "i don't care how they trail us, as long as we get back to elk lodge!" and there was a sob in ruth's voice. the next moment alice, on whose shoulder ruth had laid her head, uttered a cry. "oh, what is it?" asked the elder girl. "do you see someone? are they coming for us?" "no, but the snow is stopping, and i can see a house--two of them, in fact." "a house! good! is it far off?" "no, not far. come on, i believe we can reach it." as alice had said, the snow had ceased falling almost as suddenly as it had set in, and this gave the girls a clear view. they had made a little turn from their original direction in getting to the rock, and they had a view down in a little glade. there, as alice had said, nestled two houses; or, rather log cabins. one was of large size, and the other smaller. "let's go there!" suggested alice. "we can get shelter, and perhaps there is someone in one of the cabins who will take us to elk lodge. we can offer to pay him." "they wouldn't want it," declared ruth. "but come on. we mustn't lose any time, for the snow may set in again at any moment. we must get there while we can see." the wind, too, had died out somewhat, so that it was comparatively easy travelling now. together the girls made their way over the snow toward the smaller of the two cabins, that being the nearer. they reached it, struggling, panting and out of breath, and after waiting a moment, to allow their laboring hearts to quiet down, that they might speak less brokenly, alice knocked at the door. there was no answer. "oh, suppose they should not be home?" cried ruth. "that seems to be the case," spoke alice, as she knocked again, without result. "what shall we do--go to the other cabin?" asked ruth. "let's see if this one is open," proposed alice. "they may be hospitable enough to have left the door unlocked." as she spoke she tried the latch. somewhat to her surprise the door did open, and then to the astonishment of both girls they found themselves in an unoccupied cabin. "oh dear!" cried ruth. "what a disappointment!" "isn't it?" agreed alice. "well, we can try the other." they stood for a moment in the main room of the small cabin, and looked about. there was nothing in it save a few boxes. "we could make a fire--i have matches, and we could break up the boxes on the hearth," said alice. "shall we?" "no, let's go to the other cabin. i'm sure someone will be there," suggested her sister. "come on!" they stepped to the door, but at that instant the snow began again, harder than before. "no use!" cried alice. "we're doomed to stay here, i guess." "well, it's a shelter, at any rate," sighed ruth. she was not frightened now. "and there's another good thing," went on alice. "these cabins are a definite place. if a searching party starts out for us mr. macksey will be sure to think about these, and look here for us. i think we are all right now." "we're better off, at any rate," observed ruth. "i believe we might make a fire, alice." "that's what i say." they had taken off their snowshoes, and now, by stamping and kicking at the boxes, they managed to break them up into kindling wood. soon a little blaze was crackling on the hearth. the warmth was grateful to the chilled girls. they stood before it toasting their cold hands, and then, when ruth went to the window to look out, she called: "it's stopped snowing again. don't you think we'd better run to the other cabin while we have the chance?" "i suppose it would be wise," agreed alice. "we really ought to start for elk lodge, and we could if we had a guide. come on." together they started for the larger cabin, but when half way to it they saw three men coming out. the men had guns over their shoulders, and they headed down the trail, away from the girls. not before, however, the two sisters had a good view of the features of the trio. and instantly the same thought came to both. "did you see who one of those men was?" gasped ruth. "yes, it is he! and those are the same two men who were with him before," answered alice. "dan merley--the man who is going to sue daddy for that five hundred dollars!" went on ruth, clasping her hands. "and with him are the two men who were present when the street car accident happened in new york--fripp and jagle. they are the hunters who have been annoying mr. macksey." "oh, what shall we do?" asked ruth. "we can't appeal to them for help, not after the way merley behaved to us." "of course not! oh, isn't it provoking? just as we see help we can't avail ourselves of it. the men are getting farther and farther away," alice went on. "if we are going to appeal to them we must be quick about it." "don't call to them!" exclaimed ruth. "it might be dangerous. they haven't noticed us--let them go. but alice, did you see how merley seems to have recovered from his accident? he walks as well as the others." "yes, so he does. i'm glad they didn't see us. but i have a plan. there may be other persons in the cabin. when the three men are out of sight, and they will be in the woods in a little while, we can go and ask help of whoever is left in the cabin." "yes," agreed ruth, and they waited, going back to the small cabin. "i remember now," ruth added after a pause, "that man who was in the bushes the time of the coasting race was fripp. i knew i had seen him somewhere before, but i could not recall him then." chapter xxiii the plan of russ the three men, with their guns on their shoulders, passed out of sight into a clump of woodland. "now's our chance," said alice. "we'll slip over to the other cabin, and see if we can get help. these men are evidently up here on a hunting trip, and they may have a man cook, or some sort of help in the cabin. whoever it is can't refuse to at least set us on the right road. we don't need to mention that mr. merley is going to sue our father." "i should say not," agreed ruth. "oh, that horrid man! i never want to see him again. but isn't it queer how soon he recovered from his injury?" "rather odd. we must tell daddy about it when we get back." "if we ever do," sighed the older girl. "if we ever do?" repeated alice. "why of course we'll get back. i don't believe it is going to storm any more." "i hope not." on their snowshoes the moving picture girls made their way to the second cabin. but again disappointment awaited them, for there was no answer to their repeated knocks. "no one at home," spoke alice. "shall we try to go in?" "it would do no good," ruth decided. "if it is shelter we want we can get it at the other cabin. and as there is no one at home here we can't ask our way. besides, those men might come back unexpectedly, and i wouldn't have merley and his two companions find us in their cabin for anything!" "neither would i. that merley would be mean enough," alice declared, "to charge us rent, and add that to the five hundred dollars he is going to make daddy pay." "oh, alice! what queer ideas you have. but, dear, we mustn't linger here. i wonder if it would do to follow those men?" "follow them? what in the world for?" "why they seem to have taken some sort of a trail, and it may lead out to a road that will take us to elk lodge." "it isn't very likely," alice declared. "i'm sure i know the general direction in which elk lodge lies, and it's just opposite from where those men went. i think, now, that the storm has stopped, that we can get back on the path." "then, for goodness sakes, let's try!" proposed ruth. "it seems to be getting darker. oh, if they would only come for us!" "let us try to help ourselves first," counseled alice. the girls retraced their steps, going back toward the smaller cabin. they stopped in for a moment to see that the blaze they had kindled on the hearth was out, for they did not want a chance spark to set fire to the place. but the embers were cold and dead, for the wood had been light, and there was not much of it. then gliding over the crust on their snowshoes, ruth and alice got back to the sheltering rock. "let me look about a bit," alice requested. "i think i can pick up the trail again. if i could only get back to the point where we got off from i would be all right." she walked about a little and then, passing through a small clump of trees, while ruth remained at the rock, alice suddenly gave a joyful cry. "i've found it!" she called. "come on, ruth. it's all right. i'm on the proper path now." ruth hurried to join her sister, and confirmed the good news. they recognized the path by which they had come, and soon they were traveling along it, certain, now, that they were headed for elk lodge. and their adventures seemed to be over for that day at least, for, on covering about three-quarters of a mile they were delighted to see, hurrying toward them, russ and paul. "there are the boys!" cried alice. "and i was never more glad to see anyone in all my life!" exclaimed ruth. "we're not lost now, and don't really need them," said alice. "well, don't tell them that--especially after they have been so good as to come for us," advised ruth. "silly! of course i won't!" "well, you two seem to have the oddest faculty for getting into trouble!" cried russ as he and paul reached the girls. "the whole lodge is worried to death about you, and we're all out searching for you." "oh, it's too bad we gave so much trouble," responded ruth, contritely. "but we couldn't help it. we were lost in the storm." "we thought that likely," paul said. "your father is quite worried." "is he out searching, too?" alice asked. "no, his throat troubles him," the young actor replied. "but every other man at the lodge is. mr. macksey told us to come this way, and if we didn't locate you we were to meet him at some place where there are two cabins." "we just came from there," ruth said, "and we had the oddest adventure. i'll tell you about it when we get back. we tried to get a guide to show us the path, but as it happened we didn't need one. oh, i believe it's snowing again!" some white flakes were sifting down. "it's only a little flurry," decided paul. "and it won't matter, for the path back is very plain now. but what happened?" the girls told him, and when he heard that merley was in the neighborhood, and apparently uninjured, russ said: "i always thought that fellow was a faker. i'd like to know what his game was." "do you think it is a game?" asked alice. "yes, and i think it's more of a game than the game they are after up here. i think they're hatching some plot." they arrived at elk lodge a little later, and leaving the girls with their father, russ and paul went after the other searchers, to tell them that the lost ones were found. "you must not go away alone again," cautioned mr. devere to his daughters, when all the searchers had returned, and there was a joyful reunion in the big living room. "we won't!" promised alice. "i was really a bit frightened this time." "a _bit_ frightened!" cried ruth. "i was awfully scared! i could see us both frozen stiff under the snow, and the dogs nosing us out as they do travelers in the alps." "i'm glad that didn't happen," laughed russ. "for i suppose if it had mr. pertell would have insisted on having a moving picture of it, and i would have been too prostrated with grief to be able to work the camera." "well, we're all right now," declared alice. "and such an appetite as i have!" "did you tell your father about dan merley?" asked russ. "oh, no!" exclaimed ruth. "listen daddy, whom do you think we saw?" "not dan merley up here?" cried the actor. "yes, he was with two other men--those who were with him when he was hurt by the street car." "dan merley up here?" mused mr. devere. "i wonder what he can want? can he be going to make trouble for me?" "we won't let him, daddy!" cried alice. "if he walks over here to ask for that five hundred dollars again, i'll----" "you say he was walking around?" cried mr. devere. "yes, on snowshoes," answered ruth. "he was walking as well as anyone." "and he was supposed to be seriously hurt!" murmured the actor. "where is that paper?" and he looked about him. "what paper?" asked ruth. "that new york paper i was just reading. there is something in it i want to show you. i begin to see through this." the journal was found, and mr. devere glanced through it rapidly, looking for some item. russ and the two girls watched him curiously. "here it is!" cried the actor. "it is headed 'brings damage suit for ten thousand dollars.' listen, i'll just give you the main facts. it says dan merley had started an action in one of the courts demanding ten thousand dollars' damages for being hurt by a street car. merley claims he will never be able to walk again, because his back is permanently hurt. and yet you saw him walking?" he appealed to the two girls. "we certainly saw him," declared ruth. "then that is a bogus damage suit. he isn't hurt at all. the court should know of this, and so should the street car company. i shall write to them!" "wait!" cried russ. "i have a better idea." "what is it?" asked mr. devere. "i'll get some moving pictures of him," went on the young operator. "i'll take a film, showing him tramping around, hunting, and when that is shown to the street car company's lawyer i guess that will put an end to mr. merley's suit. i'll film the faker!" chapter xxiv the proof on the film enthusiastic over his new idea, russ gazed triumphantly at mr. devere and the two girls. they did not seem to comprehend. "what--what was that you said?" asked mr. devere. "i said i was going to make a moving picture of that faker," repeated russ. "excuse that word, but it's the only one that fits." "yes, he really is a faker and cheat," agreed the actor. "and, russ, your idea is most excellent. it will be the best kind of evidence against the scoundrel, and evidence that can not be controverted." "that's my idea," went on the young operator. "some of these accident fakers are so clever that they fool the doctors." "do they really make a business of it?" asked ruth. "indeed they do," russ answered. "sometimes a gang of men, who don't like to work for a living, plan to have a series of accidents. they decide on who shall be 'hurt,' and where. then they get their witnesses, who will testify to anything as long as they get paid for it. they hire rascally lawyers, too. sometimes they have fake accidents happen to their wagons or automobiles instead of themselves. and more than once conductors or motormen of cars have been in with the rascals." "it doesn't seem possible!" protested alice. "it is though," her father assured her. "i read in a newspaper the other day how two fakers were found out and arrested. but they had secured a large sum in damages, so i presume they figured that it paid them. i knew dan merley was an unprincipled man, but i did not believe he was an accident swindler. but you can stop him, russ." "i don't see how you are going to do it," remarked alice. "i mean, i don't see that dan merley will let you take a moving picture of him, to show to the court, proving that he is a swindler." "i don't suppose he would--if he knew it," laughed russ. "but i don't propose to let him see me filming him. i've got to do it on the sly, and it isn't going to be very easy. but i think i can manage it." "i wish we could help you," said ruth. "perhaps you can," the young moving picture operator answered. "i'll have to make some plans. but we've got a big day ahead of us to-morrow, and i can't do it then. i'll have to wait." "do you think i had better write to the court, and to the lawyers of the street car company?" asked mr. devere. "your plan might fail, russ." "well, of course it might, that's a fact. but there is time enough. i'd like to try my way first, though, for it would be conclusive proof. if you sent word to the lawyers, and they sent a witness up here to get his evidence by eyesight, merley might hear of it in some way and fool them. he might pretend to be lame again, if he knew he was being watched. "then, too, he could bring his own witnesses to prove that he was lame and unable to walk. it would be a case of which witnesses the court and jury would believe. "but if i get the proof on the film--you can't go back of that. just imagine, working a moving picture machine in one of the courts!" and he laughed at the idea. "perhaps you won't have to go to that end," suggested ruth. "no, we may be able to give merley a hint that he had better not keep on with the suit," mr. devere said. "well, russ, i wish you luck." a little later all the members of the company had heard of russ's plan and mr. pertell said that as soon as the big drama was finished russ could have as much time as he wanted to try and get a moving picture film of merley. "i'll have to go over to that cabin, and sort of size up the situation," russ decided. "i want to get the lay of the land, and pick out the best spot to plant my camera. i suppose it will have to be behind a clump of bushes." "oh, no! i know the very place for you!" cried ruth. "where?" he asked. "in the second, or small cabin. you can hide yourself there and focus your camera through the window. then you can film him without him seeing you." "good!" cried russ. "that will be the very thing!" as russ had said, the next day was a very busy one for him, and all the members of the company. several important scenes in the big drama were made. a few of them were interiors, in the barn or in the living room of elk lodge, and for this the players were thankful, for the weather had turned cold, and it was disagreeable outdoors. still, some snow scenes were needed, and the work had to go on. russ had one of his hands slightly frost-bitten using it without a glove to make some adjustments to his camera, and the tips of mr. sneed's ears were nipped with the cold. this happened when the actor was doing a little bit which called for him to shovel a supposedly lost and frozen person out of a snow bank. of course a "dummy" was put under the snow, and the real person, (in this case mr. bunn,) acted up to the time of the snow burial. then a clever substitution was made and the film was exposed again. this is often done to get trick pictures. mr. sneed was shoveling away at the snow bank. his ears had been very cold, but suddenly seemed to have lost all feeling. he was rather surprised, then, when the act was over, to have mr. switzer rush up to him with a handful of snow and hold some over each ear. "here! quit that! what do you mean?" cried the grouchy actor. "i got to do it alretty yet!" exclaimed the german. "quit it! stop it!" "no, i stops not until i haf der cold drawed out of your ears. they are frosted, mine dear chap, und dis is der only vay to make dem proper. i know, i have been in der far north." "that's right--it's the best way. hold snow on your frosted ears or nose, whatever it happens to be," declared mr. pertell. "you can thank mr. switzer for saving you a lot of trouble, mr. sneed." "humph! it's a funny thing to be thankful for--because someone washes your face with snow," declared the grouchy actor. it was two days later before russ had time to carry out his plan of "filming the faker," as he referred to it. then he and paul, with ruth and alice, went to the two cabins. russ took along a special moving picture camera made for fast work, and one with a lens that admitted of a long focus. "for merley may not come very near the small cabin," the young moving picture operator said. "i may have to get him a long way off. but i don't want to miss him." when the four were in the vicinity of the place they proceeded cautiously, for they did not want to expose themselves. from a screen of bushes russ took an observation, and announced that the coast was clear. "we'll slip into the cabin, and stay there as long as we can," russ said, and they ran across an open space. as far as they could tell they were not observed. two hours passed, and russ was beginning to be afraid his plan would be a failure, for that day at least. "but i'll come back again to-morrow, and the next day--until i film that faker!" he exclaimed. "i'm going to expose him!" "look!" exclaimed paul, who was standing near a window. "there are two men over near that other cabin. is one of them merley?" russ and alice reached the window at the same time. "there he is!" alice cried. "and walking as well as any man," russ exclaimed. "here's where i get him!" the moving picture camera was brought to the casement, and a moment later russ began clicking away at it. he had it focused on merley who, with fripp, was walking about the other cabin. merley walked without the suspicion of a limp, and a little later he took a shovel, and began clearing snow away from some of the walks. "good!" cried russ. "better and better! if he can do such strenuous work as that he isn't hurt. this cooks your goose, dan merley!" he continued to grind away, getting the proof of the fellow's criminality on the sensitive film. "oh, they're coming over this way!" exclaimed ruth. "what shall we do?" "nothing," declared russ, calmly. "the nearer he comes the better pictures i can get. don't be afraid. paul and i are here." merley had indeed started toward the smaller cabin. he was walking rapidly and well, and russ got some excellent pictures. then fripp, who remained at the larger cabin, called to his companion, who turned back for some reason. "good!" cried russ. "i've got him going and coming! oh, this will be great!" he continued to grind away at the film, and soon had sufficient pictures. "but how are we going to get away without them seeing us?" asked alice. "we can wait until dark," russ said. but there was no need. a little later the two men went into the large cabin, and presently came out with their guns. there was no sign of jagle. but merley and fripp started for the woods, and as soon as they were out of sight the four emerged from the small cabin, russ carrying his camera that now contained the proof on the film. they hurried back to elk lodge. chapter xxv the moving picture the last drama of the backwoods had been filmed. the unexposed reels were sent in to new york, together with the one made of dan merley, showing a supposedly injured man walking vigorously about. "and now good-bye to elk lodge," sighed alice, when they were packing up to go back to new york. "i'm sorry to leave it." "so am i!" added ruth. "we have had some lovely times here." "and strenuous ones, too," spoke alice. "oh, but won't i be glad to see dear old broadway again!" cried miss pennington, affectedly. "and won't i!" sighed miss dixon. "i want to see the sights." "as if there weren't finer ones here than any in new york!" murmured alice. "everyone to their notion, my dear," remarked miss pennington, in a pert manner. the last days at elk lodge were ones of delight. for the weather was good, and there was plenty of snow, which made fine coasting. there was also skating, with a number of straw rides. the members of the picture company gave themselves up to pleasure, and russ put away his cameras and joined in the fun with the others. "i don't care what happens now!" he cried. "i don't have to film it." paul and russ, with the two girls, paid another visit to the vicinity of the two cabins. there was a deserted look about the larger one, and a cautious examination revealed the fact that the occupants had gone. "i suppose he has returned to new york to prosecute his suit against the street car company," said ruth. "and also his one against daddy," added alice. three days later the moving picture company returned to new york. "and what are the next plans--i mean what sort of pictures are you going to make next?" asked mr. devere of mr. pertell. "i haven't quite made up my mind. i'll let you all know a little later," the manager answered. "i hope it isn't any more snow and ice," remarked mr. bunn. mr. pertell only smiled. mr. devere and his daughters went to their apartment, russ accompanying them. his mother and brother were glad, not only to see the young operator but the devere family as well. the next day mr. devere received a call from a lawyer who said he represented dan merley. "i have come to see if you are ready to pay that five hundred dollars before we go to court, mr. devere," the lawyer said, stiffly. "i haven't got it," answered the actor. "very well then, we shall sue and you will have to pay heavy costs and fees, in addition to the principal." mr. devere was very much worried, and spoke of the matter to russ. the young operator laughed. "dan merley will never collect that money," he said. "what makes you think so?" "i don't think--i know. give me that lawyer's address, and then don't do anything until you hear from me." it was two days later that russ said to the actor: "can you make it convenient to be at our film studio this evening?" "i think so--why?" asked mr. devere. "you'll see when you get there." "may we come?" asked ruth. "surely," russ answered. "i think you'll enjoy it, too!" rather mystified, but somehow suspecting what was afoot, the two girls accompanied their father to the studio at the appointed hour. russ met them and took them into the room where the films were first shown after being prepared for the projector. it was a sort of testing room. "i think you have met this gentleman before," said russ, as he nodded at one sitting in a corner. it was dan merley's lawyer. "oh, yes, i guess mr. devere knows me," returned the latter. "i understand you have come here for a settlement," he went on. "yes," said russ, smiling. "a--a settlement!" murmured mr. devere. "i--i am not prepared to settle. i have not the money!" "you don't need the money," declared russ. "you have brought mr. devere's promissory note with you; have you not?" he asked the lawyer. "i brought it, at your request," was the answer. "but i tell you, here and now, that it will not be surrendered until the five hundred dollars is paid." "oh yes," said russ gently, "i think it will. look! ready!" as he spoke the room was suddenly darkened, and then, on the big white screen, there sprang into prominence life-size moving pictures of dan merley, showing him walking about the backwoods cabin, and shoveling snow. the likeness was perfect. "i--er--i--what does this mean?" stammered the lawyer, springing to his feet. "it means that dan merley is a faker!" cried russ, as the lights were turned up again, and mr. pertell came up from the booth where he had been working the moving picture machine. "it means that he is a faker when he says he was injured by the street car," cried russ, "and we're going to show these pictures in court if he persists in the suit. and it means he's a faker when he says mr. devere owes him five hundred dollars. it means he's a faker from beginning to end! we've got the proof on the film!" and his voice rang out. "oh, russ!" cried ruth, and she clasped his hand in delight. "i--er--i--" stammered mr. devere as he sank into a chair. "daddy, you won't have to pay!" exclaimed alice, joyfully. "how about that, mr. black?" asked russ of the lawyer. "do you think your client will go on with the street car suit?" "well, my dear young man, in view of what you have shown me, i--er--i think not. in fact i know not." the lawyer was beaten and he realized it. "and about mr. devere's note?" asked russ. the lawyer took out his pocketbook. "here is the note," he muttered. "you have beaten us. i presume if we drop both suits that you will not show these pictures in court?" "it won't be necessary," said russ. "if the suits are withdrawn the pictures will not be shown. but they will be kept--for future reference," he added significantly. "i understand," spoke the lawyer. "you are a very clever young man." "oh, the young ladies helped me," laughed russ. "good-night," said the lawyer, bowing himself out. "there you are, mr. devere!" cried russ, as they were on their way from the studio. "you'd better destroy that note. it's the only evidence merley had, and now you have it back. tear it up--burn it!" "i will indeed! i never can thank you enough for securing it for me. those moving pictures were a clever idea." the next day formal notice was sent to mr. devere that the suit against him had been withdrawn, and merley had to pay all advance court charges. the actor would not again be made to pay the five hundred dollars. the suit against the street car company was also taken out of court. and dan merley and his confederates disappeared for a time. it seems that merley went to the woods to hunt as a sort of relief from having to pose all the while in new york as an injured man. he felt at home up in that locality, having been there many times before. "well," said mr. pertell to mr. devere and the girls one day, when he had called to see them, "i suppose you are ready for more camera work by this time?" "what now?" asked ruth. "can't you give us something different from what we have been having?" "indeed i can," was his answer. "how would you like to go to florida?" "florida!" the girls cried together. "oh, how lovely." "that's answer enough," said the manager. "we leave in a week!" "i wonder what will happen down there?" asked alice. and my readers may learn by perusing the next volume of this series, to be entitled "the moving picture girls under the palms; or, lost in the wilds of florida." "it seems too good to be true," spoke alice that night, as she and ruth were talking over what dresses they would take. "doesn't it! oh, i am just wild to go down south!" "so am i. i'd like to know what part we're going to." "why?" "oh, you know those two girls we met in the train. they were going somewhere near lake kissimmee. we might meet them." "we might," answered ruth sleepily. "put out the light, dear, and come to bed. we will have some busy times, getting ready to go to florida." and thus we will take leave of the moving picture girls. * * * * * transcriber's notes: obvious punctuation errors corrected. page , "dissappointed" changed to "disappointed". (he never disappointed) page , "roles" changed to "rôles". (played minor rôles) page , "felt" changed to "left". (left her father's) page , "went" changed to "want". (want to pay me) page , "handful" changed to "handful". (handful of snow) page , "wildy" changed to "wildly". (pawed about wildly) page , "dollares" changed to "dollars". (hundred dollars means) page , "seem" changed to "seen". (seen that he) page , "colonge" changed to "cologne". (spirits of cologne) page , "dicken's" changed to "dickens'". (in dickens' story) page , "your" changed to "you". (his coat you) page , the word "have" was inserted into the text. (could have happened) page , "accidently" changed to "accidentally". (accidentally hit you) page , "temperment" changed to "temperament". (a different temperament) page , "we" changed to "we". (we can't go) page , "fugutive" changed to "fugitive". (were fugitive slaves) page , "lense" changed to "lens". (a lens that) page , the word "spoke" is presumed as the original is smudged. (spoke the lawyer) text-films in collaboration with project productions. © mcgraw-hill, inc.; dec ; mp . the yellow badge of courage. see i'm dickens, he's fenster. the yellow belly in the purple sage. see the red skelton hour. the yellow canary. twentieth century-fox film corp. min., sd., b&w, mm. a cooga mooga production. cinemascope. based on the novel evil come, evil go, by whit masterson. © twentieth century-fox film corp., may ; lp . the yellow dog. see manhunt. yellow haired kid. see wild bill hickok. yellow river. see maverick. the yellow rolls-royce. metro-goldwyn-mayer. min., sd., color, mm. metrocolor. panavision. © metro-goldwyn-mayer, inc.; dec ; lp . the yellow scarf affair. see the man from u.n.c.l.e. yellow submarine. apple films [london] released by united artists corp. min., sd., color, mm. a king features production. from an original story by lee minoff; based on a song by john lennon & paul mccartney. © hearst corp., king feature syndicate division, & subafilms, ltd.; jul ; lp . yellow terror. see colt . . yellowstone cubs. walt disney productions. released by buena vista distribution co. min., sd., color, mm. technicolor. © walt disney productions; may ; lp . yellowstone kelly. warner bros. pictures. min., sd., technicolor, mm. from the book by clay fisher. © warner bros. pictures, inc.; sep ; lp . yemen: the arabs' own war. see eyewitness. yes, galen, there is a herman. see the munsters. yesterday's hero. see surfside . yesterday's timepiece. see the virginian. yo ho ho and a bottle of dumb. see the red skelton hour. the yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum affair. see the man from u.n.c.l.e. yo yo a go go. hal seeger. min., si., b&w, mm. 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see my three sons. you should meet my sister. see award theatre. you take the high road. see the virginian. you wanna know what really goes on in a hospital? see ben casey. you'll be the death of me. see alfred hitchcock hour. you'll find it in the library. coronet instructional films. min., sd., b&w, mm. © coronet instructional films, division of esquire, inc.; nov ; mp . the young ambassadors. volkswagen of america. made by marathon international productions. min., sd., color, mm. © marathon international productions, inc.; feb (in notice: ); mp . the young americans. young americans. released by columbia pictures corp. min., sd., color, mm. © young americans; nov ; lp . young and in love. see the farmer's daughter. the young and the brave. a. c. lyles productions. released by metro-goldwyn-mayer. min., sd., b&w, mm. story by ronald davidson & harry m. slott. © metro-goldwyn-mayer, inc. & a. c. lyles productions, inc.; mar ; lp . the young and the willing (young and willing) rank organisation film productions. released by universal pictures co. min., sd., b&w, mm. from the play the tinker, by laurence dobie & robert sloman. © rank organisation film productions, ltd.; jun ; lp . the young animals. american international pictures. min., sd., color, mm. © american international pictures; sep ; lp . the young assassins. see peter gunn. young at heart. see karen. young billy young. talbot-youngstein productions. released by united artists corp. min., sd., color, mm. based on who rides with wyatt, by will henry. © talbot-youngstein productions; sep ; lp . young blood. see cisco kid. the high chaparral. young cassidy. sextant films. released by metro-goldwyn-mayer. min., sd., color, mm. metrocolor. based on mirror in my house, the autobiography of sean o'casey. © sextant films, ltd.; jan ; lp . the young conspirator. see markham. young couple. see lestare. a. young dillinger. zimbalist co. released by allied artists pictures corp. min., sd., b&w, mm. © zimbalist co., inc.; mar ; lp . the young doctors. drexel films corp. & millar-turman productions. released by united artists corp. min., sd., b&w, mm. based upon a novel by arthur hailey. © drexel films corp. & millar-turman productions, inc.; aug ; lp . young fans. see i love lucy. the young fugitives. see cheyenne. young fury. a. c. lyles productions. released by paramount pictures corp. min., sd., color, mm. technicolor. techniscope. © paramount pictures corp. & a. c. lyles productions, inc.; dec ; lp . the young girls of rochefort. parc film-madeleine films. released by warner bros.-seven arts. min., sd., color, mm. © parc film-madeleine films; dec ; lp . young gun. see colt . . death valley days. . young guns of texas. twentieth century-fox film corp. min., sd., color, mm. color by deluxe. cinemascope. © twentieth century-fox film corp.; dec ; lp . young jesse james. associated producers. released by twentieth century-fox film corp. min., sd., b&w, mm. cinemascope. © twentieth century-fox film corp.; jul ; lp . young jim hardie. see tales of wells fargo. the young juggler. curtleigh productions. min., sd., b&w, mm. (ford startime) © curtleigh productions, inc.; mar ; lp . the young loner. see walt disney's wonderful world of color. the young lovers. metro-goldwyn-mayer. min., sd., b&w, mm. based on a novel by julian halevy. © tigertail productions, inc.; jun ; lp . the young lovers. see the defenders. the young man from boston. american broadcasting-paramount theatres. min., sd., b&w, mm. a circle seven production. © american broadcasting-paramount theatres, inc.; apr ; mp . young man with a shoehorn. see the dick van dyke show. a young man's fancy. see fair exchange. the joey bishop show. life of riley. the rifleman. twilight zone. young man's world. see harrigan and son. the young marauders. see the big valley. young mr. eisenhower. see cbs news special. young performers - . see new york philharmonic young people's concerts. the young philadelphians. warner bros. pictures. min., sd., b&w, mm. from the novel the philadelphian by richard powell. © warner bros. pictures, inc.; may ; lp . the young racers. alta vista productions. released by american international pictures. min., sd., color, mm. eastman color. © alta vista productions; may ; lp . the young runaways. four leaf productions. released by metro-goldwyn-mayer. min., sd., color, mm. © metro-goldwyn-mayer, inc. & four leaf productions, inc.; aug ; lp . the young savages. contemporary productions. released by united artists corp. min., sd., b&w, mm. based on the novel a matter of conviction, by evan hunter. © contemporary productions, inc.; may (in notice: ); lp . the young swingers. associated producers. released by twentieth century-fox film corp. min., sd., b&w, mm. © twentieth century-fox film corp.; sep ; lp . the young, the evil and the savage. super international pictures & b.g.a. released by american international pictures. min., sd., color, mm. © american international pictures; aug (in notice: ); lp . the young toughs. see lawman. the young warriors. universal pictures. min., sd., color, mm. panavision. based on richard matheson's novel. appl. author: universal pictures, division of universal city studios. © universal pictures; jun (in notice: ); lp . young witness. see wild bill hickok. youngblood hawke. warner bros. pictures. min., sd., b&w, mm. from the novel by herman wouk. © warner bros. pictures, inc.; nov (in notice: ); lp . the younger brother. see leave it to beaver. younger than autumn. see the ed wynn show. . the youngest. see lawman. your body and its parts. encyclopaedia britannica films. min., sd., color, mm. (basic life science, unit: your health) eastman color. © encyclopaedia britannica films, inc.; sep ; mp . your body grows. coronet instructional films. min., sd., b&w, mm. © coronet instructional films, a division of esquire, inc.; aug ; mp . your body repairs and maintains itself. coronet instructional films. min., sd., b&w, mm. © coronet instructional films, a division of esquire, inc.; oct ; mp . your cheatin' heart. four leaf productions. released by metro-goldwyn-mayer. min., sd., b&w, mm. panavision. © metro-goldwyn-mayer, inc. and four leaf productions, inc.; jul ; lp . your communication skills: listening. coronet instructional films. min., sd., b&w, mm. © coronet instructional films, a division of esquire, inc.; sep ; mp . your communication skills: reading. coronet instructional films. min., sd., b&w, mm. © coronet instructional films, a division of esquire, inc.; sep ; mp . your communication skills: speaking. coronet instructional films. min., sd., b&w, mm. © coronet instructional films, a division of esquire, inc.; sep ; mp . your communication skills: the exchange of ideas. coronet instructional films. min., sd., b&w, mm. © coronet instructional films, a division of esquire, inc.; sep ; mp . your communication skills: writing. coronet instructional films. min., sd., b&w, mm. © coronet instructional films, a division of esquire, inc.; sep ; mp . your daily horoscope, january . reid ray television productions & show biz. min., sd., b&w, mm. based on the works of gustave c. ekstrom. appl. states prev. pub. feb . nm: rev. © corray television productions; dec ; mp . your date with light. better light better sight bureau. made by vpi-industrial productions. min., sd., color, mm. © better light better sight bureau; mar ; mp . your decision! or? joseph w. farr. min., sd., color, mm. © joseph w. farr; sep ; mp . your ears. encyclopaedia britannica films. min., sd., color, mm. (basic life science, unit: your health) eastman color. © encyclopaedia britannica films, inc.; sep ; mp . your eyes. encyclopaedia britannica films. min., sd., color, mm. (basic life science, unit: your health) eastman color. © encyclopaedia britannica films, inc.; sep ; mp . your food. encyclopaedia britannica films. min., sd., color, mm. (basic life science, unit: your health) eastman color. © encyclopaedia britannica films, inc.; sep ; mp . your fortune for a penny. see sunset strip. your golden future in the land of enchantment. rio rancho estates. min., sd., color, mm. © rio rancho estates, inc.; may ; mp . your health. see your body and its parts. your ears. your eyes. your food. your protection against disease. your sleep and rest. your teeth. your hidden strength. holiday advertising agency. min., ektachrome, mm. appl. author: william r. witherell, jr. © holiday advertising agency; sep ; mu . your home sweet home is my home. see the dick van dyke show. your in lordds land!! austin f. lamont. min., sd., b&w, mm. © austin f. lamont; sep ; mp . your job, applying for it. coronet instructional films. min., sd., b&w, mm. © coronet instructional films, a division of esquire, inc.; jan ; mp . your job, finding the right one. coronet instructional films. min., sd., b&w, mm. © coronet instructional films, a division of esquire, inc.; jan ; mp . your job, fitting in. coronet instructional films. min., sd., b&w, mm. © coronet instructional films, a division of esquire, inc.; jan ; mp . your job, getting ahead. coronet instructional films. min., sd., b&w, mm. © coronet instructional films, a division of esquire, inc.; jan ; mp . your job, good work habits. coronet instructional films. min., sd., b&w, mm. © coronet instructional films, a division of esquire, inc.; jan ; mp . your job, you and your boss. coronet instructional films. min., sd., b&w, mm. © coronet instructional films, a division of esquire, inc.; jan ; mp . your junior high days. mcgraw-hill book co. min., sd., color, mm. (junior high guidance series) eastman color. © mcgraw-hill book co., inc.; dec ; mp . your life, your future. church of jesus christ of latter-day saints. made by brigham young university. min., sd., color, mm. © brigham young university; mar (in notice: ); mp . your link with the road. video films. min., sd., color, mm. appl. author: william r. witherell, jr. © video films, inc.; aug ; mu . your marriage and family living. see engagement: romance and reality. handling marital conflicts. psychological differences between the sexes. your nervous system. coronet instructional films. min., sd., b&w, mm. © coronet instructional films, a division of esquire, inc.; sep ; mp . your number's up. see grand jury. your opportunity. winter, kahn, nielsen, ross & buckwalter, inc. reel, sd., color, mm. © winter, kahn, nielsen, ross & buckwalter, inc. & electronic computer programming institute of fort wayne, inc.; dec (in notice: ); mp . your protection against disease. encyclopaedia britannica films. min., sd., color, mm. (basic life science, unit: your health) eastman color. © encyclopaedia britannica films, inc.; sep ; mp . your royal highness, princess margaret. twentieth century-fox film corp. reel, sd., b&w, mm. a movietone presentation. © twentieth century-fox film corp.; apr ; lp . your sleep and rest. encyclopaedia britannica films. min., sd., color, mm. (basic life science, unit: your health) eastman color. © encyclopaedia britannica films, inc.; sep ; mp . your spine is your lifeline. district , pennsylvania chiropractic society. sec., sd., b&w, mm. appl. author: edward c. michener associates. © district , pennsylvania chiropractic society; mar ; mp . your stay in the hospital. professional research. min., sd., color, super mm. © professional research, inc.; jan (in notice: ); mp . your study methods. coronet instructional films. min., sd., b&w, mm. © coronet instructional films, a division of esquire, inc.; oct ; mp . your teeth. encyclopaedia britannica films. min., sd., color, mm. (basic life science, unit: your health) eastman color. © encyclopaedia britannica films, inc.; sep ; mp . your thrift habits. coronet instructional films. min., sd., b&w, mm. d ed. © coronet instructional films, a division of esquire, inc.; jul ; mp . your witness. see alfred hitchcock presents. your world neighbors series. see the brothers: life on a greek island. kim visits the netherlands. you're all right, ivy. see the greatest show on earth. you're as young as you feel. see the real mccoys. you're driving me crazy. see my three sons. you're in my power. see my three sons. you're never too old. see the real mccoys. . you're only old once. see the smothers brothers show. you're under arrest. see comedy capers. the dick van dyke show. you're what? again? see the joey bishop show. yours, mine and ours. desilu-walden productions. released by united artists corp. min., sd., color, mm. © desilu-walden productions; apr ; lp . yours truly, jack the ripper. see thriller. youth dances. trustees of the dance in education fund. made by contemporary films. min., sd., b&w, mm. © trustees of the dance in education fund; dec ; mp . youth for the asking. see how to marry a millionaire. youth physical fitness. robert saudek associates. min., sd., color, mm. © equitable life assurance society of the united states; apr ; mp . youth speak out. christian science board of directors. min., sd., color, mm. © christian science board of directors; oct ; mp . youthful bad man. see sheriff of cochise. youths and maidens on an evening walk. see the defenders. you've been disconnected. see gilligan's island. you've got to be miserable to be happy. see the danny thomas show. no. -d ( ). you've sold me, mrs. marlowe. anne saum & associates. made by calvin productions. distributed by modern talking pictures service. min., sd., color, mm. (people sell people) © calvin productions, inc.; jan ; mp . yugoslav boy: story of frane. encyclopaedia britannica educational corp. made by niksa fulgosi & octavian miletic. min., sd., color, mm. produced in collaboration with yugoslav tourist information bureau. © encyclopaedia britannica educational corp.; jan (in notice: ); mp . yugoslavia: bridge or tightrope? see the twentieth century. the yukon affair. see the man from u.n.c.l.e. yule laff. paramount pictures corp. min., sd., color, mm. (noveltoon cartoon) © paramount pictures corp.; sep ; lp . yvon durelle vs. ... see turn of the century fights. z the zanti misfits. see the outer limits. the zap sap. hal seeger. min., color, mm. (batfink, no. ) © hal seeger; sep ; lu . ze pel fabric fluoridizer. e. i. du pont de nemours & co. made by jam handy organization. min., sd., color, mm. ektachrome. © jam handy organization, inc.; may ; mu . the zebedee titus story. see wagon train. zebra in the kitchen. ivan tors enterprises. released by metro-goldwyn-mayer. min., sd., color, mm. metrocolor. from a story by elgin ciampi. © metro-goldwyn-mayer, inc. & ivan tors enterprises, inc.; mar ; lp . zeeth in jungle rev. . alberto-culver co. sec., sd., b&w. © alberto-culver co.; mar ; mu . zeeth jingle. alberto-culver co. sec., sd., b&w. © alberto-culver co.; mar ; mu . zelda, get off my back. see the many loves of dobie gillis. zelda the zombie. hal seeger productions. min., sd., color, mm. (milton, no. ) eastman color. © hal seeger productions, inc.; sep ; lu . zero hour in greece. see the twentieth century. zig zag. see riverboat. the zip code zipper. see winky dink and you. no. p- . zip 'n snort. warner bros. pictures. min., sd., technicolor, mm. (merrie melodies; road runner) © warner bros. pictures, inc.; jan ; lp . zippy, the jack rabbit. peter tafarella. min. © peter tafarella; aug ; mu . zoe anne olson tops aau. see sportfolio. zombo. see the munsters. the zone. see gunslinger. zoo animals in rhyme. coronet instructional films. min., sd., b&w, mm. © coronet instructional films, a division of esquire, inc.; apr ; mp . zoo baby animals. encyclopaedia britannica films. min., sd., color, mm. © encyclopaedia britannica films, inc.; jan (in notice: ); mp . zoo families. film associates of california. min., sd., color, mm. eastman color. © film associates of california; feb ; mp . zoo is company. hanna-barbera productions. released by columbia pictures corp. min., sd., eastman color by pathé, mm. (loopy de loop, no. ) © hanna-barbera productions; jul ; lp . zoom at the top. warner bros. pictures. min., sd., color, mm. (merrie melodies; road runner) technicolor. © warner bros. pictures, inc.; jun ; lp . zorba the greek. twentieth century-fox film corp. min., sd., b&w, mm. from the novel by nikos kazantzakis. © twentieth century-fox film corp.; dec ; lp . zorro. walt disney productions. min., each, sd., b&w, mm © walt disney productions. - . . oct. , . welcome to monterey. © sep ; lp . . oct. , . zorro rides alone. © sep ; lp . . oct. , . horse of another color. © oct ; lp . . oct. , . the senorita makes a choice. © oct ; lp . . nov. , . rendezvous at sundown. © oct ; lp . . nov. , . the new order. © oct ; lp . . nov. , . an eye for an eye. © oct ; lp . . nov. , . zorro and the flag of truce. © nov ; lp . . dec. , . ambush. © nov ; lp . . dec. , . the practical joker. © nov ; lp . . dec. , . the flaming arrow. © nov ; lp . . dec. , . zorro fights a duel. © dec ; lp . . jan. , . amnesty for zorro. © dec ; lp . . feb. , . spark of revenge. © jan ; lp . . jan. , . the runaways. © dec ; lp . . jan , . the iron box. © dec ; lp . . june , . senor china boy. © jun ; lp . . jan. , . the gay caballero. © jan (in notice: ); lp . . jan. , . tornado is missing. © jan ; lp . . feb. , . zorro versus cupid. © jan ; lp . . feb. , . the legend of zorro. © jan ; lp . . may , . the sergeant sees red. © apr ; lp . . mar. , . zorro and the mountain man. © feb ; lp . . mar. , . the hound of the sierras. © mar ; lp . . apr. , . manhunt. © mar ; lp . . feb. , . the missing father. © feb ; lp . . mar. , . please believe me. © feb ; lp . . mar. , . the brooch. © feb ; lp . . apr. , . the man from spain. © mar ; lp . . apr. , . treasure for the king. © mar ; lp . . apr. , . exposing the tyrant. © apr ; lp . . apr. , . zorro takes a dare. © apr ; lp . . june , . the fortune teller. © may ; lp . . may , . affair of honor. © apr ; lp . . july , . finders keepers. © jun ; lp . . may , . invitation to death. © apr ; lp . . may , . the capitan regrets. © may ; lp . . june , . masquerade for murder. © may ; lp . . june , . long live the governor. © may ; lp . zorro. walt disney productions. approx. min. each, sd., b&w, mm. © walt disney productions. - . adios el cuhillo. telecast: nov. , . © oct ; lp . auld acquaintance. telecast: apr. , . © mar ; lp . el bandido. telecast: oct. , . © oct ; lp . the postponed wedding. telecast: jan. , . © dec ; lp . zotz! william castle pictures. released by columbia pictures corp. min., sd., b&w, mm. based on the novel by walter karig. © william castle pictures; jun ; lp . zsa zsa. see mister ed. zsa zsa redecorates the nursery. see the joey bishop show. zwei sÄrge auf bestellung (we still kill the old way) cemo-film-rom. germany. released in the u.s. by lopert pictures corp. min., sd., color, mm. adapted from the novel by leonardo sciascia. © cemo-film rom, s.p.a.; oct ; lf . zygote formation in pandorina. see algal syngamy: zygote formation in pandorina. zzzzz. see the outer limits. name index an alphabetical list of the names of persons and organizations associated with the motion pictures listed in the main section as claimant, producing, releasing, or distributing agents, etc., or as author of the work upon which the motion picture is based. under each name are listed the titles of the pertinent motion pictures. a aaa foundation for traffic safety, washington, d.c. the day the bicycles disappeared. the final factor. a. a. productions, ltd. lolita the roman spring of mrs. stone. abc. the bing crosby show. the tycoon. abc division. see american motors corp. abc division. abc films, inc. come spy with me. abc news. kitty hawk to paris: the heroic years. the making of the president, . who in ' ? abc sports, inc. the american sportsman. abc television network. combat! garrison's gorillas. mickey. my three sons. a. c. e. films, inc. the thin red line. a.c.i. productions. the continent of africa. east africa: tropical highlands. the economy of africa. northern africa: water and man. the peoples of africa. southern africa: industry and agriculture. west africa: tropical lowlands. a.c.i. productions, ltd. the southeast, challenge and change. a-c productions. marriage on the rocks. acwa. see amalgamated clothing workers of america. aibs. see american institute of biological sciences, washington, d.c. a.m. productions, inc. swing around brazil. what's up down under? aopa foundation, inc. come fly with me, darlene. a.p.i. productions. desire in the dust. api productions, inc. seven women from hell. ata foundation, inc. champions of the highway. atv-itc production. spotlight. a-v corp. the game played around the world. moving with mathematics. the power of motion pictures. the straw hat and the crown. trail to the stars. a-v corp., teaching films division. see teaching films, inc. abbey, edward. lonely are the brave. abbott, george. damn yankees. abbott laboratories. the gradumet story. abel, robert. the seven second love affair. abraham, edward. the trunk. abraham, valerie. the trunk. abrams, albert j. the common good, new york state's legislature in action. academic communications facility, university of california. see california. university. academic communications facility. academy films. map of california, agricultural uses of lowlands in coastal valleys. map of california: the desert and how man uses desert valleys for agriculture. academy films, inc. maps and their meaning. maps, land symbols and terms. urban uses of land for education, culture and recreation. urban uses of land for industry. accord productions, ltd. oh! what a lovely war. accredited beauty school service, inc. anatomy of hair styling. accredited schools of beauty culture. anatomy of hair styling. achard, marcel. friend of the family. a shot in the dark. ackerman, nathan w. in and out of psychosis. acre-sajo co. enter laughing. action films, inc. the week end warriors. adams, david. see pyramid film producers. adams, richard ware. exchange of words. adams, t. m. capacitor construction and actions. full wave rectifier power supply. inductance principles. the rl time constant. resistors in parallel. resistors in series. adams, t. m. see adams, thomas m. adams, thomas m. audio voltage amplifier with npn transistor. basic transformer actions. the damped oscillation. diode detector (for a.m. demodulation) direct-coupled amplifier. inductor construction and actions. parallel lc circuits. parallel rc circuits. parallel rl circuits. parallel rlc circuits. the rc time constant. series rc circuits. series rl circuits. series rlc circuits. tickler-coil oscillator. transistor characteristic curves. transistorized multivibrator (free running) triode amplification factor, linear example. triode amplification factor, non-linear example. triode d.c. load line. triode plate characteristics. triode plate resistance, linear example. triode plate resistance, non-linear example. triode transconductance, linear example. triode transconductance, non-linear example. triode transfer characteristics. tuned collector oscillator. the undamped oscillation. adams industries, inc. reading rr steam excursion. adamson, joy. born free. addams, charles. the addams family. addessi (giovanni) produzioni cinematografiche. the legend of fra diavolo. adell chemical co. lestare. adelphia compagnia cinematografica, s.p.a. morgan the pirate. adelphia production. seven seas to calais. adelsberg, stanley l. rehabilitation of the below knee amputee. adleman, robert h. the devil's brigade. admiral pictures, inc. apache rifles. arizona raiders. boy, did i get a wrong number. diary of a madman. guns to apache pass. the quick gun. tower of london. twice told tales. admos, inc. admos film no. . adrian, charles r. building political leadership. advanced systems development division of international business machines corp. see international business machines corp. advanced systems development division. adventure cartoons for television, inc. the mighty hercules. advertising media associates. a formula for happy living. aegis productions, inc. hormone therapy for advanced cancer. oral cancer. aero mayflower transit co., inc. mayflower, u.s.a. aerojet-general corp. corporate technical information center--ctic. focus. aetna casualty & surety co. aetna drivotron system. defensive driving ii. diagonal parking. driving on ice and snow. expressway experts. fireman at your door. how to drive on hills. lifting: man's age old problem. passing. road check. safe highway driving. safety at work. shifting. shifting skill. special driving techniques. to see ourselves. traffic driving iii. traffic strategy. turning at intersections. aetna life aetna casualty insurance companies. a fisherman's notebook. aetna life affiliated companies. fireman at your door fun 'n' fathoms. to see ourselves. you are the lifeguard. aetna life & casualty. hurricane. if bicycles could talk. aetna life & casualty co. play ball, play safe. ten little engines. to fall or not to fall. a toddler's hours of hazard. aetna life insurance co. abc's of parallel parking. angle parking & turning maneuvers. backing safely. blending in traffic. a drive in a manual shift car. a drive in an automatic shift car. driving emergencies. expressway excellence. perfect passing. play ball, play safe. ski sense. a toddler's hours of hazard. you and the drivotrainer system. affiliated films. the era of water commerce: - . affiliated state education associations. a chance to learn. afton-linebrook productions. butterfield . agee, james. all the way home. agliani-mordini-illiria film. the minotaur, the wild beast of crete. aguilu, julian r. opposites. airborne productions, inc. flight. akron. university. chemistry laboratory series. akutagawa, ryunosuke. the outrage. alabama gas corp. alagasco and the twins. alameda films. black pit of doctor m. alamo co. the alamo. albany (n.y.) medical college. medical illustration division. asepsis in operating rooms: the contribution of textile barriers. albee, edward. who's afraid of virginia woolf? albee homes, inc. the new breed of american. the new breed of american (sales film) albert, marvin h. bullet for a badman. duel at diablo. lady in cement. tony rome. the ugly ones. alberto-culver co. alberto-culver co. television commercials. at the counter, all dandruff. bandage window. competitive. crystal ball. dandruff shampoo. first experience. flyaway hair. genie. glued look. hand claps. jimmy. jingle. limbo iii. look! what is it. man, woman alberto vo hair spray. mirror test. powder puff. proof is in the part. rainstorm. rinsing announcer. roomates. subdue. tennis ii. thinking. vo shampoo makes your hair do what you want it to. weekend permanent. zeeth in jungle rev. . zeeth jingle. albion film corp. hide and seek. albion film distributors, ltd. the double man. alcan aluminum, ltd. aluminum. alcas studios. surgery of the senile cataract, intracapsular extraction with forceps, sliding and countertraction. surgery of the senile cataract, intracapsular extraction with forceps, tumbling and countertraction. alco pictures corp. september storm. space attack. alden, jerome. more than words. alden, john. where the girls are. alder, b. j. irreversibility and fluctuations. alexander, claude. the naked witch. the wondrous story of birth. alexander, mel. many faces of mexico. alexander, ronald. billie. alexander enterprises. the naked witch. the wondrous story of birth. alexandra. les biches. algren, nelson. walk on the wild side. all god's children co. this rebel breed. allen, ethan n. batting and bunting. bats. bird dog. catching. first and third basemen. base running. outfielding. pitching. shortstop and second baseman. training and conditioning. allen (irving) ltd. genghis khan. hammerhead. the hellions. run wild, run free. allen, jay presson. the prime of miss jean brodie. wives and lovers. allen, malcolm h. an introduction to structural ceramics: the scr building panel. allen, peter c. the winds of freedom. allen, r. s. the hill. allend'or productions. planned families. the silent screamer. aller (robert) productions. reinforcement therapy. alley (paul) productions. mayflower, u.s.a. allfin, a.g. tarzan and the great river. tarzan and the valley of gold. tarzan goes to india. alliance film distributors, ltd. the shakedown. allied artists corp. hands of a stranger. allied artists corp., ltd. the thief of bagdad. allied artists distribution corp. serengeti shall not die. allied artists pictures corp. angel baby. armored command. the atomic submarine. the bashful elephant. belle de jour. the big wave. billy budd. black zoo. bluebeards ten honeymoons. brainwashed. the bridge. caltiki, the immortal monster. confessions of an opium eater. cry of battle. el cid. david and goliath. the day of the triffids. dondi. days at peking. frankenstein meets the space monster. the frightened city. the george raft story. the gun hawk. gunfight at comanche creek. hell to eternity. herod, the great. heroes die young. hitler. the house of intrigue. the hypnotic eye. i passed for white. king of the roaring 's, the story of arnold rothstein. look in any window. mara of the wilderness. operation eichmann. the pawnbroker. pay or die. payroll. play it cool. the plunderers. the purple gang. raymie. reprieve. riders on a dead horse. serengeti shall not die. sex kittens go to college. shock corridor. snow treasure. terror in the city. the thin red line. tickle me. time bomb. tormented. twenty plus two. the unfaithfuls. war is hell. world's heavyweight championship fight, charles "sonny" liston; floyd patterson. young dillinger. allied chemical corp. barrett gypsum products presentation. allied empire, inc. the history & development of the rocket. allied enterprises, inc. macumba love. allied film makers. victim. whistle down the wind. allis chalmers manufacturing co. the challenge of six billion. allison (clyde) production. lakes, trout and tackle. allstar pictures, inc. c'mon let's live a little. allstate insurance companies. the easy way. allstate insurance co. advanced city driving. champions of the highway. city driving. driver in review. driving after dark. expressways are different. the good turn. hazardous situations. highway driving. hit the highways. in reverse. let's review. let's start driving. moderate traffic. parking. shift for yourself. the start of good driving. winterproof your driving. allstate insurance co. driver education & training division. let's start driving. allstate insurance co. driver education division. driver in review. hazardous situations. hit the highways. moderate traffic. winterproof your driving. allstate insurance co. special accounts division. champions of the highway. allstate insurance co. training division. driver in review. the good turn. hazardous situations. hit the highways. moderate traffic. shift for yourself. winterproof your driving. allyn & bacon, inc. developing comprehension. diagnosis, formal and informal. preparation for reading. word analysis, multiple approaches. alperson, edward l. irma la douce. alpert productions. born to the flame. the endless search. alpha-alpina s. a. advise and consent. alpha core-concept. forces that build land. india: the land. india: the people. the origin of rocks. pakistan: the land. pakistan: the people. what are fossils? what is a glacier? what is a volcano? what is erosion? alpha corp. of america. forces that build land. india: the land. india: the people. the origin of rocks. pakistan: the land. pakistan: the people. what are fossils? what is a glacier? what is a volcano? what is erosion? alpha television productions, inc. tv reader's digest. alsa films. blues for lovers. alta productions. elementary tennis instruction. alta vista film productions, ltd. die, monster, die. the tomb of ligeia. the wild racers. alta vista productions. alakazam the great. beach party. bikini beach. black sabbath. black sunday. a bucket of blood. burn, witch, burn. the comedy of terrors. the diary of a high school bride. evil eye. the fall of the house of usher. goliath and the barbarians. goliath and the dragon. goliath and the vampires. ghost of dragstrip hollow. guns of the black witch. the haunted palace. invasion of the star creatures. the jailbreakers. journey to the seventh planet. konga. lost battalion. marco polo. the masque of the red death. master of the world. muscle beach party. operation bikini. panic in year zero. pit and the pendulum. prisoner of the iron mask. the raven. reptilicus. samson and the slave queen. tales of terror. voyage to the end of the universe. warriors . white slave ship. x. the young racers. altschul, gilbert. decorating and planning your home: some basic ideas. energy and power: a first look. food preparation: some basic ideas. galvani and volta, an early debate in science. going to school is your job. let's look at levers. school bus safety with strings attached! speaker of the house. speaker of the house: the legislative process. united nations: organization for peace. vocations in agriculture. what's so important about a wheel? what's the good of a test? altachul (gilbert) productions, inc. creative drama: the first steps. decorating and planning your home: some basic ideas. energy and power: a first look. food preparation: some basic ideas. food supply: its effect on civilization. galvani and volta, an early debate in science. going to school is your job. the importance of sanitation. let's look at levers. modern metallography, apparatus, methods. the rest of your life. river of power. salesmanship: career opportunities. school bus safety with strings attached! speaker of the house. speaker of the house: the legislative process. a test can teach. united nations: organization for peace. vocations in agriculture. what's so important about a wheel? what's the good of a test? aluminum co. of america. alcoa spreads the word. how to rivet aluminum. why they buy. alward, l. william. which way is paradise? amalgamated clothing workers of america. the inheritance. amalgamated productions, inc. the electronic monster. amalgamated sugar co. sweet discovery, the story of the sugarbeet. amateur athletic union of the united states. swim meet. amazing but true, inc. amazing but true. primitive fighters. amchem products, inc. still more jack from your beanstalk. ambassador films. country boy. search for the evil one. ambassador instructional materials. elementary tennis instruction. ambler, eric. topkapi. ameran films, ltd. east of sudan. first men in the moon. mysterious island. siege of the saxons. you must be joking. american academy of pediatrics. journey in health. american airlines, inc. jet precision flying. keep them informed. noise abatement at jfk and lax. winter landing problems associated with accidents. american art films, inc. day of a stripper. the playpen. american automobile assn. alcohol and drugs vs. safe driving. angle parking. attitude and behavior of a good driver. backing the car. buying and insuring your car. driver's permit. driving as your job. driving in cities and towns. driving in the country. driving under adverse conditions. the eyes of the driver. how the automobile runs. informational devices. left turns. manual gearshift. motor vehicle laws. parallel parking. parking on a hill, downgrade and upgrade. physical fitness and traffic safety. pre-driving habits. putting the car in motion. reaction, braking and stopping distances. right turns. skids and skidding. sportsmanlike driving. starting on an upgrade. traffic, present and future needs. traffic safety, vehicle design and equipment. turning around on a narrow street. american bankers assn. it's all mine. american bar assn. the revocable trust, an essential tool for the practicing lawyer. american bridge division, united states steel corp. see united states steel corp. american bridge division. american broadcasting. hamlet. american broadcasting companies, inc. abc scope. can you hear me? coach bryant, alabama's bear. the constitution. the declaration of independence. everett dirksen's washington. good times. hall of kings. lsd, the trip to where? marathon: the story of the young drug users. monsters of the ocean deep. the pursuit of excellence--the vienna choir boys. sleep: the fantastic third of your life. southern accents, northern ghettos. take a deep, deadly breath. who in ' ? world boy scout jamboree. american broadcasting co. good times. american broadcasting co., inc. the young man from boston. american broadcasting co. merchandising, inc. cities and beauty: cities can be beautiful. cities and commerce: where we get our goods and services. cities and communication: keeping the community informed. cities and geography: where people live. cities and government: governing our local community. cities and history: changing the city. cities and manufacturing: where we make things. cities and protection: protecting lives and property. cities and recreation: places we play. cities and shopping: where we get our food. cities and suburbs: the metropolitan area. cities and transportation: moving people and goods. cities and utilities: our public utility system. american can co. making it. american cancer society. is smoking worth it? american cancer society, inc. a breath of air. cancer in children. cancer of the skin. cancer of the stomach. cracking the code of life. the dentist and cancer. the diagnosis and management of cancer of the colon and rectum. early diagnosis and management of breast cancer. hormone therapy for advanced cancer. investment in life. life story. nursing management of the patient with cancer. nursing the cancer patient: diagnosis: cancer of the rectum. off the shelf. oral cancer. a second voice. signals. the three faces of stanley. time for decision. tumors of the major salivary glands. uterine cancer: diagnosis and management. the woman in question. american cancer society, inc. california division. cancer in children. american cast iron pipe co. acipco ceram-spun steel tubes. american chemical society, washington, d.c. an introduction to reaction kinetics. vibration of molecules. american dairy assn. olympic skates and skis. the world is one. american dental assn. cobwebs into ropes. hospital dental service, today & tomorrow. american diabetes assn., inc. how sure are you? american education publications. developing a position. discussion techniques. problems in productive discussion. american film producers. water rescue. american foundation, institute of corrections. see institute of corrections. american foundation. american geological institute, washington, d.c. the beach, a river of sand. erosion: leveling the land. how solid is rock? waves on water. what makes clouds? what makes the wind blow? why do we still have mountains? american girl magazine. dear esther. american heart assn. better odds for a longer life. cine cardio angiography in acquired valve disease. eat to your heart's content. functional anatomy of the aortic valve. functional anatomy of the mitral valve. hypertension: the challenge of diagnosis. knock on every door. more than ever before. twentieth century epidemic. american heart assn. inc. barney butt. candidate for stroke. cardiac failure in infancy. one fine day. smoking and heart disease. american immigration conference. the golden door. american institute for foreign study, inc. a different sort of summer. american institute for research, pittsburgh. learning from visuals. one step at a time. american institute of architects. design for a city. american institute of biological sciences. biological techniques. culturing slime mold plasmodium. neurospora techniques. paper chromatography. the story of the biological sciences curriculum study. american institute of biological sciences. biological sciences curriculum study. mimicry. phototropism. smear and squash techniques. social behavior in chickens. the story of the biological sciences curriculum study. water, plants, and the desert. american institute of chemical engineers. motion pictures in chemical engineering research. american international. cervantes. the glory stompers. guns of the black witch. journey to the seventh planet. psych-out. pyro. samson and the slave queen. the savage seven. the wild racers. american international college, springfield, mass. insight revisited. american international film distributing corp. lost battalion. warriors . american international pictures. alakazam the great. angels from hell. the angry red planet. attack of the giant leeches. beach party. beyond the barrier. bikini beach. black sabbath. black sunday. blood bath. a bucket of blood. burn, witch, burn. circus of horrors. the cobra. the comedy of terrors. commando. conquered city. conqueror worm. diary of a bachelor. the diary of a high school bride. die, monster, die. earth vs. the spider. erik the conqueror. evil eye. the fall of the house of usher. frankenstein conquers the world. ghost of dragstrip hollow. go go mania. god forgives, i don't. goliath and the barbarians. goliath and the dragon. goliath and the vampires. the hand. the haunted palace. the headless ghost. helga. hell's belles. horrors of the black museum. house of a thousand dolls. the jailbreakers. journey to the lost city. killers three. konga. the lost world of sinbad. maryjane. the masque of the red death. master of the world. michael and helga. the million eyes of sumuru. the mini-skirt mob. muscle beach party. the oblong box. operation bikini. operation snafu. panic in year zero. pit and the pendulum. portrait of a sinner. the premature burial. prisoner of the iron mask. queen of blood. the raven. reptilicus. riot on sunset strip. roadracers. sign of the gladiator. ski party. spirits of the dead. swinger's paradise. taboos of the world. tank battalion. tank commando. tarzan and the valley of gold. terror from the year . those fantastic flying fools. the time travelers. the tomb of ligeia. torpedo bay. the trip. trunk to cairo. twist all night. under age. voyage to the end of the universe. war-gods of the deep. war italian style. the wild angels. the wild eye. wild in the streets. x. the young animals. the young racers. the young, the evil and the savage. american international productions. atragon. beach blanket bingo. the big t.n.t. show. the born losers. the brute and the beast. devil's angels. the devil's . dr. goldfoot and the bikini machine. dr. goldfoot and the girl bombs. the ghost in the invisible bikini. godzilla vs. the thing. the great spy chase. how to stuff a wild bikini. nashville rebel. navajo run. pajama party. planet of the vampires. secret agent fireball. sergeant deadhead. ski party. spy in your eye. three in the attic. thunder alley. war-gods of the deep. the war of the zombies. the wild angels. wild in the streets. american international productions (england) ltd. the oblong box. american journal of nursing co. nursing today: some changes within the past several years. american league of professional baseball clubs, boston. the name of the game is fun. american library assn. the library: a place for discovery. american library assn. children's services division. the lively art of picture books. american lutheran church. the uncommitted. american management assn., inc. building job satisfaction and morale. communication problem. data processing. department store. electronic tube. guiding and developing employees. handling complaints and grievances. improving three-way communications. insurance secretary pool. knowing your employees, individual differences. lathe department. maintaining effective discipline. the nature of leadership. sales office. stenographer slump. testing lab. time clock. understanding personality and behavior. american medical assn. journey in health. american meteorological society. above the horizon. american motors corp. abc division. know the difference to sell the difference in abc. american motors corp. kelvinator division. it happened last night. american motors corp. leonard division. know the difference to sell the difference in leonard. american mount everest expedition, inc. americans on everest. american museum of natural history. mexican maize. american mutual liability insurance co. protection for people. american national red cross. air evac. aquatic school. a call to action. community disaster action. discovery. down to earth. every part of town. first aid--artificial respiration. first aid bandaging. first aid for burns. first aid for common emergencies. first aid for injuries to bones, joints and muscles. first aid for poisoning. first aid for shock and artificial respiration. first aid for wounds. first aid transportation for the sick and injured. flood emergency action. hurricane beulah: the story of a disaster. hurricane disaster action. ice rescue. kip catches up. learning to swim in a wading pool. a little bit more. meanwhile back on earth. moment of service. my kind of story. one who cared. people afloat. swim and stay fit. symbol of humanity. tornado emergency action. vietnam assignment. when seconds count. the why and how of standard first aid. you are the lifeguard. american nurses' assn. quiet victory. the shelter: psychological aspects of disaster nursing. understanding diabetes. american oil co. advertising ' . courtesy, your best seller. detonations. of policy and practice. to your health. american petroleum institute. central committee on radio facilities. petroleum industry radio, an indispensable tool. american psychological assn. focus on behavior. american radiator & standard sanitary corp. industrial division. as we live and breathe. american releasing corp. gunslinger. american seating co. not the way they used to. tested by the american seating testing laboratory. american society of anesthesiologists. audio-visual education committee. anesthesia for out-patient surgery. american standard industrial division. see american radiator & standard sanitary corp. industrial division. american sterilizer co. care of utensils after patient's discharge. american sunbathing assn., inc., mays landing, n.j. barely teens. beauty mudbath. boulder venture. the camp crowd. camp out. caribbean cruise. fire water. nude leisure. photo fun frolic. picture posing. rock rompers. sunfun games. american swim coaches assn. swim meet. american telephone & telegraph co. before it's too late. the bell system looks ahead, a report by frederick r. kappel at the annual meeting. bell system sales development course. here is tomorrow. a model for living. the restless sea. world's fair kiddie phone. american tunaboat assn. islands of the sea. american university, washington, d.c. introduction to the old testament, parts & . the life and teaching of jesus: lessons - , parts & . american waterways operations, inc. forever free. the wonder of water. americana foundation, inc. a mexican war diary, . amherst college. patterns for survival. amicus productions, ltd. danger route. the deadly bees. dr. terror's house of horrors. just for fun. the psychopath. the skull. ring-a-ding rhythm. torture garden. amigo productions. the bill dana show. amis, kingsley. only two can play. ampersand co., inc. the man from the diner's club. ampex corp. nixon-kruschev debate. amram nowak associates. employing the disadvantaged. amro productions. papa's delicate condition. who's been sleeping in my bed? who's got the action. analyses cinematographiques. developing your sales personality. how to make an effective sales presentation. splendors of paris. andersen, hans christian. the snow queen. anderson, alan ross. early reading and writing. anderson (dick) productions. beyond the night. anderson, douglas. magic corner no. . mr. krackerjacket no. . mr. krackerjacket no. . anderson (erica) inc. the living work of albert schweitzer. anderson, michael j. cole street. anderson (robert) associates, ltd. mrs. reynolds needs a nurse. andrews, alfred penn. jefferson davis, a profile. angelica uniform co. asepsis in operating rooms: the contribution of textile barriers. angelo, emidio. the inferno. anglo-allied pictures, ltd. billy budd. bluebeards ten honeymoons. anglo amalgamated film distributors, ltd. having a wild weekend. anglofilm, ltd. five golden hours. anheuser-busch, inc. hawaii--big game country. a tour of grant's farm. a visit to busch gardens. animatic productions, ltd. barrett gypsum products presentation. ankh corp. bring forth my people. anne productions, inc. cry tough. the rabbit trap. annixter, paul. those calloways. anouilh, jean. becket. the passion of slow fire. ansa production. david and goliath. ansark-george sidney productions. who was that lady? ansel film studios, inc. the neurologic actions of phenothiazine compounds. anso productions, inc. the ann sothern show. anstey, f. the brass bottle. antelo productions. bailey's of balboa. anthology films. reading dickens, part : five literary forms. reading dickens, part : fact into fiction. antonini, lorna. the dance lesson. antonini, mario c. the dance lesson. antonioni, michelangelo. blowup. the night. anvil films (scotland) ltd. wonderful scotland. anya production, s.a. lolita. apjac-orchard productions, inc. what a way to go! apjac productions, inc. doctor dolittle. goodbye, mr. chips. planet of the apes. appel, benjamin. cry of battle. apple films. yellow submarine. appleton, robert e. learning to set type. appleton-century-crofts. behavior or modification: teaching language to psychotic children. behavior theory in practice. charge and countercharge: a film of the era of sen. joseph r. mccarthy. imprinting. primate growth and development: a gorilla's first year. applied science associates, inc. dynamic instructional modules for driver education, module no. : timed intervals and following distances. apprentice & journeyman training trust fund of the plumbing, heating and piping industry in southern california. piping safety is no accident. aquarex, inc. the aqua sex. the mermaids of tiburon. arabian american oil co. ahmed's wish. live baby live. safe sewage. safe water. sanitary home. araho corp. a rage to live. arcadia films. the guru. arce, alvaro. the empty house. arco films. the sea pirate. arco films, s.r.l. el greco. arcola-colony productions, inc. morituri. arcola-millfield productions. the detective. lady in cement. tony rome. arcola pictures. the reward. shock treatment. arcola pictures, corp. go naked in the world. mutiny on the bounty. smoky. arden (elizabeth) sales corp. make-up realities and fantasies. arena productions. dr. kildare. the man from u.n.c.l.e. arena productions, inc. the girl from u.n.c.l.e. the man from u.n.c.l.e. argento, dario. once upon a time in the west. argos films. muriel. argus productions, a.g. goodbye again. argyle enterprises. david copperfield. a tale of two cities. , leagues under the sea. wuthering heights. argyle enterprises, inc. the haunting. the sound of music. argyle-solar productions. the sand pebbles. ariane' film paris. jessica. ariel productions, inc. winky dink and you. aries cinematografica argentina s.a. no exit. arion film production. fury of the pagans. arizona-sonora desert museum. the desert community. desert dwellers: plants and animals. arkinstall, jack. see arkinstall, noel sidney. arkinstall, noel sidney. the arkinstall phonetic tennis rhythm method. arkoff (samuel z.) & james h. nicholson production. tank commando. arkota productions, inc. the shotgun wedding. arkwright advertising co., inc. robert hall commercials. arlaud, r. m. rififi in tokyo. arley, catherine. woman of straw. armada productions, inc. rio bravo. armco steel corp. the day they didn't inspect the rope. production lifeline: wire rope, maintenance and inspection. report to armco people: a newsreel of events around the world of armco. spangweld, the new quality in pipe. tailored for weldability. armor, terry. the spirit of invention. arnaz (desi) productions, inc. the mothers-in-law. arness & co. gunsmoke. arness production co. gunsmoke. arno press. the hurdler. arnold, elliott. flight from ashiya. art films international. mondo keyhole. artanis productions, inc. none but the brave. artanis productions, ltd. the naked runner. arthritis & rheumatism foundation, inc. home management of disability from arthritis. arthritis foundation. vocational rehabilitation in a community hospital. arthritis foundation, inc. new york chapter. vocational rehabilitation in a community hospital. arthur (michael) filmproductions. as the sea rages. artistes associes. le diable par la queue. les gauloises bleues. un homme de trop. artna films, ltd. sapphire. artransa park television pty., ltd. unbearable bear. arwin productions, inc. lover come back. midnight lace. pillow talk. that touch of mink. the thrill of it all. twinkle and shine. arwin-reame. the glass bottom boat. ashland productions. gomer pyle-usmc. ashton-warner, sylvia. two loves. aspa, a.g. sissi. aspa, a.g., chur. forever my love. assemblies of god foreign missions dept. children of the world. associated arts, n.v. the farmer's daughter. associated british-pathe, ltd. desert attack. go go mania. associated british picture corp., ltd. desert attack. tamahine. associated producers, inc. air patrol. blood and steel. the broken land. the day mars invaded earth. the eyes of annie jones. the firebrand. hand of death. harbor lights. house of the damned. moro witch doctor. police nurse. the purple hills. the silent call. sniper's ridge. surf party. fighting men. thunder island. , eyes. walk a tightrope. walk tall. woman hunt. the woman who wouldn't die. young jesse james. the young swingers. associated-rediffusion. intertel. associated television, ltd. rome sweet home. associates & aldrich co., inc. the flight of the phoenix. hush, hush, sweet charlotte. the legend of lylah clare. what ever happened to baby jane? association films, inc. decision: electric. hold high the torch. mexican watercolor. the story of christian science. association for the advancement of science. conquest. association instructional materials. exchange of words. let's be friends in hawaii. let's be friends in india. let's be friends in nigeria. association of better business bureaus, inc. a house is a living thing. too good to be true. astra films, inc. the stamp of friendship. astral motion pictures. serengeti shall not die. astro-electronic products division of radio corp. of america. see radio corp. of america. astro-electronic products division. astro, inc. the art of sliding. bunting (sacrificial plays) the pitcher as a fielder. pitching: secrets of throwing. preparing for the pitch. secrets of throwing. astron productions, ltd. belle sommers. atenea films s.l. mighty ursus. the secret seven. athena enterprises corp. america america. athene production. the slender thread. athos film productions, ltd. wonderful hong kong. atkinson, dennis r. see spectra pictures. atkinson, eleanor. greyfriars bobby. atlantic pictures corp. hell to eternity. nature camp diary. atlantis productions, inc. africa is my home. african girl--malobi. henry. how vast is space? mountain community of the himalayas. the museum, gateway to perception. atlas, leopold. hand in hand. atlas films. buster keaton der boxer und der cowboy. atlas films, ltd. born free. atzert, frank fred. jet precision flying. keep them informed. noise abatement at jfk and lax. winter landing problems associated with accidents. audio productions, inc. acrodermatitis chronica atrophicans. advance in pipe tracing. before it's too late. coccidioidomycosis. creeping eruption. cutaneous vascular phenomenon associated with functioning. demodex folliculorum. dermatoses occurring mainly in japanese. dermatosis cenicienta. the diagnosis and management of cancer of the colon and rectum. disseminated anergic leishmaniasis. early cutaneous leishmaniasis. epizoonoses. familial circumscribed erythrokeratoderma. flammables engineering. generalized keratoacanthoma. giant lichenification. gold leaf treatment of cutaneous ulcers. a house is a living thing. hydroa vacciniforme with reactive porphyrinuria, dwarfism, progressive feeble-mindedness, & central nervous system abnormalities. ichthyosis linearis circumflexa. keratodermia palmaris et plantaris. keratosis follicularis. late cutaneous leishmaniasis. life story. lipoid proteinosis. mal de meleda. malignant atrophying papulosis. metastasizing basal cell carcinoma. modern egypt. the movie experience: a matter of choice. myelomatosis with cutaneous manifestations. a new concept in transit trucks. north american blastomycosis treated with amphotericin b. onchocerciasis. pellagra and other avitaminoses in the bantu. peutz-jeghers' syndrome. pretibial myxoedema with acropachy. pustular psoriasis. rhinoscleroma. silica granuloma. subcorneal pustular dermatosis. surgical treatment of benign acanthosis nigricans. take time for your teeth. this is curling. thought for food. too good to be true. tuberculosis cutis luposa. turban tumor. urticaria pigmentosa. where mileage begins. audio-visual aids commission of the national christian church of japan. see national christian church of japan, audio-visual aids commission. audio visual center. see indiana. university. audio visual center. audio visual communications section. careers in engineering audio-visual division, popular science pub. co., inc. see popular science pub. co., inc. audio-visual division. audio visual productions. wisp. audio visual specialties, inc. project impact. auerbach, leon. teaching mathematical concepts to deaf children, using a non-verbal approach. auerswald, paul. the boy who couldn't walk. august films, inc. first act. august productions, inc. the plunderers. ault, william e. hollywood . australian broadcasting commission. intertel. authentic pictures. afghanistan: emerging from isolation. life on a coral atoll. malaysia: building a nation. oasis of the sahara. oceania. the orient: toward a better life. the philippines: island republic. automobile manufacturers assn. industry on parade: design for highway safety. automobile manufacturers assn., inc. lifeline on wheels. avala film. fraulein doktor. avala production. genghis khan. avance, lyonel. basketball skills series. weight training series. avasta productions. fred astaire's premiere theatre. avco broadcasting corp. midwestern hayride. avers film. european nights. avon cosmetics. simply beautiful. avon productions, inc. ada. all the fine young cannibals. the gazebo. the honeymoon machine. key witness. avon products, inc. avon calling. lessons in loveliness. simply beautiful. a time and a place. axelrod, george. goodbye charlie. ayer (n. w.) & son, inc. about time. alberto-culver co. television commercials. take time for your teeth. the thread of life. aztec film productions. the heart is a pump. opposites. azteca films distributing co. cantinflas boxeador. cantinflas estadita. cantinflas ruletero. cantinflas y su prima. jengibre contra dinamita! siempre-listo in las tinieblas. b b. c. g. films. perspective on greatness. b.c.w. double trouble. b.g.a., s.p.a. the young, the evil and the savage. bhe productions, ltd. othello. romeo and juliet. up the junction. b. h. p. films, ltd. the shadow of the cat. the valiant. b. h. s. productions, inc. stark fear. b. m. productions, ltd. swiss water paradise. wonderful greece. wonderful israel. wonderful new york. wonderful sardinia. wonderful switzerland. bna films. the abc man: the manager in mid-career. are you earning the right to ask them to buy? are you earning the right to manage others? effective decisions. employing the disadvantaged. focus on tomorrow. the heritage of the uncommon man. human nature and organization realities. job enrichment in action. kita. the management of human assets. managing time. the modern meaning of efficiency. motivation through job enrichment. people don't resist change. the self-motivated achiever. staffing for strength. understanding motivation. what can i contribute? bna, inc. the abc man: the manager in mid-career. are you earning the right to ask them to buy? are you earning the right to manage others? avoiding communication breakdown. cash on the barrel head. changing attitudes through communication. communicating management's point of view. communication feedback. effective decisions. employing the disadvantaged. focus on tomorrow. a good beginning. the heritage of the uncommon man. human nature and organization realities. job enrichment in action. kita. the management of human assets. managing time. the marvelous mousetrap. meanings are in people. the modern meaning of efficiency. motivation in perspective. motivation through job enrichment. the new truck dilemma. people don't resist change. the real security. the self-motivated achiever. staffing for strength. strategy for productive behavior. theory x and theory y, the work of douglas mcgregor. the trouble with archie. understanding motivation. what can i contribute? the winning combination for cost control. b.p.o.e. idaho state elks assn. see elks, benevolent and protective order of. idaho state elks assn. b.y.u. production. the little red hen. babcock, dwight. the trouble with girls. babe ruth league baseball. play ball, play safe. babet (phil) enterprises, inc. i wanna hold your paw. babson bros. co. reminder to dairymen. baby mate, inc. jackie coogan and small friend. bachelor production co. bachelor father. bachmann, lawrence p. follow the boys. backlar, marshal. skaterdater. bagai, leona bell. two eyes, twelve hands. bagai, ram m. see films of india. bagnold, enid. the chalk garden. bailey (bob) productions. petroleum industry radio, an indispensable tool. bailey, charles w., ii. seven days in may. bailey films, inc. learning to set type. listen and sing. baker, george. one million years b.c. baker, elliott. a fine madness. balboa productions. attack of the giant leeches. balcazar, producciones cinematograficas. the sea pirate. superargo vs. diabolicus. balch, glenn. indian paint. ball, john. in the heat of the night. ballard, rennie f. albino woodchucks. ballard, mrs. rennie f. see ballard, virginia e. ballard, virginia e. albino woodchucks. bamman, henry a. keys to reading. bandelier films, inc. pak, product advertising kit. prescription for life: the principles and practice of emergency heart-lung resuscitation. teaching verbalization by contingency management. bank of america national trust & savings assn. the erma story. people, people, people. bank street college of education, new york. child's eye view. reading incentive film series. bankers trust co., new york. law of the land. banner (bob) associates. carol and company. the carol burnett show. carol + . banner (bob) associates, inc. garry moore show. warning shot. banner productions, inc. tarzan and the jungle boy. tarzan's three challenges. banneret enterprises, inc. third of a man. baptist sunday school board. see southern baptist convention. sunday school board. bar-bar-a productions. wide country. barasch, norman. send me no flowers. that funny feeling. barber, elsie oaks. angel baby. barber, rowland. the night they raided minsky's. barbera-hanna pictures. see hanna-barbera productions. barbican films, ltd. stolen hours. barbourne (john) production. sink the bismarck! barbro production. terror in the city. barbroo enterprises production. everything's ducky. barclay productions co. design for learning. science in action. barillet. cactus flower. barlow, james. term of trial. barlow, t. ed. swimming for a congenital quad amputee. barnett, s. h. father goose. baroda productions, inc. the hanging tree. baron, alexander. the victors. barona, luis osorno. paraiso escondido. barr, george. up from the beach. barrandov film studios. the shop on main street. barret, andre. the day and the hour. barrett, joseph e. the campaign of vicksburg. barrett, michael. escape from zahrain. the reward. barrett, s. a. acorns. basketry of the pomo. the calumet: pipe of peace. dream dances of the kashia pomo: the bole-maru religion women's dances. the game of staves. obsidian point making: tolowa indians. the wooden box. barrett, william e. lilies of the field. barron, frank j. man from blackhawk. barry (philip) productions, inc. sail a crooked ship. barrymore, diana. too much, too soon. bartel, paul. the secret cinema. bartlett (hall) productions, inc. all the young men. the caretakers. sol madrid. bartlett (sy)-richard fleischer production. che. bartner bros. once upon a treasure. barton (russell) film co. man returns to the sea. barwood, hal. a child's introduction to the cosmos. barzini, luigi. cbs news special. bashaw, frederick j. florida--land of action. basic education, inc. early reading and writing. bassett, james. in harm's way. bassett, ronald. conqueror worm. bassing, eileen. home before dark. bateson, p. p. g. imprinting. batjac productions, inc. the alamo. the green berets. mclintock. the war wagon. batley, james e. air fair. batten, barton, durstine & osborn, inc. adults only. hun bowling. bauer, byron d. incident in a glass blower's shop. baum, l. frank. the general electric fantasy hour. baumgartner, joseph cornelius. the rise of nationalism in south east asia. bavelas, alex. the bob knowlton story. bay state film productions, inc. assignment america. the new england heritage trail. beacon tv features, inc. sportsman's holiday. tell it like it is. beal, william g. something for uncle ben. beal (william g.) inc. something for uncle ben. beal, inc. the betty hutton show. bean (norman) films. animals see in many ways. the aquarium: classroom science. snails: backyard science. the terrarium: classroom science. the turtle: care of a pet. beath, sterling s. a rice farmer of japan. beaver, sheldon. introduction to engineering graphics. ruled surfaces. beaver-champion. the bask. beaver-champion attractions, inc. david and goliath. beaver films, ltd. whistle down the wind. beck, john. the private navy of sgt. o'farrell. becker, stephen. a covenant with death. beckerman productions. marlowe. beckley films, inc. the adventures of x- . beckman instruments, inc. instrumental in your future. operation of the beckman ultramicro analytical system. beckman instruments, inc. spinco division. operation of the beckman ultramicro analytical system. bedford pictures, inc. geronimo. bedford productions, inc. the bedford incident. beebe, b. f. walt disney's wonderful world of color. beech-nut, inc. little packages of happiness. beecham, inc. beecham, inc. television commercials. beecham products, inc. see beecham, inc. beecher, william. animal predators and the balance of nature. beecord productions, ltd. only when i larf. beejay production co. westinghouse playhouse. beemer, thomas a. exploring the moon. behanna, gertrude i. god is not dead. behavior systems division, westinghouse learning corp. see westinghouse learning corp. behavior systems division. behnke, leo. trick & treat with the magic hands. behrens co., inc. kid's stuff. behrman, s. n. fanny. belgrave enterprises, inc. island of love. bell, mary hayley. whistle down the wind. bell & howell co. let them learn. the new automatic filmosound from bell and howell. new, new automatic filmosound from bell and howell. bell & howell co. human development institute. see human development institute, atlanta. bell telephone laboratories, inc. brattain on semiconductor physics. similarities in wave behavior. bellah, james warner. the americans. bellingrath gardens, mobile, ala. bellingrath gardens & home: the charm spot of the deep south. bellmar enterprises. the joey bishop show. belmont productions, ltd. man in the middle. mister moses. belstar productions. friend of the family. belvision studios. pinocchio in outer space. ben-lar productions, inc. the last chapter. benchley, nathaniel. the russians are coming, the russians are coming. sail a crooked ship. the spirit is willing. bender, leonard. adaptation in animals. behavior in animals. energy from the sun. how the body uses energy. how trees live. how vacuum tubes work. the interior of the earth. magnetism and electricity. the mechanism of inheritance. the nature of burning. ocean currents. plant succession. water and life. bendick (robert) associates, inc. great moments in the history of tennis. bendick associates. learning experiences, colors. benedict, tony. the early birds. benedict (tony) productions. the early birds. benjamin, philip. quick, before it melts. bennett, charles. here is tomorrow. bennett, henry g. inauguration of airmail service: inauguration of air passenger service. lindy in havana. bennett, jay. the woman who wouldn't die. bennett, joan lockhart. square dance patterns. benson, ralph c. antepartum problems. bentley productions, inc. the naked edge. benton & bowles, inc. paging women. procter & gamble co. television commercials. benton film productions, ltd. the heroes of telemark. bercovitch, reuben. frankenstein conquers the world. berg, w. the master. bergan, k. w. piegan sun worship. berkman, ted. cast a giant shadow. berkshire productions. the equinox. berman (pandro s.) production. all the fine young cannibals. butterfield . key witness berman (pandro s.) productions, inc. honeymoon hotel. a patch of blue. bern-field production. the gun hawk. bern-field productions, inc. terrified. bernal, william. the challenge of six billion. invitation to the east. invitation to the west. oao, eye in space. bernard (judd)-irwin winkler production. point blank. bernard (robert) productions, inc. the penny arcade. bernay, beryl. let's be friends in hawaii. let's be friends in india. let's be friends in nigeria. bertolucci, bernardo. once upon a time in the west. bertyl co. let's be friends in hawaii. let's be friends in india. let's be friends in nigeria. besser co. imagination unlimited. best foods division of corn products co. see corn products co. best foods division. beta productions. west side story. better light better sight bureau. your date with light. bibas-redford, inc. envoy to the world. bickerton, derek. payroll. biddle, cordelia drexel. the happiest millionaire. big fights, inc. official fight pictures: muhammed ali (cassius clay) vs. cleveland williams for the heavyweight championship of the world, nov. , ; astrodome, houston, texas. big game hunting service. hunting jaguar with jim crane. big ten productions, inc. v.d. billingsley, lois albright. m. w. billingsley group of hopi indians record ancient ceremonies of their people. billingsley, m. w. m. w. billingsley group of hopi indians record ancient ceremonies of their people. binks, lawsanna h. the typewriter as an aid to teaching reading. binks, ronald c. the typewriter as an aid to teaching reading. biographic. polygamus polonius. biography productions. cbs playhouse. saturday adoption. biography productions, ltd. quick, before it melts. biological sciences curriculum study. see colorado university. biological sciences curriculum study. biological sciences curriculum study, american institute of biological sciences. see american institute of biological sciences, washington, d.c. biological sciences curriculum study. birch (michael) & associates. the great plains: land of risk. birney, hoffman. the glory guys. bischoff-diamond corp. operation eichmann. terror in the city. bisson, alexander. madame x. bistrack, carl. hi ho the merri-o. bixby, jay lewis. fantastic voyage. black, ian stuart. in the wake of a stranger. black, noel. skaterdater. blackhawk films. big boy and his brothers. the cedar rapids & iowa city ry. the days of steam on the l. & n. five midwestern railroads in the days of steam. prevue . rio grande southern and the trestles of ophir. blaich, theodore paul. the rise of nationalism in south east asia. blair, vachel. a breath of air. blaisdell, anne. die! die! my darling. blakiston division, mcgraw-hill book co. see mcgraw-hill book co. blakiston division. blansky, robert. blunder bus. blasco ibanez, vincente. the four horsemen of the apocalypse. blaustein (julian) productions, inc. the four horsemen of the apocalypse. khartoum. two loves. blazer films, ltd. the magus. bloch, bertram. stolen hours. bloch, robert. psycho. the skull. bloch-woodfield production. the hypnotic eye. block, anita rowe. love and kisses. blondin, antoine. a monkey in winter. blue chip productions, inc. les biches. erotique. les femmes. my son the vampire. bluestone, george. bartleby. blumberg, arnold. the old swimmin' hole. blunk, fidelis. dip brazing of aluminum. board of education, grand blanc community schools. see grand blanc, mich. community schools. board of education. board of missions of the methodist church. see methodist church (united states) board of missions. board of trustees, leland stanford junior university. see stanford (leland) junior university. board of trustees. board of trustees, michigan state university. see michigan. state university, east lansing. board of trustees. boardwalk productions. love with the proper stranger. the sterile cuckoo. bob jones university, greenville, s.c. see jones (bob) university, greenville, s.c. bobker, lee r. the odds against. boddie, william w. the texas revolution. bodnar, bertalan. lights and sounds. boeing co. the little red wagon. bogart, frank. horror castle. bogi productions, inc. i had a dream. boileau-narcejac. where the truth lies. boise cascade corp. an american sawmill. saw timber. bolt, robert. a man for all seasons. bonacci, anna. kiss me, stupid. bonnie pictures, inc. fundamentals of creative swimming. bonomo-sherman production. pulse pounding perils. bonomo studios. pulse pounding perils. bonzi, w. the pronghorn antelope. bonzi productions. the pronghorn antelope. book-of-the-month club. what is a painting? bookasta-higbie production. the wandering wind. boon, robert. affairs of anatol. booth (stephen f.) productions. brighty of the grand canyon. borde (seymour) associates. kings of the wild waves. borden, richard c. how to make an effective sales presentation. how to prevent objection in selling. borg-warner corp. norge division. the best is better. bornstein, harry. an experimental film for teaching the manual alphabet. reading the manual alphabet. reading the manual alphabet, test one and test two. teaching mathematical concepts to deaf children, using a non-verbal approach. bosco (don) films. the green tree. bosnick, ned. the silent crisis. bosomworth, p. p. management of respiratory failure. boston. university. beneath new england waves. bosustow, stephen. the flag of our fifty states. bosustow (stephen) productions. the flag of our fifty states. bosworth, allan r. nobody's perfect. bouchard, thomas. homages a varese. boudard, alphonse. cloportes. boulle, pierre. planet of the apes. boulting bros. production. i'm all right jack. bousek, john r. behavior of empoasca fabae (harris) cicadellidae, homoptera. bowerfind, e. s. building economic understanding--exploring foreign competition. bowie (jim) enterprises, inc. the adventures of jim bowie. bowling proprietors' assn. of america. a trip to remember. bowman, peter. beach red. box (betty e.) & ralph thomas production. the wind cannot read. box (sydney) associates, ltd. chance meeting. box (sydney) production. subway in the sky. boy scouts of america. adventure at valley forge. beyond the tooth of time. boy from hickory street. a chance to save a life. footsteps of the pioneers. investment in tomorrow. jubilee jamboree. men who make a difference. boyer, willis b. building political leadership. boyer bros., inc. marty mallo cup. smoothie sliding board. brackett, leigh. west street. brad-jacey production, inc. the brothers brannagan. bradbury, ray. fahrenheit . icarus montgolfier wright. bradley, david. peer gynt. sredni vashtar. bradley, dick. only if you care. bradley, mary hastings. i passed for white. bradley, richard. be timely, be careful. bradley, ruth o. the calendar: our record of time. bradshaw, george. how to steal a million. braine, john. life at the top. braithwaite, e. r. to sir, with love. branch, william. still a brother, inside the negro middle class. brandel, marc. double trouble. brauer productions. the last man. braun engineering co. the - / " slug header. operation of the single-arm die. brauner (artur)-ccc film productions, g.m.b.h. fanny hill: memoirs of a woman of pleasure. brazier, gary p. building political leadership. breffort, alexandre. irma la douce. brennan productions, inc. barb wire. shoot out at big sag. brennan-westgate productions. the real mccoys. brenner (joseph) associates. caressed. high. the sisters. brentwood productions, inc. captain newman, m.d. to kill a mockingbird. bresler (jerry) productions, inc. diamond head. gidget goes hawaiian. gidget goes to rome. love has many faces. major dundee. breslin, howard. platinum high school. brickhill, paul. the great escape. bricusse, leslie. stop the world, i want to get off. brien productions, inc. duel at diablo. briggs, lee. parish life of the falls church. brigham young university. see young (brigham) university, provo, utah. brigham young university, motion picture dept. see young (brigham) university, provo, utah. motion picture dept. brighton pictures, inc. sam whiskey. brinter-brasil internacional films. macumba love. briskin (fred) productions, inc. world championship golf. briskin productions, inc. award theatre. the donna reed show. brisson (frederick) production. five finger exercise. bristol pictures, inc. the glory guys. bristol productions, inc. francis albert sinatra does his thing. frank sinatra: a man and his music. a man and his music + ella + jobim. bristol-myers co. bucky beaver, artist. bucky beaver, detective. bucky beaver, sheriff. bucky beaver, stagecoach driver. britannia film distributors. jet storm. britannia film distributors, ltd. foxhole in cairo. nearly a nasty accident. british broadcasting corp. victory in europe, years after. british lion films. jet storm. british lion films, ltd. foxhole in cairo. ring of treason. british travel assn. song of london. wonderful scotland. broadcasting & film commission. operation development. broadcasting & film commission. see broadcasting film commission. broadcasting film commission. the new age in japan. broadman films. answering objections in witnessing, no. . answering objections in witnessing, no. . bitter fruit. the communist threat. concept of god. concept of life. concept of man. the constant witness. daniel. the double guilt. the great challenge. how to witness. iron hands. let's have a party. lifeline to the world. magnificent heritage. moses and the mountain of fire. my will be done. nehemiah. prophet from tekoa. reclaiming the saved. road to en-dor. take a giant step. teen queen. the waiting world. what direction? what first? what's important? what's left? broekman (robert) productions. eat to your heart's content. broidy (william f.) productions, inc. wild bill hickok. bronston (samuel) production. julius caesar: the rise of the roman empire. bronston (samuel) productions, inc. el cid. days at peking. king of kings. bronston-midway productions. circus world. bronston-roma productions. the fall of the roman empire. bronze division, james h. matthews & co. see matthews (james h.) & co. bronze division. brooklyn college television center. the management in purchasing management. systems contracting. brooks, walter. mister ed. brophy, john. the day they robbed the bank of england. brother (d. p.) & co. the inside story on oldsmobile air conditioning. jetfire. brotherhood co. the brotherhood. broussard, elsie r. mothers and babies. brower, lincoln pierson. patterns for survival. brown, george emerson, jr. stolen hours. brown, george h. the boy who stole a million. brown, harry. el dorado. brown, harry joe, jr. duffy. brown, helen gurley. sex and the single girl. brown, james. choosing a classroom film. creating instructional materials. how to use classroom films. selecting and using ready-made materials. brown, peter s. see brown (peter s.) productions. brown (peter s.) productions. the will to win. brown, v. w. see brown, victor w. brown, victor w. la reata. browning, ricou. flipper. bruce, jean. the viscount. brunswick. bowling division. automatic lane maintenance machine. brunswick corp. golden opportunity. the new model a- pinsetter. bruton film productions, ltd. having a wild weekend. bryna-quine productions. strangers when we meet. buchan, john. the steps. buchman, chris, jr. dantini the magnificent. from buchanan house. buchsbaum, ralph. natural selection. buchwald, art. surprise package. buck, pearl s. the guide. satan never sleeps. buck, pearl sydenstricker. the big wave. buckner, robert. moon pilot. bucky, peter a. einstein, the man. bucyrus-erie co. safeteam campaign. budd co. a new concept in transit trucks. budweiser. hawaii--big game country. buehler, ltd. coarse grinding. fine grinding. modern metallography, apparatus, methods. mounting. petrography-ceramography sample preparation. rough and final polishing. sectioning. buell, marjorie h. alvin's solo flight. buell, marjorie henderson. frog legs. buena vista distribution co. charlie the lonesome cougar. mary poppins. winnie the pooh and the honey tree. buena vista distribution co., inc. the absent-minded professor. the adventures of bullwhip griffin. almost angels. aquamania. babes in toyland. big red. blackbeard's ghost. bon voyage. the computer wore tennis shoes. a country coyote goes hollywood. the danube. donald and the wheel. donald's fire survival plan. emil and the detectives. the fighting prince of donegal. follow me, boys! freewayphobia, no. . gala day at disneyland. the gnome-mobile. goliath ii. goofy's freeway troubles. greyfriars bobby. hang your hat on the wind. the happiest millionaire. the horse in the gray flannel suit. the horse with the flying tail. the hound that thought he was a raccoon. the incredible journey. islands of the sea. it's tough to be a bird. japan. the jungle book. jungle cat. kidnapped. the legend of lobo. the legend of the boy and the eagle. lt. robin crusoe, u. s. n. the litterbug. the love bug. the miracle of the white stallions. the misadventures of merlin jones. monkeys, go home! the monkey's uncle. moon pilot. the moon-spinners. mysteries of the deep. never a dull moment. nikki, wild dog of the north. the one and only, genuine, original family band. one hundred and one dalmatians. the parent trap. pollyanna. rascal. run, appaloosa, run. the saga of windwagon smith. savage sam. scrooge mcduck and money. the search of the castaways. the sign of zorro. smith. son of flubber. summer magic. swiss family robinson. the sword in the stone. symposium on popular songs. the tattooed police horse. ten who dared. that darn cat. those calloways. the three lives of thomasina. a tiger walks. toby tyler. the ugly dachshund. winnie the pooh and the blustery day. yellowstone cubs. buford, gordon. the love bug. burden, shirley. i wonder why. burdick, eugene. fail-safe. the ugly american. bureau of national affairs. bna films. see bna films. bureau of national affairs, inc. the case of the missing magnets. the challenge of leadership. instructions or obstructions. listen, please. bureau of old-age & survivors insurance. see u.s. bureau of old-age & survivors insurance. burgess pub. co. action of antibiotics on bacteria. anthocyanin. aseptic transfer of bacterial cultures. bacterial extracellular enzymes. buds i: leaf buckeye. buds ii: flower, peach, elm, maple. germination i: corn. germination ii: bean. germination iii: pea. germination iv: castor bean. how to make slides. how to use the microscope. medical asepsis putting on a previously worn gown. pigments: summer red leaf. pigments i: green leaf. pigments ii: yellow leaf. preparation of foley catheter tray. preparation of nutrient broth. preparation of smear of bacterial cells on microscope slide. preparation of stained wet mount from throat swab. principles of infant feeding. skin preparation for delivery. sterile glove technique. streaking an agar plate. transfer of stock culture on agar slant. burke, andrew. rejoice. burke (billie) production. antepartum problems. burke-hockman-swain productions. stark fear. burlingame productions, inc. angel. burlington industries, inc. iphansis. burnett, w. r. cairo. burnford (paul) film productions. discovering composition in art. discovering creative pattern. discovering dark and light. discovering harmony in art. discovering ideas for art. flight of birds. insects that help us. monkeys and apes: an introduction to the primates. burnford, sheila. the incredible journey. burngood, inc. carol and company. the carol burnett show. carol + . burns, bart. walt disney's wonderful world of color. burns, ellen. administration of an intramuscular injection. back rub. bed bath. care of dentures. drop foot: some causes, prevention and care. how to make an occupied hospital bed. manipulating hospital bed linen. positioning a patient: prevention of external rotation using a trochanter roll. preparation of injection from a tablet. preparation of injection from a vial. preparation of injection from an ampule. selection of site for intramuscular injection: deltoid. selection of site for intramuscular injection: dorsogluteal. selection of site for intramuscular injection: lateral thigh. selection of site for intramuscular injection: ventrogluteal. subcutaneous injection: site selection and administration. burns, william a. horses and their ancestors. man and his tools. a world full of homes. burroughs, edgar rice. tarzan and the great river. tarzan and the jungle boy. tarzan and the valley of gold. tarzan goes to india. tarzan the magnificent. tarzan's three challenges. burrows, abe. can-can. burstyn (joseph) film enterprises, inc. skyscraper. burstyn (joseph) releasing corp. european nights. bush-fekete, leslie. pepe. busher, frederic h. one hundred years and forever. business equipment manufacturers assn. the green light. butler, jim. the spirit of invention. byco. channing. byrne, patrick. see national institute of modeling, oakland, calif. byrna productions, inc. spartacus. byrna productions, s.a. the last sunset. byrnes, david l. suburban airport, ideal site for industry. byway productions. skaterdater. bywin productions. bid-it, the tv auction show. c c-b educational films, inc. beginning spanish. keys to reading. pathways to reading. c. b. films, s.a.-espana. return of the seven. cbs enterprises, inc. terrytoons. see terrytoons. cbs films. angel. cbs films, inc. the brothers brannagan. lariat sam. the robert herridge theater. whirlybirds. cbs films, inc. terrytoons. see terrytoons. cbs news. election preview. the four navy deserters. santo domingo, why are we there? cbs-tv film sales, inc. the brothers brannagan. cbs television network. bailey's of balboa. the beverly hillbillies. carol and company. the carol burnett show. carol + . conquest. daktari. the defenders. dennis the menace. east side/west side. for the people. garry moore show. gentle ben. gilligan's island. gunslinger. the joey bishop show. the jonathan winters show. the judy garland show. my favorite martian. my living doll. perry mason. petticoat junction. the red skelton hour. the red skelton show. richard diamond, private detective. run, buddy, run. the sid caesar, imogene coca, carl reiner, howard morris special. wanted: dead or alive. wild, wild west. cbs television network. operations dept. lighting for television. cbs television system network. see columbia broadcasting system, inc. ccc film--arthur brauner. journey to the lost city. ccc-film kunst g.m.b.h. & co., k.g. the boy cried murder. ccc production. genghis khan. cda. the fat black pussy cat. c. e. productions, inc. raymie. cga, inc. see guess (cameron) & associates, inc. cipra. rififi in tokyo. cmw productions. gunslinger. com production. lost battalion. c. p., inc. cisco kid. cr enterprises, ltd. nuremberg. c. r. enterprises, ltd. rebfilms, ltd. see rebfilms, ltd. crt productions, inc. the hospital without walls. caam co. rings around the world. cable springs, ltd. peace for a gunfighter. cacoyannis, michael. electra. cacoyannis (michael) productions, ltd. the day the fish came out. cagney-montgomery productions, inc. gallant hours. cahill (charles) & associates, inc. alco beat. american history: birth of a nation, - . city driving tactics. dairy--farm to door. going places. health: you and your helpers. light--on the subject of light. the magnetism of magnets. the moon: adventure in space. red light return. safely walk to school. sea fever. simple machines at sea, an introduction to the subject. the study series. truck farm to store. cahill, charles h. american history: birth of a nation, - . broken bus. safely walk to school. safety rules for school. cahill (charles h.) & associates, inc. bakery beat. broken bus. economics--it's elementary. narcotics--why not? safety rules for school. weather: air in action. caillou, alan. rampage. cain, sugar, pseud. see mccain, constance. caldwell, erskine. claudelle inglish. caldwell, lynton k. building political leadership. california. resources agency. department of beaches and parks. the nickel ferry. california. university. academic communication facility. the child amputee from infancy to school age: the below-elbow amputee. early development of ambulation: the unilateral below-knee child amputee. california. university. dept. of anthropology. buckeye. the calumet: pipe of peace. dream dances of the kashia pomo: the bole-maru religion women's dances. kashia men's dances: southwestern pomo indians. obsidian point making: tolowa indians. pine nuts. the sinew-backed bow and its arrows. california. university. dept. of chemistry. nuclear magnetic resonance. california. university. regents. acid-base indicators. acorns. basketry of the pomo. biochemistry and molecular structure. bromine, element from the sea. buckeye. the calumet: pipe of peace. catalysis. a chance to wonder why. chem study: information for educators. chem study teacher training program. chemical bonding. chemical families. the child amputee from infancy to school age: the below-elbow amputee. crystals and their structures. dream dances of the kashia pomo: the bole-maru religion women's dances. early development of ambulation: the unilateral below-knee child amputee. electric interactions in chemistry. electrochemical cells. equilibrium. the game of staves. gas pressure and molecular collisions. gases and how they combine. gurkha country. high temperature research. himalayan farmer. the hydrogen atom as viewed by quantum mechanics (advanced version). the hydrogen atom as viewed by quantum mechanics (standard version). ionization energy. kashia men's dances: southwestern pomo indians. mechanism of an organic reaction. molecular motions. molecular spectroscopy. nitric acid. nuclear magnetic resonance. obsidian point making: tolowa indians. pimentel discusses chemical bonding. pimentel discusses the hydrogen atom. pine nuts. a research problem: inert (?) gas compounds. shapes and polarities of molecules. the sinew-backed bow and its arrows. starting english early. synthesis of an organic compound. this is a laboratory school. transuranium elements. vanadium--a transition element. the wooden box. california. university. school of medicine. familial circumscribed erythrokeratoderma. turban tumor. california. university. university extension. epizoonoses. pustular psoriasis. california. university. university extension. continuing education in health sciences. acrodermatitis chronica atrophicans. congenital ichthyosiform erythroderma. gold leaf treatment of cutaneous ulcers. granulomatous dermo-hypodermitis with progressive atrophy. keratosis follicularis. lipoid proteinosis. lupus erythematosus. metastasizing basal cell carcinoma. pellagra and other avitaminoses in the bantu. surgical treatment of benign acanthosis nigricans. xeroderma pigmentosum. california. wine advisory board. the wonderful world of wine. california academy of sciences. back stroke. back stroke starts. back stroke turns. breast stroke. breast stroke starts. breast stroke turns. butterfly. butterfly starts and turns. championship swimming: perfecting technique. championship swimming: preparing for competition. freestyle. freestyle breathing. freestyle starts. freestyle turns. individual medley. relay starts. california & hawaiian sugar refining corp. hawaii, the sugar state. california assn. for neurologically handicapped children. anyone can. california division, american cancer society. see american cancer society, inc. california division. california moving & storage assn., inc. wagon trains in the th century. california national productions, inc. pony express. california real estate assn. presenting the offer. qualifying the buyer. showing the property and obtaining the offer. california research corp. help. who killed roy brown? californian film enterprises, inc. the californians. callegari, gian paolo. the spartans. calliope productions. frontier circus. caltex petroleum corp. first impressions last. it's your attitude that counts. managing your future. priming the profit pump. calvada productions. the dick van dyke show. calvin co. allelism and lethals. bacterial genetics: clones. bacterial genetics: genetic transduction. bacterial genetics: sexual reproduction. biochemical genetics i. biochemical genetics ii. biochemical origin of terrestrial life. changes in genome number. chromosome addition and subtraction. crossingover, chiasmata, and genetic maps. crossingover in terms of meiosis. cytogenetics of oenothera. cytoplasmic heredity. dna structure and replication. delegating work. developmental genetics i. developmental genetics ii. enforcing rules and procedures. expression and interaction of genes. gene structure and gene action. genetic activity and chromosome chemistry. genetic loads in mendelian populations. genetics of mendelian populations. the genetics of race. heredity and variation. the hidden grievance. human traits showing simple mendelian inheritance. inbreeding and heterosis. independent segregation. interspecific hybridization and its consequences. linkage. meiosis. mendel's proof of the existence of genes. mitosis. mutagen-induced gene mutation. nucleo-cytoplasmic relations in paramecium. the origin of species. the personal problem. personality conflict. pleiotropism, penetrance, and expressivity. pseudoallelism. selection, genetic death, and genetic radiation damage. sex determination i. sex determination ii. sex-linked inheritance. spontaneous gene mutation. structural changes in chromosomes i. structural changes in chromosomes ii. the trouble with women. twins, nature and nurture. variegated pericarp an unstable allele in maize. virus genetics: bacteriophage. virus genetics: plant and animal viruses. calvin production. angle parking. backing the car. the final factor. informational devices. left turns. manual gearshift. parallel parking. parking on a hill, downgrade and upgrade. pre-driving habits. right turns. the road makes the difference. starting on an upgrade. calvin productions, inc. advanced algebra. addition formulas and demoivre's theorem. biology series i. biology series ii. biology series iii. cobby's hobbies. the coffee break. cosecant, secant, and cotangent. double and half angle formulas. eight fundamental trigonometric identities. embryology of a chick. goodwill ambassadors. graphs of periodic functions. the hero. interpolation in trigonometric tables. introduction to logarithms. it's a different story. large angles and coordinate axes. law of cosines. law of sines. law of tangents. nothing but lookers. practical use of logarithms. right triangles and trigonometric ratios. the sales building role. tables of trigonometric ratios. trigonometric ratios as periodic functions. trigonometry and shadows. trigonometry measures the earth. trigonometry of large angles. using logarithm tables. using sines, cosines, and tangents. working with trigonometric identities. you've sold me, mrs. marlowe. calvino, italo. tiko and the shark. cambridge productions, inc. five weeks in a balloon. cameras international productions. bring forth my people. camfield productions, inc. the bingbang boys. cammell, david. the touchables. cammell, donald. duffy. the touchables. camoletti, marc. boeing boeing. campbell, george. cry for happy. campbell (john) films, inc. roads to the future. campbell-ewald co. acapulco at sunset. alberto-culver co. television commercials. animated show opening for chevy show, dinah shore chevy show, pat boone chevy showroom. chevrolet in mexico. chevy wears well. chevy year round features. closing billboard. corvair cowboy. corvair olympics. the day began. el camino--cartin' & courtin'. exciting development. fathers and sons. hauling apples. montgomery's truck. opening 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corp. h.m.s. pinafore. intertel. the pirates of penzance. waiting for caroline. canadian government's cape breton tourist assn. the spirit of invention. canadian pacific railway co. nous sommes jeunes. canaway, w. h. a boy ten feet tall. cancer care, inc. a special kind of care. caniff, milton. steve canyon. canning, victor. masquerade. canon productions. cry tough. the rabbit trap. canteen corp. the canteen story. canteen corp. rowe manufacturing. see rowe manufacturing. capital film laboratories, inc. the national cherry blossom festival. capital film services. genesco's genstar system. capitole films. les femmes. capote, truman. breakfast at tiffany's. in cold blood. capra, frank. rendezvous in space. capri productions. high-powered rifle. it started in naples. capricorn productions, inc. the savage guns. capricorn productions, ltd., inc. eddie, i want a yellow balloon. caralan-dador production. file on the golden goose. caralan productions. mary had a little.... three on a spree. cardwell westinghouse co. the heart of the car. more heart. carell (reno) production. winter a-go-go. carillon films. holland off guard. carkin, helen s. methods of teaching art to the mentally retarded. carley, fred m. hawaii--big game country. carlis productions, inc. indomethacin in rheumatic diseases. carlos films, ltd. the boy cried murder. carlson, herbert. the wackiest ship in the army. carlson, oscar v. behavior of empoasca fabae (harris) cicadellidae, homoptera. carlyle-alpina, s.a. exodus. carmel productions, inc. the headless ghost. horrors of the black museum. carpet engineers, inc. training film, part i-ii. carrickford productions, ltd. taiwan today. carroll, lewis. jabberwock. carroll, sidney. gambit. carrollton, inc. back street. carrollton of panama, s.a. stolen hours. carter (william) co. keeping up with baby. carter management co., inc. the war lord. cartoon classics, inc. mr. e from tau ceti. tale of the northern lights. wanda and the wicked princess. the woodcutter's wish. casanna productions, s.a. in the french style. cascade pictures of california. pitchfork. cascade pictures of california, inc. help; kim-fcb . moment of truth. more & more tired. cascade pictures of california, inc. educational division. investifilms for today's basic science. case (j. i.) co. adults in a hurry. farmers meet the challenge. the most important business in the world. series announcement. optimum tillage. performance for profits. power for profits. profit newsreel. quest for quality. the sound of power. a special breed. casey productions, inc. it's a mad, mad, mad, mad world. casner, a. james. the irrevocable trust. the revocable trust, an essential tool for the practicing lawyer. castle, john. the password is courage. castle (william) enterprises, inc. riot. rosemary's baby. castle (william) pictures. strait-jacket. zotz! castle (william) productions. homicidal. mr. sardonicus. ghosts. castle (william)-hammer production. the old dark house. castle co. the night walker. castle productions, inc. situation hopeless, but not serious. catalina productions. roadracers. cate & mcglone. company manners. cate & mcglone films. before hydraulic fires start. day in court prologue. hawaii calls. hawaii, crossroads of the pacific. hawaii, pacific paradise. toward a better life. working with skydrol fluids. cates, gilbert. the painting. cathala, sophie. three murderesses. cathedral films. the first noel. a light shines in the darkness. the search for truth. cathedral films, inc. africa and schweitzer. beyond a doubt. children of the world. catto, max. the devil at o'clock. seven thieves. catton, bruce. the american flag--the story of old glory. cavalcade films, ltd. guns of darkness. malaga. cavalier films, ltd. billy cartoon and his magic storyland. komedy kops. cavern supply co. carlsbad caverns new mexico. cawthorne, ann. the love clinic. cayton, william. journey to the beginning of time. mr. e from tau ceti. official fight pictures: muhammed ali (cassius clay) vs. cleveland williams for the heavyweight championship of the world, nov. , ; astrodome, houston, texas. tale of the northern lights. turn of the century fights. wanda and the wicked princess. the woodcutter's wish. cayuga productions, inc. the twilight zone. cecala, gregory. basic reproduction processes in the graphic arts. lithography or offset printing. offset training films. ceiap. world without sun. celebrity concert corp. bolshoi ballet . celestial center, inc. texas our texas. celotex corp. man the builder. cemo-film-rom, s.p.a. zwei sÄrge auf bestellung. cenco educational film co. solids in the world around us. cenco educational films. all about light. basic theory of heat, i. basic theory of heat, ii. be your own weatherman. conversion of heat into useful work. discovering our earth: the air around us. discovering our earth: the earth and the sun. the earth in motion. earth satellites. effects of heat. flowers and their purpose. the fruits of plants. heat as radiant energy. how machines help us. how man travels through space. how plants grow. inclined plane, wedge, and screw. it's the humidity. the lever. mapping a treasure hunt. the moon. nuclear radiation: detectors. nuclear radiation: fallout. nuclear radiation: uses in earth studies. nuclear radiation--uses in industry. nuclear radiation--uses in medicine. nuclear radiation: uses in outer space studies. our earth. our world of plants. our world of weather and climate: water in the air. outer space: astrology. the pulley. series and parallel circuits. sounds around us. sun and the solar system. the sun's energy. very high temperatures. very low temperatures. what makes weather? when air masses meet. winds great and small. cenco instruments corp. all about light. the earth in motion. how plants grow. inclined plane, wedge, and screw. the pulley. series and parallel circuits. sounds around us. when air masses meet. cenco instruments corp. cenco educational films division. see cenco educational films. centaur enterprises, inc. lilith. centaur film productions. press on regardless. center for mass communication of columbia university press. see columbia university press. center for mass communication. central african film unit production. images of luangwa. central committee on radio facilities of american petroleum institute. see american petroleum institute. central committee on radio facilities. centron corp. alaska: america's northern frontier. la america del sur. la argentina. children of the fort. chile. colombia. the compass. danish farm family. european culture region: its people at work. la feria: regocijo de sevilla. france: new horizons. greece: so rich, so poor. hawaii: america's tropical state. how things dissolve. italian farm family. italy: progress amidst the past. learning to look at hands. the low countries: very much alive. matter into energy. modern engines and energy conversion. the pacific northwest: putting water to work. paris, un reve pour tous. el peru. preparing a class report. psychological differences between the sexes. reading and critical thinking. reading in the humanities. reading in the math and science areas. scandinavia: the rewards of excellence. spain and portugal: on the threshold of success. switzerland and austria: the mountain countries. the united kingdom: crowded islands. venezuela. west germany: industrial giant. what is active and creative reading? what is effective reading? the who and why of reading. century film productions. the good friday alaska earthquake. century film productions, ltd. race for the golden flag. ceskoslovensky filmexport. the shop on main street. chabrol, claude. les biches. chabrol, jean pierre. un homme de trop. chain (hu) associates. buffalo savings bank. chain, hubert v. buffalo savings bank. chalk (rodney) productions. welcome aboard penny's carib cruise. chalmar, inc. ada. chamales, tom t. go naked in the world. chamberlain, william. company of cowards? champion, c. c. ghosts, italian style. a place for lovers. champion film productions, inc. the week end warriors. champion paper & fibre co. a message to no one. champs-elysees productions. nude in a white car. chandler, frederick w. lottery. chandler, raymond. marlowe. chandler pub. co. bikes. chandler art experience films. enrichment films for let's see the animals. slides. supermarket. swings. trucks and cars to ride. chanford productions, inc. snow white and the three stooges. chanslor, roy. cat ballou. chaplin, prescott. island of lost women. chapman, robert h. billy budd. charbert, inc. a gift for heidi. charisma organization. dimension of life. charleston enterprises corp. lord love a duck. paris when it sizzles. the secret life of an american wife. charter film productions, ltd. i'm all right jack. chase, borden. gunfighters of casa grande. winchester . chase, james hadley. the night of the generals. the world in my pocket. chase, patricia. gunfighters of casa grande. chase manhattan bank, new 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study project. a chance to wonder why. chem study: information for educators. cherokee productions. grand prix. how sweet it is. marlowe. support your local sheriff. hours. chertok (jack) television, inc. the lawless years. my favorite martian. my living doll. sky king. cheviot productions, inc. tormented. chevrolet division, general motors corp. see. general motors corp. chevrolet motor division. chicago. mayor's commission for senior citizens. the rest of your life. chicago natural history museum. the museum, gateway to perception. child amputee prosthetics project. the child amputee from infancy to school age: the below-elbow amputee. early development of ambulation: the unilateral below-knee child amputee. child development group of mississippi. a chance for change. struggle for ourselves. children's book council. the pleasure is mutual: how to conduct effective picture book programs. children's hospital medical center, boston. a toddler's hours of hazard. children's museum of boston. common american birds, mallard duck. common american birds, nests and young. common american birds, owls. common american birds, robin. common american birds, swallows. common american birds, woodpeckers. children's orthopedic hospital & medical center, seattle. the reversibly retarded child. children's services division, american library assn. see american library assn. children's services division. chodorov, jerome. happy anniversary. chris-mark productions, ltd. salt and pepper. chrislaw-patty duke productions. billie. chrislaw productions, inc. johnny cool. the patty duke show. christian science board of directors of the mother church, the first church of christ, scientist, in boston, massachusetts. see first church of christ, scientist, bosto. christian science board of directors. christian science pub. society. to lighten mankind. christie, agatha. the alphabet murders. murder she said. christie, agatha. see mallowan, agatha christie. christina films, ltd. a twist of sand. chronicle broadcasting co. the bonanza years. john muir's high sierra. the most adult game. of gods and galleons. steel across the sierra. under three flags. v.d., the disease that won't go away. chronicle pub. co. adopted child. the affluent teenager. no deposit, no return. chrysler corp. the name of the game is fun. special report: the automobile industry. the idea. chrysler corp. chrysler-plymouth division. special report: the automobile industry. the idea. chrysler-plymouth division, chrysler corp. see chrysler corp. chrysler-plymouth division. chrysler theatre. the house next door. church & guisewite advertising, inc. shoe saver. suede saver. church of jesus christ of latter-day saints. that which was lost. your life, your future. church of jesus christ of latter-day saints, inc. genealogical society. for the strength of the hills. church of jesus christ of latter-day saints. young men's & young women's mutual improvement associations. the faces of m.i.a. churchill, sir 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patient. claiborne (william) production. discovering rhythm. clark, david. nearly a nasty accident. clark, david w. watercolor holiday. clark (dick) enterprises. psych-out. the savage seven. clark, lewis s. the flying aqua-naut. clarke, r. g. sunday at the park. clarke school for the deaf, northampton, mass. they do not walk alone. classic films, inc. the richard boone show. claude productions, inc. the dean martin show. kiss me, stupid. toys in the attic. who's been sleeping in my bed? who's got the action. clavell, james. king rat. clay-stephenson associates, inc. classic cup ii. moment of truth. porcelain. royal vienna. silver sweepstakes. cleary, jon. the green helmet. the sundowners. clemens, brian. the great van robbery. clemens, samuel langhorne. the adventures of huckleberry finn. cleveland, bruce t. flagellates of termites. gametogenesis and fertilization in trichonympha. sexuality and other features of the flagellates of cryptocercus. cleveland, l. r. flagellates of termites. gametogenesis and fertilization in trichonympha. sexuality and other features of the flagellates of cryptocercus. cleveland museum of natural history. journey into a smaller world. cleveland twist drill co. the use and care of twist drills. clifford, francis. guns of darkness. clifton bible classics, inc. and there was light. cloete, stuart. the fiercest heart. clorox co. dirty band. mysterious stranger. clouse, robert b. the cadillac. clover productions, inc. pirates of tortuga. the wizard of baghdad. coca-cola co. artist. hawaii. let's face it, melissa. the magic of training. minute maid television commercials. the prom, it's a pleasure! refreshment through the years. special men in a special market. tips on tournament skiing. we're on our way. coca-cola co. duncan foods co. see duncan foods co. coca-cola co. foods division. coca-cola co. television commercials. coca-cola export corp. community of the world. the name of the game is football. the skills of football. cockburn, guy d. growing and selling christmas trees at a retail plantation in garrison, n.y. cody productions, inc. the greatest show on earth. coffing (david) co. closure. completeness of communication. cueing. divergent questions. fluency in asking questions. higher order questions. an introduction to microteaching. lecturing. nonverbal responses. planned repetition. probing questions. recognizing attending behavior. reinforcement. set induction. silence and nonverbal cues. stimulus variation. use of examples. verbal and nonverbal responses. verbal responses. cohen, burton. ambassador to the united nations. cohen (herman) productions, ltd. berserk. konga. cohn (robert) productions, inc. the new interns. colburn (john) associates. peace or communism? colburn (john) associates, inc. electronic computers and applied mathematics. fundamentals of creative swimming. the greatest show on water. cole, burt. the bobo. coleman productions, inc. today the twenty-first. coletti, duilio. operation crossbow. coleytown production. king rat. collector co. the collector. college of music, university of colorado. see colorado. university. college of music. college of saint teresa, winona, minn. meeting patient needs: ii--food. meeting patient needs, iv: the patient who cannot drink. the patient who cannot eat. collins, larry. is paris burning? collins, norman. invasion quartet. collinson/crasto productions. up the junction. collodi, carlo, pseud. see lorenzini, carlo. colonial williamsburg, inc. around the world in eighty feet. basketmaking in colonial virginia. the colonial naturalist: mark catesby. the cooper's craft. folk artist of the blue ridge. music of williamsburg. new england folk painter, erastus salisbury field. williamsburg, the story of a patriot. colorado. school of mines research foundation, inc. metallurgical division. coal slurry agitation studies. colorado. state historical society. colorado: the miners. colorado: the trailblazers. colorado. university. biological sciences curriculum study. a bscs single topic inquiry film presentation. the bscs story. presenting bscs single topic inquiry films. colorado. university. college of music. the musicwriter. colorado. university. dept. of biology. bacterial transformation. frog heartbeat. regeneration in flatworms. turtle heart neural control. colorado. university. department of fine arts. line and art. colorado. university. regents. a bscs single topic inquiry film presentation. the bscs story. presenting bscs single topic inquiry films. coloray enterprises, inc. legends of love. colourpicture publishers, inc. travel movies. travel movies outstanding color scenes. columbia british production, ltd. a dandy in aspic. duffy. lord jim. to sir, with love. the war lover. columbia broadcasting system, inc. affairs of anatol. amos 'n' andy. anchor man. bailey's of balboa. the burden and the glory of john f. kennedy. cbs news special. cbs news special report. cbs playhouse. cbs reports. camera . campaign : the polls and the candidates. campaign ' . candida. the cara williams show. carl sandburg discusses his work. carl sandburg discusses lincoln. cimarron strip. cinderella. the code of jonathan west: aftermath. color and brightness contrasts in television production. color by design. conquest. death of a dangerous man. death of a salesman. the doctors and the nurses. election preview. everett dirksen: a self-portrait. eye on new york. eyewitness. face the nation. finlandia. for which we stand, part i. for which we stand, part ii. general electric theater. the great adventure. the great challenge. the great love affair. gunsmoke. have gun--will travel. hawaii five-o. he and she. henry moore: man of form. hotel de paree. lamp unto my feet. lighting for television. the line-up. look up and live. the man who bought paradise. marineland carnival. the millionaire. my three sons. the national drivers test. new york philharmonic young people's concerts. the nurses. of black america. oh! those bells. person to person. playhouse . the president and the first lady in latin america. rawhide. the red skelton show. rendezvous. the roots of freedom. run, buddy, run. santo domingo, why are we there? the search. the sid caesar, imogene coca, carl reiner, howard morris special. simplified operating practices for studio cameras. sinatra. minutes. small world. the sounds of courage. suspense. tell it to groucho. tomorrow. a tour of the white house with mrs. john f. kennedy. town meeting of the world. the twentieth century. the st century. two days in the life of cbs news. victory in europe, years after. view, hear, read. the warren report. 'way out. who, what, when, where, why? wild, wild west. woman! world war i. columbia pictures corp. advise and consent. all the young men. alvarez kelly. the ambushers. the animal movie. anzio. aqua ski-birds. arizona raiders. as the sea rages. assignment k. babette goes to war. baby the rain must fall. barabbas. battle in outer space. battling big bass. bear hug. bear knuckles. bear up. bearly able. because they're young. the bedford incident. beef for and after. before winter comes. behold a pale horse. belle sommers. berserk. the best of enemies. the big gundown. big mouse-take. the big mouth. birds do it. born free. the brigand of kandahar. bungle uncle. bunnies abundant. bunny lake is missing. bye bye birdie. cactus flower. the cardinal. carthage in flames. cash on demand. casino royale. cat ballou. catch meow. the chase. chicken fracas-see. chicken hearted wolf. a child in his country. child sock-cology. clown prince of rasslin'. code victim . the collector. comanche station. common scents. connie. corruption. count down clown. creepy time pal. the crimson blade. the critic. crocodile! crook who cried wolf. cry for happy. the curse of the mummy's tomb. damn the defiant. a dandy in aspic. dead heat on a merry-go-round. the deadly affair. desperados. the devil at o'clock. the devil-ship pirates. diamond head. die! die! my darling. divorce american style. the do good wolf. doctor faustus. dr. strangelove. dogs afield. don't knock the twist. don't raise the bridge, lower the river. dream of roses. drum-sticked. duffy. duo. east of sudan. easy rider. edge of eternity. the electronic monster. elephantastic. the enemy general. enter laughing. everything's ducky. experiment in terror. fabulous california. fail-safe. fast and sexy. the finest hours. first men in the moon. five finger exercise. five golden hours. miles. for singles only. guns to apache pass. funny girl. fury of the pagans. the gene krupa story. genghis khan. georgy girl. gidget goes hawaiian. gidget goes to rome. good neighbor sam. good times. the gorgon. the great sioux massacre. the great toy robbery. the greatest show on water. guess who's coming to dinner. the guns of navarone. habit rabbit. hammerhead. hand in hand. the happening. happy go loopy. harvey middleman, fireman. head. hell is a city. the hellions. hello up there. here kiddie, kiddie. the heroes of telemark. hey there it's yogi bear. hip shooters. holiday for champions. hollywood talent scouts. homicidal. hook, line and sinker. horse shoo. how to save a marriage and ruin your life. hunting unlimited. i aim at the stars: the wernher von braun story. i'm all right jack. images of luangwa. in a fallible fable. in cold blood. in the french style. interlude. the interns. jason and the argonauts. jazz boat. just a wolf at heart. just for fun. killers of kilimanjaro. king of blades. king rat. kooky loopy. the l-shaped room. the last mohican. lawrence of arabia. let no man write my epitaph. life with loopy. lilith. little bo bopped. little boy bad. the little ones. little star of bethlehem. the long ships. loopy's hare-do. loss of innocence. lost command. love has many faces. the love-ins. luv. mackenna's gold. mad room. the magic world of topo gigio. major dundee. the man called flintstone. a man for all seasons. the man from c.h.i.m.p. my trip to new york. mysterious island. the mystery of thug island. the new interns. the night of the generals. the nights of lucretia borgia. no biz like shoe biz. not in nottingham. nothing but the best. the notorious landlady. the old dark house. oliver. on target. once more, with feeling. only two can play. orinoco jungle. otley. the man from the diner's club. man on a string. maniac. mein kampf. mickey one. mr. sardonicus. model shop. most dangerous man alive. mothra. the mountain road. murderers' row. our man in havana. the outlaws is coming. passport to china. payment in blood. pendulum. pepe. the pirates of blood river. a place to stand. pleasure highway. polygamus polonius. pork chop phooey. the professionals. psyche . queen of the pirates. the quick gun. rage. raggedy rug. a raisin in the sun. rancid ransom. rasslin' champs. rasslin' rampage. requiem for a heavyweight. ride beyond vengeance. ride the wild surf. ring-a-ding rhythm. rings around the world. roof tops of new york. run wild, run free. the running man. safe at home. sail a crooked ship. scream of fear. sheep stealers anonymous. ship of fools. siege of the saxons. the silencers. slippery slippers. snoopy loopy. song of london. song without end. splendors of paris. sports au-go-go. sports carnival. stop! look! and laugh! stop me before i kill. strait-jacket. strangers when we meet. the stranglers of bombay. a study in terror. surprise package. swash buckled. the swimmer. swinging down the lanes. swiss water paradise. sword of sherwood forest. synanon. t.g.i.f. taiwan today. tale of a wolf. the taming of the shrew. tee marvels. the terror of the tongs. the texican. that man in istanbul. frightened girls. ghosts. west street. is a dangerous age, cynthia. this is my ducky day. thousand island aquarama. three on a couch. the three stooges go around the world in a daze. the three stooges in orbit. the three stooges meet hercules. three stooges scrapbook. the three worlds of gulliver. the tiger makes out. a time for killing. to sir, with love. torture garden. traitor's gate. trouble bruin. the trouble with angels. the trunk. to the moon. twinkle and shine. twist around the clock. two faced wolf. two rode together. two tickets to paris. under the yum yum tree. the underwater city. underworld u.s.a. up the macgregors. valley of the dragons. the victors. the violinist. the wackiest ship in the army. walk don't run. walk on the wild side. the warrior empress. watcha watchin'? water sports champs. a weekend with lulu. we'll bury you! where angels go trouble follows. who was that lady? who's minding the mint. the wild westerners. winter a-go-go. wolf hounded. wolf in sheep dog's clothing. wonderful africa. wonderful austria. wonderful beaulieu. wonderful caribbean. wonderful greece. wonderful hong kong. wonderful israel. wonderful new york. wonderful sardinia. wonderful scotland. wonderful switzerland. wonders of arkansas. wonders of dallas. wonders of kentucky. wonders of miami beach. wonders of ontario. wonders of philadelphia. world without sun. the wrecking crew. the wrong box. you must be joking. the young americans. zoo is company. zotz! columbia pictures industries, inc. castle keep. columbia university press. alberto giacometti. eero saarinen, architect. eric bentley. hide and seek. twelve dancing princesses. columbia university press. center for mass communication. one day a week. smoke, anyone? columbia world of sports. rasslin' champs. swinging down the lanes. columbus (ohio) dental society. women's auxiliary. sonny's lucky dream. columbus productions, inc. lenny bruce. comedic productions, inc. the smothers brothers comedy hour. comet rice mills, inc. comet rice television commercials. the comet rice day- pound, no hunger diet, tv commercial. commager, henry steele. our schools have kept us free. commercial & industrial division, westinghouse learning corp. see westinghouse learning corp. commercial & industrial division. committee for scientific communication in dermatology, washington, d.c. coccidioidomycosis. creeping eruption. cutaneous vascular phenomenon associated with functioning. demodex folliculorum. dermatoses occurring mainly in japanese. disseminated anergic leishmaniasis. early cutaneous leishmaniasis. generalized keratoacanthoma. giant lichenification. hydroa vacciniforme with reactive porphyrinuria, dwarfism, progressive feeble-mindedness, & central nervous abnormalities. ichthyosis linearis circumflexa. keratodermia palmaris et plantaris. late cutaneous leishmaniasis. mal de meleda. malignant atrophying papulosis. myelomatosis with cutaneous manifestations. north american blastomycosis treated with amphotericin b. onchocerciasis. peutz-jeghers' syndrome. pretibial myxoedema with acropachy. rhinoscleroma. silica granuloma. subcorneal pustular dermatosis. tuberculosis cutis luposa. urticaria pigmentosa. commonwealth edison co. the world of andrew wyeth. commonwealth united corp. cervantes. commonwealth united entertainment. a face of war. commonwealth united entertainment, inc. the desperate ones. commonwealth united releasing organization, inc. a face of war. compagnie francais de distribution cinematographique. les biches. company of artists, inc. beloved infidel. let's make love. the story on page one. wild in the country. compton/sir nigel films production. a study in terror. computer methods corp. data communications. comstock productions. hollywood talent scouts. concepts unlimited, inc. all this and . fusion. concordia films. reclaimed. condon, richard. the happy thieves. the manchurian candidate. condor films, inc. saint louis: gateway to the west. connaught productions, inc. buona sera, mrs. campbell. connecticut films, inc. london bridge is falling down. to market, to market. connor, richard m., sr. early logging scenes, . conrad, joseph. lord jim. conrad, lawrence h. patterns of good teaching--high school level. conservation foundation, washington, d.c. the house of man, part ii: our crowded environment. consortium pathe. les biches. constantin-film. house of a thousand dolls. per qualche dollaro in piu. consumers power co. the dependable flame. energy for a brighter tomorrow. headstart on tomorrow. michigan year. nuclear power for michigan's future. only if you care. pipeline people. the river that came back. what's it going to cost you? when michigan was young. contemporary films, inc. youth dances. contemporary productions, inc. h.m.s. pinafore. the pirates of penzance. the young savages. continental illinois national bank & trust co. of chicago. selling tactics, inside and out. continenza, alessandro. hannibal. cooga mooga films productions, inc. journey to the center of the earth. cooga mooga production. the yellow canary. cook, james a. the computer in the classroom. cook, peter. bedazzled. cook, will. two rode together. cooney, ray. the hand. cooper (jackie) productions, inc. hennesey. cooper (peter h.) inc. connie. coppel, alec. the bliss of mrs. blossom. the gazebo. moment to moment. coppel, myra. the gazebo. corlou films. successful breast feeding. corman co., inc. the secret invasion. tobruk. corn products co. best foods division. color for joy. corning glass works. the world in your kitchen. corona film production. the world in my pocket. coronado productions (england) ltd. play it cool. coronet film museum. triumph des willens. coronet films. netherlands: past and present. coronet films. see coronet instructional films. coronet instructional films. accounting: basic procedures. acting with maturity. addition for beginners. adjusting your reading speeds. the aegean age. african continent: an introduction. african continent: northern region. african continent: southern region. african continent: tropical region. the age of absolute monarchs in europe. the age of enlightenment in europe. airplanes: principles of flight. alexander has a good day. alexander the great and the hellenistic age. algebra: a way of thinking about numbers. algebra: relations, functions and variation. an alphabet of birds. american indians before european settlement. ancient paestum: city of the greeks and romans. ancient palestine. ancient persia. ancient world inheritance. andrew jackson at the hermitage. angles and their measurements. animal babies grow up. animal communities and groups. animal hide and seek: camouflage for beginners. animals and how they communicate. animals are different and alike. animals protect themselves. animals without backbones. the ant and the dove. the ant and the grasshopper. the ant colony through the year. aptitudes and occupations. aquatic insects. aristotle and the scientific method. arithmetic: estimating and checking answers. arithmetic in the food store. arithmetic: understanding the problem. arthropods: insects and their relatives. asia: a continental overview. austria, past and present. automation: what it is and what it does. the bagworm. balance your diet for health and appearance. bardell vs. pickwick. the barn swallow. basic skills. basketball fundamentals. the beetle. beginning responsibility: being a good sport. beginning responsibility: doing things for ourselves in school. beginning responsibility: getting ready for school. beginning responsibility: learning to follow instructions. beginning responsibility: lunchroom manners. beginning responsibility: rules at school. beginning responsibility: using money wisely. beginnings and growth of industrial america. billy's helicopter ride. biology in space science. biology in today's world. birds and their characteristics. birds and their homes. birds: how we identify them. birds of the countryside. birds of the dooryard. birds of the inland waterways. birds of the marshes. birds of the sea. birds of the woodlands. birds that migrate. the birth of puppies. bolivar: south american liberator. a book is to care for. boy of japan: ito and his kite. the boyhood of abraham lincoln. the boyhood of thomas edison. the british commonwealth of nations. brushing up on division. brushing up on multiplication. the buddhist world. build your vocabulary. building better sentences. bulgaria: the land and the people. the busy airport. a busy day at the county fair. the busy harbor. butterfly and moth life cycles. the byzantine empire. camouflage in nature through form and color matching. camouflage in nature through pattern matching. canada's history: colony to commonwealth. carl sandburg discusses his work. carl sandburg discusses lincoln. causes of the seasons. cell biology: life functions. cell biology: mitosis and dna. cell biology: structure and composition. cells of plants and animals. centripetal force and satellite orbits. charlemagne and his empire. chemical bond and atomic structure. chemical changes all about us. chemical properties of water. chemistry laboratory series. children on the move. christianity in world history (to a.d.) a christmas carol. citizenship and you. civil war: background issues. the civil war: - . civil war: first two years. the civil war: postwar period. classifying plants and animals. cleanliness and health. climates of the united states. clothes around the world. colonial life on a dutch manor. color and light: an introduction. color and pigment in art. color for beginners. the colorado river. the columbia river. communication for beginners. communication: story of its development. communities depend on each other. communities keep clean. competition in business. conservation for beginners. conserving our forests today. conserving our mineral resources today. conserving our soil today. conserving our water resources today. conserving our wildlife today. continents of the world. cotton in today's world. the country mouse and the city mouse. courtesy for beginners. the crane's magic gift, a japanese fairy tale. crayfish: life cycle. creating with color. the cricket and grasshopper. crystals and their growth. current events: understanding and evaluating them. cutting and pasting. the dairy farm. daniel boone in america's story. darwin and the theory of natural selection. david and betsey trotwood. david and dora. david and dora married. david and his mother. david and mr. micawber. dawn of the american revolution: a lexington family. dental health: how and why. desert dwellers: plants and animals. developing reading maturity: comparative reading. developing reading maturity: critical evaluation. developing reading maturity: interpreting meaning. developing reading maturity: the mature reader. developing reading maturity: understanding style. diffusion and osmosis. digestion in our bodies. division for beginners. ears: their structure and care. the earth: changes in its surface. the earth: its atmosphere. the earth: its oceans. the earth: its structure. the earth: resources in its crust. the earth's movements. earthworm: anatomy and dissection. eastern europe: an introduction. eat well, grow well! echinoderms and mollusks. electricity for beginners. electricity from chemicals. electricity: how it is generated. electricity: principles of safety. electrochemical reactions. electromagnetic induction. electrons and electronics: an introduction. electrostatic charges and forces. energy and its forms. energy does work. england: background of literature. english history: nineteenth century reforms. the english language: how it changes. equations: number sentences. the european economic community. everyday courage and common sense. everyday courtesy. evolution of man. exploring the atomic nucleus. farm animals in rhyme. federal taxation. filing procedures in business. film highlights of modern history: the early 's. fire and oxidation. fish and their characteristics. five colorful birds. flowers: structure and function. flute, clarinet and bassoon. folk songs of america's history. folksongs of the western movement, - . folksongs of the western settlement, - . the food cycle and food chains. food that builds good health. foods around the world. foods from grains. forces: composition and resolution. forms of music: instrumental. fractions: finding the common denominator. fred meets a bank. friction and its effects. fun with words: words that add meaning. fun with words: words that name and do. fun with words: word twins. galileo. genetics: chromosomes and genes (meiosis). genetics: functions of dna and rna. genetics: human heredity. genetics: improving plants and animals. genetics: mendel's laws. geography of south america: argentina, paraguay, uruguay. geography of south america: brazil. geography of south america: countries of the andes. geography of south america: the continent. geometry: inductive and deductive reasoning. germs and what they do. getting along with others. getting into college. getting the big ideas. the globe and our round earth. graphing linear equations. graphs: understanding and using them. grasshopper: anatomy and dissection. gravity and what it does. grouping things in science. growth of big business in america, - . growth of farming in america, - . the halogens. handwriting for beginners: manuscript. health heroes: the battle against disease. heart, lungs and circulation. hearts and circulatory systems. heat and its behavior. heat and temperature. helpers at our school. the helpful little fireman. the hindu world. the history of living things. the holy roman empire. homes around the world. the housefly and its control. how air helps us. how flowers make seeds. how materials are alike and different. how power drives machines. how simple machines make work easier. how sound helps us. how sunshine helps us. how to read a book. how to study. how we elect our representatives. how wheels help us. the human body: excretory system. the human body: muscular system. the human body: nutrition and metabolism. the human body: respiratory system. the human body: sense organs. the human body: the brain. the human body: the chemistry of digestion. hydrocarbons and their structures. immigration in america's history. imperialism and european expansion. improve your oral reports. improve your punctuation. improve your study habits. improving america's health. improving your vocabulary. the incas. indian influences in the united states. inertial mass and the laws of motion. infectious diseases and man-made defenses. infectious diseases and natural body defenses. insect enemies and their control. insects and their homes. insects: how to recognize them. insects through the winter. introducing atoms and nuclear energy. introducing chemistry: formulas and equations. introducing chemistry: how atoms combine. introducing chemistry: types of chemical change. introducing sets, numbers and numerals. introducing the vertebrates. introducing shapes, lines and angles. the invertebrates. isaac newton. italy: the land and the people. japan: an historical overview. jets and rockets: how they work. joan avoids a cold. know your library. land forms and human use. latin america: an introduction. latitude, longitude, and time zones. learning about leaves. learning from disappointments. learning to study your state. learning with your ears. learning with your eyes. learning with your senses. let's keep food safe to eat. let's learn to predict the weather. let's play fair. let's share with others. let's visit a tree farm. let's watch plants grow. a letter to grandmother. letter writing for beginners. the lewis and clark journey. life in a cubic foot of soil. life in a medieval town. life in ancient rome: the family. life in grasslands (argentine pampas) life in hot rain forests (amazon basin) life in mediterranean lands. life in the high andes. life in the jamestown colony. life in the oasis: north africa. light for beginners. light: illumination and its measurement. light: lenses and optical instruments. light: reflection. light: refraction. light: wave and quantum theories. lightning and thunder. listening skills: an introduction. literature appreciation: how to read biographies. the little engine that could. the little indians. the little rooster who made the sun rise. the little shepherd and the first christmas. liverwort: alternation of generations. london: the city and the people. lonnie's day. magnets for beginners. making word pictures. mammals and their characteristics. man uses and changes the land. map skills: using different maps together. mapping the earth's surface. maps are fun. mark twain gives an interview. mass and weight. matter and energy. the meaning of patriotism. measurement. measurement in physical science. measurement in the food store. measuring areas: squares, rectangles. medieval times: guilds and trade. medieval times: role of the church. medieval times: the crusades. metals and non-metals. mexican handcraft and folk art. mexican village life. a mexican war diary, . mexico's history. michelangelo and his art. microorganisms that cause disease. milk and milk foods. miss havisham. the mississippi river: background for social studies. mr. jingle at dingley dell. mr. pickwick's dilemma. modern france: the land and the people. molds and how they grow. the moonbeam princess, a japanese fairy tale. the mosquito and its control. movements of plants. moving day--timmy's new neighbors. multiplication for beginners. muscles and bones of the body. the musicians in the woods. my life to live. new dimensions through teaching films. new zealand: the land and the people. the nile in egypt. north america: the continent. north american regions: the appalachian highlands. north american regions: the atlantic and gulf coastal plains. north american regions: the central lowlands. north american regions: the great plains. north american regions: the intermountain highlands. north american regions: the pacific coast. the north wind and the sun. the number system and its structure. nutritional needs of our bodies. odyssey of a dropout. the ohio river: background for social studies. the old soldier. the old woman in a shoe. our animal friends. our animal neighbors. our class explores the moon. our class works together. our country's flag. our pet show. our wonderful body: how it grows. our wonderful body: how it moves. our wonderful body: how its parts work together. our wonderful body: how we breathe. our wonderful body: the heart and its work. our wonderful ears and their care. our wonderful eyes and their care. paris: the city and the people. parliamentary procedure in action. the parts of speech. paul bunyan. people are different and alike. percent, why and how. percussion instruments. photosynthesis: chemistry of food-making. pioneer journey to the oregon country. place value: ones, tens, hundreds. plant-animal communities: ecological succession. plant-animal communities: interrelationships. plant-animal communities: physical environment. plant-animal communities: the changing balance of nature. plant nutrients and growth. plant tropisms and other movements. plants are different and alike. plants live through the winter. plants that grow from leaves, stems and roots. plants that have no flowers or seeds. plants that live in water. playground safety. plymouth colony: the first year. poetry for beginners. poland: the land and the people. the pony express in america's growth. population patterns in the united states. positive and negative numbers. posture habits. preparing your book report. pressure in fluids at rest. protozoa: structures and life functions. puerto rico and the virgin islands. punctuation for beginners. punctuation--mark your meaning. radiant energy and the electromagnetic spectrum. radiation in biology. ratio and proportion in mathematics. reading creatively. reading for beginners: using context clues. reading for beginners: word shapes. reading for beginners: word sounds. reading for beginners: words and word parts. reading for pleasure. reading improvement: comprehension skills. reading improvement: defining the good reader. reading improvement: efficient rates of reading. reading improvement: vocabulary skills. reading improvement: word recognition skills. reading music: finding the melody. reading music: finding the rhythm. reading music: learning about notes. reading signs is fun. reading to enrich your classwork. reading weather maps. reading with a purpose. refrigeration and air conditioning. reproduction in the sea urchin. revolts and reforms in europe, - . the rhine: background for social studies. rocks: where they come from. rocky mountains: a geographic region. the rolling rice ball, a japanese fairy tale. the runaways. safe living at school. safety after school. safety with fire. sam weller and his father. science for beginners. science study skills. scotland: background of literature. the sea gull. the secretary: a normal day. the secretary: taking dictation. the secretary: transcribing. the seed plants: diversity in adaptation. sentences: simple, compound, complex. sentences: subject and predicate. sentences that ask and tell. the settlers: early pioneer farmers of the great lakes region. sharing time in our class. the shoemaker and the elves. silicon and its compounds. simple demonstrations with air. simple demonstrations with magnetism. simple demonstrations with static electricity. simple demonstrations with water. simple machines: work and mechanical advantage. snakes. the sodium family. soil: what it is and what it does. sound for beginners. space science: an introduction. space science: comets, meteors, and planetoids. space science for beginners. space science: man-made satellites. space science: studying the stars. space science: the planets. spain and portugal: lands and peoples. specific gravity and archimedes' principle. spelling for beginners. spelling is easy. sponges and coelenterates: porous and sac-like animals. spring comes to the city. stage make-up: youthful roles. stagecraft: general scenery construction. stagecraft: scenery frame construction. stagecraft: scenery painting. stagecraft: stage lighting. the stars at night. stephen foster and his sons. the story of electricity, the greeks to franklin. the story of illumination. the story of measuring time: hours, minutes, seconds. the story of soil. study skills for beginners. subtraction for beginners. the suez canal. sulphur and its compounds. switzerland: the land and the people. symbols in algebra. tad, the frog. talking and listening. termite colony: a complex social organization. tom thumb in king arthur's court. transportation around the world. trees grow through the years. trees: their flowers and seeds. triangles: types and uses. trumpet, horn and trombone. tuffy, the turtle. turkey: a strategic land and its people. typing skills: building speed. typing skills: daily job techniques. understanding word meanings. unification of italy. the united kingdom: england and wales. the united kingdom: scotland and northern ireland. the united states and canada: a cultural region. united states expansion: california. united states expansion: settling the west, - . the united states in the th century: - . the united states in the th century: - . uriah heep. el valle de las palmas. velocity and acceleration. verbs: principal parts. verbs: recognizing and using them. viruses: threshold of life. volume and its measurement. we discover the dictionary. we explore mountain life. we explore ocean life. we explore the desert. we explore the field and meadow. we explore the stream. weather for beginners. weather: understanding precipitation. weather: understanding storms. weather: why it changes. what about sex? what are things made of? what does our flag mean? what is a force? what is a neighborhood? what is science? what to do about upset feelings. where does our meat come from? the white house, past and present. why animals live where they do. why eat our vegetables? why plants grow where they do. wildflowers of the field and meadow. william penn and the quakers. william tell. winds and their causes. winter comes to the forest. world history: an overview. world war i: building the peace. world war i: the background. world war i: the war years. world war ii: background and causes. world war ii: - . world war ii: - . writing a good paragraph. writing a report. writing different kinds of letters. you'll find it in the library. your body grows. your body repairs and maintains itself. your communication skills: listening. your communication skills: reading. your communication skills: speaking. your communication skills: the exchange of ideas. your communication skills: writing. your job, applying for it. your job, finding the right one. your job, fitting in. your job, getting ahead. your job, good work habits. your job, you and your boss. your nervous system. your study methods. your thrift habits. zoo animals in rhyme. corrigan, james paul. america vs. germany. cort, van. mail order bride. cortazar, julio. blowup. corwin (raymond a.) productions, inc. the new breed of american. the new breed of american (sales film). cory, desmond. deadfall. cosmos broadcasting corp. the big market on the corner. cosmotel, a.g. la boheme. costello (charles) productions. fishermen's paradise. costello, charles i. fishermen's paradise. cotlar, morton. managerial analysis. cotler, gordon. arabesque. the horizontal lieutenant. cottage industries, inc. my mother, the car. cottrell, dorothy. secret of the purple reef. council of california growers. horizon. why braceros? council of churches. national capital area. introduction to the old testament, parts & . the life and teaching of jesus: lessons - , parts & . country arts enterprises. the country music show of shows. courageous films, inc. ambush bay. don't worry, we'll think of a title. court production. the war lord. couteaux, andre. male companion. covenant communications corp. forty-two: six. covino, salvatore t. george washington in new jersey. cowan (maurice) production. operation amsterdam. cowden, jack. flipper. coxe, louis o. billy budd. craig, peter. jack the ripper. crandell, edwin w. grand blanc, its system of education. crane, james s. see big game hunting service. crawford, bryce, jr. molecular spectroscopy. crawley films. bear trouble. the beginnings of exploration. the english and dutch explorers. the french explorers. the girl in the white hat. the house that jack built. the kid. miss esta maude's secret. molecular theory of matter. old mother hubbard and her dog. the old woman and her pig. sophocles the hyena. the spanish explorers. tony's good luck. crawshaw, h. g. the bad strangers. creative productions, inc. george washington in new jersey. creative visual media, inc. saddle up. still more jack from your beanstalk. winning the worm war. creditors co. the creditors. crescent productions, inc. dead heat on a merry-go-round. crescent productions, ltd. in the wake of a stranger. crichton, kyle. the happiest millionaire. crichton, robert. the great impostor. the secret of santa vittoria. crilly, g. spencer. sisters in leather. crilly, george s. the screentest girls. crimi, alfred d. the making and fascination of fresco painting. crisp, frank. blood beast from outer space. criterion-c.c.c. films. the world in my pocket. criterion film. amazons of rome. crop. operation development. crosby (bing) productions. ben casey. the bing crosby show. breaking point. high time. slattery's people. crosby (bing) productions, inc. walter schwimmer division. see schwimmer, walter. cross, neill c. hot dog on a stick. cross (neill c.) enterprises. hot dog on a stick. crossbow productions, inc. the critic. crouse, russel. the sound of music. tall story. crowden (william) productions. cymbal techniques. timpani techniques. crown international pictures, inc. terrified. crump, owen. the couch. cullen associates. from generation to generation. culligan, inc. tribute to a money maker. cummings, don. birth of grand ole opry. cummings (jack) productions, inc. bachelor flat. viva las vegas. cummings-harman productions. the second time around. cumulus productions, ltd. judith. cunningham, e. v. penelope. sylvia. curtas, paulette c. embryology of a chick. curtis (bruce cohn) films, ltd. otley. curtis, peter. the devil's own. curtis, ursula. i saw what you did. curtis enterprises, inc. forty pounds of trouble. curtleigh productions, inc. the young juggler. curwood, james oliver. nikki, wild dog of the north. cushman, dan. stay away, joe. cyclone films, ltd. maroc . d dca, inc. see dallas cinema associates, inc. ddd productions. mister buddwing. d.r.m.-raymond stross-production. the night fighters. daggett, avalon. marsh treasures. marshes of the mississippi. rice, america's food for the world. daggett (avalon) productions. rice, america's food for the world. dahl, roald. hours. dahlia productions, inc. war. daiei motion picture co. flight from ashiya. daisy productions. that girl. dallas cinema associates, inc. president kennedy's final hour, dallas, november , . dalton film co. dalton that got away. dance in education fund. trustees. youth dances. daneau, ed. air fair. danielewaki, tad. the guide. danjaq, s.a. call me bwana. from russia with love. goldfinger. thunderball. you only live twice. danziger productions, ltd. the great van robbery. darcy, robert l. everyday economic terms. darcy associates, inc. think about it. dard, frederic. nude in a white car. paris pick-up. dariell productions, inc. dennis the menace. darien, georges. the thief of paris. darlington films, inc. thunder in carolina. darnall, j. s. prepare for the storm. dart industries, inc. tupperware toys. dartnell corp. developing your sales personality. dr. norman vincent peale on how to raise your batting average in selling. how to make an effective sales presentation. how to prevent objection in selling. how to select salesmen who can and will sell. how to sell creatively. it's time to sell creatively. the selling secrets of ben franklin. taking the butt out of rebuttal. what it takes to be a real salesman. data processing division, advanced systems development division of international business machines corp. see international business machines corp. data processing division. dateline film production, ltd. the sporting british. datry, sonny. the diary of a high school bride. davana, inc. oh! those bells. david (ray) productions, inc. alvarez kelly. david (saul) productions, inc. in like flint. davidson, ronald. the young and the brave. davidson films. acid-base indicators. addition and its properties. addition and subtraction algorithms. beginning number concepts. chemical bonding. chemical families. development of our decimal numeration system. division. division algorithms. fire fighter. the hydrogen atom as viewed by quantum mechanics (advanced version). the hydrogen atom as viewed by quantum mechanics (standard version). multiplication algorithms and the distributive property. subtraction. the whole number key ideas. davies, hunter. here we go round the mulberry bush. davies, jack. it started in naples. davies, leslie p. project x. davies, llewella. o'clock scholar. davis, desmond. bardell vs. pickwick. david and betsey trotwood. david and dora. david and dora married. david and his mother. david and mr. micawber. miss havisham. mr. jingle at dingley dell. mr. pickwick's dilemma. the old soldier. the runaways. sam weller and his father. uriah heep. davis, gwen. what a way to go! davis, jack. see london-aire, ltd. davis, james f. advance advertising for television. davis, lucile. piano playtime. davis (luther) productions, inc. lady in a cage. davis, philip. operation moonshot. davis (richard)-jolly film production. the magic world of topo gigio. davis, richard harding. walt disney's wonderful world of color. davis (robert) productions. building better boys. davis, stanley. the flamingo. dawn productions, inc. nature camp diary. dawson (larry) productions. glen canyon. an island in time. no room for wilderness. redwoods--saved? dawson, ted d. the introduction to the metric system. daystar productions. hero's island. the marriage-go-round. daystar productions, inc. the outer limits. daystar-united artists t.v. stoney burke. daystar-villa di stefano-u. a. the outer limits. deal, borden. wild river. deal films, inc. the curse of the living corpse. de antonio, emile. charge and countercharge: a film of the era of sen. joseph r. mccarthy. dear film, s.p.a. the visit. dear film produzione, s.p.a. jessica. dear films productions. el cid. deason, paul. store. deblasio, edward. the legend of lylah clare. dee cee productions, inc. killers three. deere & co. introducing the jd motor grader. introducing the new jd , john deere's better idea for a motor grader. defender productions, inc. the defenders. de filippo, eduardo. see filippo, eduardo de. defoe, daniel. the amorous adventures of moll flanders. robinson crusoe on mars. defrenes co. design for a city. form, design, and the city. de grazia, alfred. building political leadership. de grunwald (anatole) ltd. trial and error. de grunwald (dimitri) production. i like money. the millionairess. de hartog, jan. lisa. the spiral road. dehaven-girard production. dead heat on a merry-go-round. deighton, len. funeral in berlin. the ipcress file. only when i larf. deighton/duffy productions, ltd. only when i larf. deitch, gene. samson scrap. de la salle, pierre. duffy. de laurentiis, dino. see laurentiis, dino de. de laval separator co. the greatest milking hand that ever touched a cow. delco radio division, general motors corp. see general motors corp. delco radio division. del grosso, remigio. see grosso, remigio del. delessert, jacquine. of love and desire. del monte, joseph mendez. citizen smith. delos productions, inc. the subject was roses. delta film productions, inc. volumes of cubes, prisms, and cylinders. volumes of pyramids, cones, and spheres. delta films, inc. rope of flesh. delta films international. a report from san juan. de luxe reading corp. baby boo nightime. go go jingle, topper toys. johnny express. demand pictures, inc. nature in the raw. de maupassant, guy. see maupassant, guy de. de met (peter) productions. championship bowling. deming, richard. arrivederci, baby! dena-capri production. on the double. dena corp. the john gary show. dena pictures, inc. the danny kaye show. the man from the diner's club. on the double. deneen, william. the secret. denevi, marco. secret ceremony. denham, reginald. mad room. denker, henry. the greatest story ever told. dennis, patrick. auntie mame. denniston, george c. beyond conception. denove, jack. here is tomorrow. denove (jack) productions, inc. here is tomorrow. denver. public schools. cursive writing, grade , lesson - . dept. of agricultural economics, university of md. see maryland. university. dept. of agricultural economics. dept. of airports, los angeles. see los angeles. dept. of airports. department of anesthesiology, university of michigan medical center. see michigan. university. medical center. dept. of anesthesiology. dept. of anthropology, university of california. see california. university. dept. of anthropology. department of audio-visual education. kansas university school of medicine. see kansas. university. school of medicine. dept. of audio-visual education. dept. of biology, university of colorado. see colorado. university. dept. of biology. dept. of chemistry, university of california. see california. university. dept. of chemistry. dept. of education for missions, national council of churches of christ in the u.s.a. see national council of churches of christ in the u.s.a. dept. of education for missions. dept. of family, board of education, the methodist church. see methodist church (united states) board of education. dept. of family. dept. of fine arts, indiana university. see indiana. university. dept. of fine arts. department of fine arts, university of colorado. see colorado. university. department of fine arts. dept. of internal affairs, commonwealth of pennsylvania. see pennsylvania. dept. of internal affairs. dept. of hospitals, city of new york. see new york (city) dept. of hospitals. dept. of motion picture productions, brigham young university. see young (brigham) university, provo, utah. dept. of motion picture productions. dept. of nursing, college of saint teresa. see college of saint teresa, winona, minn. dept. of nursing. department of pharmacology, university of michigan medical center. see michigan. university. medical center. dept. of pharmacology. dept. physical training for men, university of texas at austin. see texas. university at austin. dept. physical training for men. dept. of radio & television, national lutheran council. see national lutheran council. dept. of radio & television. dept. of stewardship & benevolence, national council of churches of christ in the u.s.a. see national council of churches of christ in the u.s.a. dept. of stewardship & benevolence. dept. of transportation, sales-training films, inc. see sales-training films, inc. dept. of transportation. depatie-freleng enterprises, inc. star kist foods television commercials. de quincey, thomas. confessions of an opium eater. d'eramo, giovanni. the spartans. deran productions, inc. andy. deray, jacques. rififi in tokyo. derby foods, inc. sky king. de riopelle, angelina blanco. see riopelle, angelina blanco de. de rochemont (heath) corp. see rochemont (heath de) corp. de rochemont (louis) cinemiracle productions, inc. windjammer. de santo, robert s. marine explorations, no. . desilu productions, inc. the ann sothern show. december bride. fair exchange. glynis. grand jury. the greatest show on earth. guestward ho. harrigan and son. i love lucy. the lucille ball-desi arnaz show. the lucy show. official detective. sheriff of cochise. the texan. this is alice. united states marshal. the untouchables. vacation playhouse. the walter winchell file. the westinghouse-desilu playhouse. whirlybirds. desilu-walden productions. yours, mine and ours. des ligneris, francoise. see ligneris, francoise des. desvallieres, maurice. hotel paradiso. detroit. detroit, city on the move. detroit edison co. pathways to progress. detroit historical society guild. journey to yesterday. detroit news. market detroit. name of the game is green. detroit society for the prevention of blindness. take your choice. deutsche fox film, g.m.b.h. the visit. development corp. for israel. israel. devine, j. llewellyn. the gorgon. devonshire pictures, inc. robinson crusoe on mars. dewey & almy chemical division, w. r. grace & co. see grace (w. r.) & co. dewey & almy chemical division. dewlen, al. ride beyond vengeance. twilight of honor. de wohl, louis. francis of assisi. diagnostic division, ortho pharmaceutical corp. see ortho pharmaceutical corp. diagnostic division. diane productions. paris blues. diapulse corp. of america. acceleration of post operative healing in dental surgical procedures with diapulse therapy. arthritis. experimental acceleration of wound healing. post operative hip joint infections treated with p.h.f. energy. dick (a. b.) co. the action leader. just open the door. over the horizon. dickens, charles. david and mr. micawber. miss havisham. mr. pickwick's dilemma. oliver. uriah heep. dickensian society. bardell vs. pickwick. a christmas carol. david and betsey trotwood. david and dora. david and dora married. david and his mother. david and mr. micawber. miss havisham. mr. jingle at dingley dell. mr. pickwick's dilemma. the old soldier. the runaways. sam weller and his father. uriah heep. dickerman, marion. fdr films. dickert, lois. ladybug, ladybug. dickey, paul. brand x, t.v. test pattern. dieter, clarence. preparation of stained wet mount from throat swab. dietrich, clair m. health-o-ciser. di lampedusa, giuseppe tomasi. see lampedusa, giuseppe tomasi di. din, jalal. maya. dippell, george j. sans egal. discobolo film. the ugly ones. discovery productions, inc. the common good, new york state's legislature in action. discovery teaching films, inc. lincoln's gold. disney (walt) productions. the absent-minded professor. the adventures of bullwhip griffin. almost angels. aquamania. babes in toyland. big red. blackbeard's ghost. bon voyage. charlie the lonesome cougar. circarama u.s.a. the computer wore tennis shoes. a country coyote goes hollywood. the danube. disneyland. donald and the wheel. donald's fire survival plan. emil and the detectives. family planning. the fighting prince of donegal. follow me, boys! freewayphobia, no. . gala day at disneyland. the gnome-mobile. goliath ii. goofy's freeway troubles. greyfriars bobby. hang your hat on the wind. the happiest millionaire. the horse in the gray flannel suit. the horse with the flying tail. the hound that thought he was a raccoon. the incredible journey. islands of the sea. it's a small world. it's tough to be a bird. japan. the jungle book. jungle cat. kidnapped. the legend of lobo. the legend of the boy and the eagle. lt. robin crusoe, u. s. n. the litterbug. the love bug. mary poppins. mickey mouse club television show. the miracle of the white stallions. the misadventures of merlin jones. monkeys, go home! the monkey's uncle. moon pilot. the moon-spinners. mysteries of the deep. never a dull moment. nikki, wild dog of the north. the one and only, genuine, original family band. one hundred and one dalmatians. the parent trap. pollyanna. rascal. the restless sea. run, appaloosa, run. the saga of windwagon smith. savage sam. scrooge mcduck and money. the search of the castaways. the sign of zorro. smith. son of flubber. summer magic. swiss family robinson. the sword in the stone. symposium on popular songs. the tattooed police horse. ten who dared. that darn cat. those calloways. the three lives of thomasina. a tiger walks. toby tyler. the ugly dachshund. walt disney presents. walt disney's wonderful world of color. winnie the pooh and the blustery day. winnie the pooh and the honey tree. yellowstone cubs. zorro. distinguished contributors films, inc. c. gilbert wrenn, the contemporary counselor. e. joseph shoben, jr.--student unrest: the climate of protest. this student generation: conflict and commitment. district , pennsylvania chiropractic society. see pennsylvania chiropractic society. district . diversey corp. the invaders. divina film. the trapp family. division of biology & medicine of the u.s. atomic energy commission. see u.s. atomic energy commission. division of biology & medicine. division of cinema, university of southern california. see university of southern california, los angeles. division of cinema. division of extension & general studies, university of virginia. see virginia. university. division of extension & general studies. dobie, laurence. the young and the willing. dobil productions, inc. the time travelers. dochtermann, wolfram j. the split second. doctorow, e. l. welcome to hard times. documentary film group. the college. documentary film, inc. the truth about communism. documentary films. fun with parachutes. documentary programs, inc. music of the new world: music of the hills. music of the new world: song of the drums. documento film. anyone can play. blood and roses. documento film-orsay film co-production. the warrior empress. dodge, david. plunder of the sun. domino productions, ltd. interlude. nothing but the best. donegan, james j. see invest in california co. donen (stanley) enterprises, ltd. arabesque. bedazzled. surprise package. donen (stanley) films, inc. once more, with feeling. two for the road. donlevy development co., inc. dangerous assignment. donnelley (r. r.) & sons co. craftsmanship and automation. donovan, charles carroll, jr. blackie, quarterback. donovan (kevin) films. injection techniques for some common foot disorders. donovan (kevin) films, inc. funguous infections of the foot. donovan, robert j. pt . donwin productions, ltd. the trunk. dorchester productions, inc. ocean's . dore, henry a. the buddha. doremus & co. teijin limited: past, present, and possible futures. dorso, frank. fly hijack. the house fly guest. doubleday & co., inc. unfinished stories. douglas, flora e. children of denmark. douglas aircraft co., inc. a script for scandinavia. venezuelan adventure. douglas & lewis productions, inc. seconds. dover productions, inc. hud. dow chemical co. eg- . the happy history of harry hawthorn and harry, jr. high and dry. make way for magnesium. dow corning corp. shoe saver. suede saver. dowling, pat. family in tokyo. dowling (pat) pictures. colors are useful. copper mining. family in tokyo. hawaii, the sugar state. how electricity is produced. insect collecting. insect mounting and preserving. wildlife refuge. the wind at work. dowling, paul h. hawaii, the sugar state. wildlife refuge. downes, donald. the pigeon that took rome. doyle, sir arthur conan. a study in terror. doyle, monte. signpost to murder. doyle dane bernbach, inc. aluminum top. applause meter. army training. aroma. band concert. bar window. baseball. bowling. bubble dancer. by the sea. corner. costume ball. countess sings. doilies. dooley floats. dooley's conscience. english lesson. folk song. gilbert & sullivan. glass can. greenwich village. happy people. harmonica. head. hello-goodbye. honky tonk. house wrecking. imposter. in the box. instant beer. interview. label. lullaby. meeting of the utica club. mirror. miss utica club. mug exhibit. mugnapped. munchauser. questions. on the swings. on the tray. one punch. opera. operation cold pack. photographer. pinball machine. poppit can. prohibition. real countess. relaxation. roaring twenties. romeo and juliet. sea hunt. spacemen. speeding ticket. stereoptican. sunshine. tattoo. telephone. this is your mug. toasting. twist and shimmy. variety. vaudeville. visit to germany. weather vane. western. dragnet productions. dragnet . dragnet . dramatic features, inc. chitty chitty bang bang. drawing room productions, inc. the dream life of fred ferment. dressler, irving. fly hijack. drexel films corp. the young doctors. driver education & training division, allstate insurance co. see allstate insurance co. driver education & training division. driver education division, allstate insurance co. see allstate insurance co. driver education division. drought, james. the gypsy moths. drummond, anthony. introducing washington, d.c. little girl in bethlehem. drummond cine productions. introducing washington, d.c. little girl in bethlehem. drury, allen. advise and consent. dudley pictures corp. down jamaica way. the irish in me. puerto rican playland. dürrenmatt, friedrich. the visit. dumas, alexandre. the iron mask. prisoner of the iron mask. dumaurier, daphne. the birds. duncan foods co. boutique. butter-nut bnr- - coffee klatch. butter nut coffee christmas club, . classic cup ii. dining out pool. discovery. discovery--wake up. duncan foods co. television commercials. hidden thoughts. moment of truth, mci- - . porcelain. rip-cord. royal vienna. sculptured canister. silver sweepstakes. wall safe, $ . reward. dungan (ellis) productions. high speed steel. dungan-roberts productions. only for a moment. dunham (k. h.) co. real estate private auction (p.a.) and b.b.(best buy) sales listing. dunham, kenneth. real estate private auction (p.a.) and b.b. (best buy) sales listing. dunn, coletta, sister. religious readiness films for retarded children. dunn, danny. son of flubber. dunn, nell. up the junction. du pont (henry francis) winterthur museum, inc. the gardens of winterthur. du pont de nemours (e. i.) & co. the better way to platemaking and printing. good hand, good eye. + + . the unseen harvesters. du pont de nemours (e. i.) & co., inc. advance in pipe tracing. better water for better living. cantrece. the du pont film combining unit in commercial operation. the hero. hook line and what knot? it's a different story. keeping current in plastics. the story of woven stretch. tedlar, the finish we can't wear out. the way it is with man-made fibers. the well mannered lock. the wonderful world of nylon. ze pel fabric fluoridizer. duras, marguerite. the sailor from gibraltar. : p.m. summer. du rona productions. baby boo nightime. go go jingle, topper toys. johnny express. durrance (dick) films. ski america. durrell, lawrence. judith. durum wheat institute. how to prepare and serve spaghetti, macaroni, noodles. duvivier, julien. paris when it sizzles. dynamic. cancer of the skin. dynamic films, inc. the golden door. speedway international. dynasty film corp. too soon to love. dyott, george m. manhunt in the jungle. e ebco manufacturing co. cakes, cars, and water coolers. ebf-agi earth science series. rocks that form on the earth's surface. e. c. productions. sergeants . emc corp. data processing principles. direct access. sequential files. emc corp. film designers division. jot. essa weather bureau. flood emergency action. tornado emergency action. e. s. w. enterprises. the barbara stanwyck show. etv production. reaction, braking and stopping distances. eagleton institute of politics, rutgers the state university. see rutgers university, new brunswick, n.j. eagleton institute of politics. ealing corp. allogromia sp., strain nf lee. amoeba proteus. animal camouflage, insects. capacitors and dielectrics. cecropia moth life cycle. center-of-mass pendulum. charge distribution: concentration & point discharge. charge distribution: the faraday ice pail experiment. chlamydomonas reinhardti. common american birds, feeding habits. common american birds, mallard duck. common american birds, nests and young. common american birds, owls. common american birds, robin. common american birds, swallows. common american birds, woodpeckers. conservation of energy. conservation of linear and angular momentum. conservation of momentum, elastic collisions. conservation of momentum, inelastic collisions. constant velocity and uniform acceleration. courtship in spiders. cycle of life. developing the vocabulary. difflugia corona. discoveries in three dimension. the electroscope. electrostatic induction. euglena gracilis. experiments with color. flowers and trees, bud to blossom. gyrodinium mirabilis. histological techniques: hand microtome. honeybee, swarming and formation of hive. horntail wasp, life history. horntail wasp, primary parasite. horntail wasp, quasi-primary parasite. how an air track works. how spiders capture prey, spiders with webs. how spiders capture prey, spiders without webs. an illoricate rotifer, asplanchna sieboldi. inducing frog ovulation. insulators and conductors. introduction to electrostatics. the language of maps. the lesson doesn't end. a loricate rotifer, reproduction and function of brachionus calyciflorus. a loricate rotifer, structure & function of brachionus calyciflorus. the matter of air. mitosis in endosperm of haemanthus katherinae. monarch butterfly. newton's first and second laws. newton's third law. one dimensional motion. paramecium aurelia; part , structure and function. paramecium aurelia; part , reproduction the photoelectric effect. planning the story. problems in electrostatics. removing frog pituitary. reproduction and birth. rotating reference frames. the school's environment. simple harmonic motion, the stringless pendulum. the slide rule. stentor muelleri. steps to mature reading. the van de graaff generator. vorticella campanula. warning coloration and behavior, insects. the widening world of books. ealing film. acceleration due to gravity. analysis of a hurdle race. central forces: iterated blows. colliding freight cars. collisions with an unknown object. conservation of energy, aircraft takeoff. conservation of energy, polevault. dynamics of a billiard ball. explosion of a cluster of objects. finding the speed of a rifle bullet. galilean relativity, ball dropped from mast of ship. galilean relativity, object dropped from an aircraft. galilean relativity, projectile fired vertically. gravitational potential energy. inelastic one-dimensional collisions. inelastic two-dimensional collisions. jupiter satellite orbit. kepler's laws. kinetic energy. a matter of relative motion. a method of measuring energy: nails driven into wood. one-dimensional collisions. production of sodium by electrolysis. program orbit, i. recoil. retrograde motion-geocentric model. retrograde motion, heliocentric model. reversability of time. rutherford scattering. scattering of a cluster of objects. standing electromagnetic waves. standing waves in a gas. standing waves on a string. superposition. thomson model of the atom. two-dimensional collisions. unusual orbits. vector addition: velocity of a boat. vibrations of a drum. vibrations of a metal plate. vibrations of a rubber hose. vibrations of a wire. earle, william p. s. the film parade. early american life insurance co. that certain feeling. earp (wyatt) enterprises, inc. the life and legend of wyatt earp. east coast productions, inc. blue monday. east is red enterprises. the east is red. eastin-phelan corp. big boy and his brothers. buffalo bill's wild west show. the cedar rapids & iowa city ry. the days of steam on the l. & n. five midwestern railroads in the days of steam. from horse car to subway in new york city. prevue . rio grande southern and the trestles of ophir. ten wheeler to duplex. three transcontinentals. eastlake, william. castle keep. eastman chemical products, inc. click: pictures & plastics. modern hay baling with plastic twine. sign up with plastic sheet made from tenite butyrate plastic. eastman kodak co. av tr, a kodak pageant projector. assignment jet colorama. cameras and careers. chemical milling with kodak photo resists. click: pictures & plastics. color collage. copy secrets. the ektalith method. the finger lakes. focus on fitness. garden notebook, best in the world, your camera and kodak color film. how film is made for your camera. how kodalith film is made. inside story. know thyself. kodak pageant projector av tr. kodak reflex special camera. a look at photolithography--the big picture. make color your business with the ektacolor system. manufacturing highlights. modern hay baling with plastic twine. movies at work. one for the road. parents are necessary. photoengraving means business. photographer's children. photography at work, a progress report. photography--the silent witness. picture your teeth. quality in industry. a salute to the tall ships. shipboard holiday. sign up with plastic sheet made from tenite butyrate plastic. swing around brazil. the tall ships. the triumph of lester snapwell. we're on our way. what to do about it. eaton productions, inc. i thank a fool. eber, lucie. la cuisine. le moulin a cafe. repassage. eberlein, robert. store. eberlein/klingman/deason cinema productions. store. eckert, rhena schweitzer. the living work of albert schweitzer. edcom productions. there's a message in every bottle. edelman (louis f.) enterprises, inc. love and marriage. eden productions, inc. a big hand for the little lady. eddy, junius. see wilding, inc. edgemont productions. how do i love thee? edgerton, germeshausen & grier. photography of nuclear detonations. edic films. the sea pirate. edinboro state college. see pennsylvania. state teachers college, edinboro. edison electric institute. to be continued. editorial division of the general board of education, the methodist church. see methodist church (united states) board of education. editorial division. edlow, theodore. eye spy. edmiston, james. riders on a dead horse. edson, gus. dondi. education council of the graphic arts industry. see graphic arts industry, inc. education council. educational & musical arts, inc. landmarks of history. educational communication assn. introduction, lessons thru --first semester; introduction, lessons thru --second semester. educational communications corp. george grosz' interregnum. educational division of cascade pictures of california. see cascade pictures of california, inc. educational division. educational film division, moody institute of science. see moody institute of science. educational film division. educational research council of greater cleveland. elementary mathematics film series. how many / 's is / ? introduction to greater cleveland mathematics program. junior high mathematics film series. the missing factor problem. set comparison. the set of quotients. teaching modern mathematics in the primary grades. educational testing service. facing the test. horizons of science. edutronics, inc. data processing principles. direct access. sequential files. edwards, blake. the couch. gunn. inspector clouseau. edwards (blake) production. experiment in terror. eege associates. patients are people. effect-u-all prods., inc. th and tomorrow. effects-u-all corp. sublimated birth. ehrlich, max. the naked edge. ehrlich, paul r. natural selection. eichberg film, g.m.b.h. the mystery of thug island. eisenstein, mark. film no. . smog. ekstrom, gustave c. your daily horoscope, january . el al israel airlines, ltd. the agent's secret. elan productions, inc. the tiger makes out. el camino productions, inc. pete and gladys. elder, john. the mummy's shroud. eldorado pictures, s.a. mary had a little.... three on a spree. electric utilities television, kelsey-fraser productions. see kelsey-fraser productions. electric utilities television. electronic computer programming institute of fort wayne, inc. changes in our times. your opportunity. electronics associates, inc. plotlines-graphic data processing. electronovision productions, inc. hamlet. elektra studios, inc. genesis. elford, owen. all in a night's work. elgar (peter) productions, inc. brewers' heritage. elgar, peter f. brewers' heritage. elks, benevolent and protective order of. idaho state elks assn. rehabilitation center. elli, frank. riot. ellin, stanley. nothing but the best. ello productions, ltd. the traitors. ellsworth, robert j. fathoms plus. el monte productions. tank commando. eltee productions, inc. madame x. ely, david. seconds. elysium, inc. barely teens. beauty mudbath. boulder venture. the camp crowd. camp out. caribbean cruise. fire water. nude leisure. photo fun frolic. picture posing. rock rompers. sunfun games. embassy international pictures corp. the wonders of aladdin. embassy pictures corp. bimbo the great. the carpetbaggers. the fabulous world of jules verne. harlow. long day's journey into night. nevada smith. where love has gone. embassy pictures production. jack the ripper. emberley, barbara. reading incentive film series. emblem productions, ltd. sword of lancelot. emcee, s.a. coire. hennesey. emenegger, robert. roman life in ancient pompeii. emery, parris. alaska earthquake. the good friday alaska earthquake. midwest floods, no. - . tornado disasters. emily films, inc. the king of madison avenue. emirau productions, inc. gunslinger. emmanuel films. beyond a doubt. emmauele, luigi. amazons of rome. empire photosound, inc. metal forming processes. empire state building co. my city. emshwiller project co. time of the heathen. encyclopaedia britannica educational corp. alaska, settling a new frontier. the artist at work, jacques lipchitz: master sculptor. atlantic crossing, life on an ocean liner. an autumn story: mrs. pennypacker's package. bartleby. the blue dashiki: jeffrey and his city neighbors. china: a portrait of the land. china's industrial revolution. china's villages in change. chromosomes of man. city in winter. cloth, fiber to fabric. the coniferous forest biome. the doctor. dr. leakey and the dawn of man. a doll's house. the ears and hearing. equality under law. equality under law: the california fair housing cases. the eyes and seeing. fantasy of feet. the farm community. farm family in spring. farm family in summer. farm family in winter. free press vs. fair trial by jury: the sheppard case. freedom to speak, people of new york vs. irving feiner. getting the news. green plants and sunlight. the grizzly bear: a case study in field research. growing. guessing game. hands grow up. heritage in black. the hidden world: a study of insects. the house of man, part ii: our crowded environment. how solid is rock? if you could see the earth. the industrial revolution, beginnings in the united states. insect parasitism: the alder woodwasp and its enemies. the interior west: the land nobody wanted. join hands, let go. kentucky pioneers. learning to use your senses. let them learn. liberty under law: the schempp case, bible reading in public schools. library of congress. life story of a social insect: the ant. life story of the grasshopper. looking at mammals. magic hands. magic prison. magic sneakers. making the desert green. making the things we need (division of labor) man's basic need: natural resources. manuel from puerto rico. meaning in modern painting. the medieval mind. midwest, heartland of the nation. mike and steve visit the shopping center. the monarch butterfly story. muscle: chemistry of contraction. muscle: dynamics of contraction. muscle: electrical activity of contraction. new england fisherman. new england town , call of the frontier. the night sky. numerals everywhere. orange grower. the origin of life: chemical evolution. our community services. the pacific west. photosynthesis. the policeman. problems of conservation: air. problems of conservation: forest and range. problems of conservation: minerals. problems of conservation: soil. problems of conservation: water. radioisotopes: tools of discovery. respiration in man. the rise of labor. sheep rancher. siqueiros, el maestro. skiing: beginning movements. the south: roots of urban crisis. spring in the city. a story of discovery: why plants bend toward light. theories on the origin of life. things change: solids, liquids, gases. what color are you? why fathers work. the winged world, instinct and intelligence in birds. yugoslav boy: story of frane. encyclopaedia britannica films, inc. adaptive radiation; the mollusks. air and what it does. an airplane trip by jet. airport in the jet age. alaska: the th. state--its people and resources. allied victory. the american flag--the story of old glory. amphibian embryo: frog, toad, and salamander. analytical balance, tare weight determination. analytical balance, weighing sample and container. angiosperms--the flowering plants. animal tracks and signs. animals at night. animals useful to man. the apple tree. aristotle's ethics, book i: the theory of happiness. army ants, a study in social behavior. the art of huckleberry finn. art of the middle ages: medieval france. art: what is it? why is it? arts and crafts of mexico. athens, the golden age. atomic energy, inside the atom. bacteria. the beach, a river of sand. the beginnings of exploration. beginnings of vertebrate life. berlin: test for the west. the blood. blood smear preparation. boats and ships. brazil: people of the highlands. bread. britain: searching for a new role. building a house. buoyancy in gas. buoyancy in liquids. the calendar: our record of time. canada's royal canadian mounted police. care of pets. cattleman: a rancher's story. the cave community. cave dwellers of the old stone age. charlemagne, unifier of europe. charting the universe with optical and radio telescopes. chartres cathedral. chicago, midland metropolis. the chick embryo: from streak to hatching. china under communism. the city. city bus driver. classical civilization: emperor and slave. classical civilization: the spirit of rome. claudius, boy of ancient rome. colombia and venezuela. the community. the congress. continent of africa (lands below the sahara). corky the crow. the corn farmer. the cotton farmer. crossing drosophila. dna: molecule of heredity. the danube: the valley and its people. danzas regionales espanolas. decanting and washing a residue. density. the desert. the desert community. a dialogue for this decade. the digestive system. discovering the forest. distribution of plants and animals. drosophila medium preparation. early victorian england and charles dickens. the earth in change: the earth's crust. east africa: kenya, tanganyika, uganda. echinoderms: sea stars and their relatives. eclipses of the sun and moon. egypt: cradle of civilization. electricity and how it is made. electromagnets--how they work. electrons at work. energy and work. the english and dutch explorers. erosion: leveling the land. eskimo family. evidence for molecules and atoms. evidence for the ice age. evolution of vascular plants: the ferns. experimenting with animals, white rats. explaining matter: chemical change. eyes and vision. filtering. fire: what makes it burn. the first many-celled animals: sponges. first men into space: solving the space survival problems. the fish in a changing environment. flatworms: platyhelminthes. flowering plants and their parts. food from the sun. forces. france in the new world (colonial life in canada). the french and indian war: seven years' war in america. the french explorers. the fresh water pond. the frog: anatomy of the central nervous system. the frog: breathing and respiration. the frog: circulation (arteries). the frog: circulation (veins). the frog: digestive system. the frog: external anatomy. the frog: pithing. the frog: preparation of a spinal frog. the frog: reproduction and urinary systems of the female. the frog: reproductive and urinary systems of the male. the frog: reproductive and urinary systems of the male and female compared. the frog: simple reflexes. frontier boy of the early midwest. frontiers in space. fundamentals of the nervous system. fungi. gene action. geological work of ice. the gold rush. the grasslands. gravity: how it affects us. gray squirrel. the great debate: lincoln versus douglas. great expectations. the great plains: land of risk. greek lyric poetry. the growth of plants. la guarda cuidadosa. guatemala: nation of central america. gymnosperms. los habladores. handling drosophila. heat and how we use it. hibernation and other forms of dormancy. the hospital. how pine trees reproduce; pine cone biology. how to bend light. how to measure time. how to produce electric current with magnets. huckleberry finn and the american experience. hungary and communism. in case of fire. the industrial revolution in england. insects in a garden. the interior west: the land nobody wanted. japan: harvesting the land and sea. japan: miracle in asia. japanese boy, the story of taro. the jointed-legged animals: anthropods. julius caesar: the rise of the roman empire. justice under law: the gideon case. the land and the people. the language of maps. laws of heredity. learning about bears. learning about seeds. the library: a place for discovery. a library is a place where. life between tides. life in a vacant lot. life in ancient rome. life story of a moth, the silkworm. life story of a snake. life story of a water flea, daphnia. life story of ladybird beetle. life story of the crayfish. life story of the earthworm. life story of the hummingbird. life story of the paramecium. life story of the red-winged blackbird. life story of the sea star. life story of the snail. life story of the toad. light and color. light and what it does. lines in relief, woodcut and block printing. living things are everywhere. living things in a drop of water. looking at amphibians. looking at birds. looking at reptiles. macbeth, part i: the politics of power. macbeth, part ii: the themes of macbeth. macbeth, part iii: the secret'st man. maestros de la pintura. magnetic, electric, and gravitational fields. the mailman. making the desert green. making things move. making work faster. maps for a changing world. the marine biologist. the marsh community. the mayor. the mediterranean world. megalopolis--cradle of the future. meiosis: sex cell formation. message from a dinosaur. metamorphosis: life story of the wasp. mexican boy: the story of pablo. mexico: the land and the people. michelangelo. migration of birds--the canada goose. mitosis. molecular theory of matter. money and its uses. natural selection. neighborhoods are different. the nile valley and its people. the northeast, gateway for a nation. the northeast, headquarters for a nation. the novel: what it is, what it's about, what it does. oasis. the odyssey i: structure of the epic. the odyssey ii: the return of odysseus. the odyssey iii: the central themes. origin of land plants: liverworts and mosses. our changing way of life: the dairy farmer. our changing way of life: the lumberman. our post office. the panama canal: gateway to the world. parasitism (parasitic flatworms) phase change. the philippines: land and people. photosynthesis. the physical environment. planets in orbit--the laws of kepler. plankton and the open sea. plankton: pastures of the ocean. the plantation south. plato's apology, the life and teachings of socrates. poland and the soviet power; background to recent history. poland: land under communism. the policeman. population ecology. poultry on the farm. prehistoric man in northern europe. project discovery, a demonstration in education. pueblo andaluz. puerto rico: its past, present, and promise. the railroad builders. the republic of south africa, its land and its people. the river valley. rocks that form on the earth's surface. rocks that originate underground. safety in the home. safety on the street. safety with electricity. the st. lawrence seaway. santa fe and the trail. scandinavia: norway, sweden, denmark. school for ted. the sea. seaport. the second world war: prelude to conflict. seed germination. segmentation: the annelid worms. settlement of the mississippi valley. settlers of the old northwest territory. settling of the great plains. simple machines: the inclined plane family. simple machines: the lever family (lever, pulley, wheel and axle) simple plants: the algae. the single-celled animals: protozoa. social insects: the honeybee. sound and how it travels. the soviet challenge; industrial revolution in russia. space probes: exploring our solar system. spain in the new world: colonial life in mexico. spanish children. the spanish explorers. stars and star systems. the steam engine: how it works. stinging celled animals: coelenterates. the story of the oyster. succession--from sand dune to forest. the suez canal: gateway to world trade. switzerland: life in a mountain village. teaching french with films, part i: listening and speaking. the temperate deciduous forest. texas and the mexican war. thermometers and how they work. titrating with phenolphtalein. trees and their importance. a trip to the planets. triumph of the axis. the tropical rain forest. turkey, emergence of a modern nation. u.s.a. capital city, washington, d.c. the unique contribution. using a burette. using maps, measuring distance. the van allen radiation belts. viaje por el norte de espana. viaje por el sur de espana. vibrations. el villano en su rincon. volume. water and what it does. waves and energy. waves on water. weather satellites. weighing procedure. weighing, triple beam balance. west africa (nigeria) the west indies. what does huckleberry finn say? what is a bird? what is a fish? what is a mammal? what is a reptile? what is an amphibian? what is ecology? what is electric current? what is space? what is uniform motion? what makes clouds? what makes the wind blow? which way is north? why do we still have mountains? why seasons change. wind and what it does. woody woodchuck's adventure. your body and its parts. your ears. your eyes. your food. your protection against disease. your sleep and rest. your teeth. zoo baby animals. enders (robert j.) inc. a thunder of drums. endore, guy. the curse of the werewolf. engel (samuel g.) productions, inc. the story of ruth. england, michael. the abyss. enriquez, ernesto. guns for san sebastian. environmental science services administration. hurricane. eon productions, ltd. call me bwana. dr. no. ephron, henry. take her, she's mine. ephron, phoebe. take her, she's mine. epstein, david. the common good, new york state's legislature in action. equitable life assurance society of the united states. mission: u.s.a. youth physical fitness. ericson, walter. mirage. erma filmproduktionsgesellschaft. sissi. erskine (william c.) tv sales. the adventures of dolly and daniel whale. erskine-lindop, audrey. i thank a fool. ertz, susan. in the cool of the day. esamer of spain. pyro. esquire, inc. coronet instructional films. see coronet instructional films. essen productions. sting of death. essex-claude productions. sergeants . essex productions, inc. come blow your horn. glynis. x- . esto pub. co. the art of etching. eternal films, ltd. the price of silence. ethiro productions, ltd. the shakedown. ets, marie hall. in the forest. etude films. anatole and the piano. eupolis productions, inc. car , where are you? euramerica, inc. video productions international. see video productions international. euripides. electra. euro international films, s.p.a. once upon a time in the west. euterpe, inc. the courtship of eddie's father. girl happy. the horizontal lieutenant. jumbo. looking for love. made in paris. penelope. please don't eat the daisies. spinout. a ticklish affair. where the boys are. evans, max. the rounders. evans, richard l. let freedom ring. evans industries. advanced city driving. city driving. driving after dark. highway driving. in reverse. let's review. parking. the start of good driving. evans industries, inc. expressways are different. eve productions, inc. cherry, harry & raquel. europe in the raw. eve and the handyman. faster pussycat! kill! kill! finders keepers, lovers weepers. good morning, and goodbye! heavenly bodies. how much loving does a normal couple need? lorna. mondo topless. motorpsycho. skyscrapers & brassieres. vixen. evening star broadcasting co. behold, a child is born. behold the lamb of god. evening star broadcasting tele-image. everest pictures, ltd. dangerous youth. everett, mrs. faye p. see everett, syble byrd. everett, syble byrd. the races of men. everglades productions, ltd. georgy girl. excalibur films, ltd. man in the moon. ex-cell-o corp. business news report. small world. ex-cell-o corp. pure pak division. small world. technique for life. excelsa-ponti-de laurentiis. the unfaithfuls. exclusive film enterprises, inc. king in shadow. exclusive international films, inc. king in shadow. the price of silence f f.a.i. films artistici intarnazionali, s.r.l. the taming of the shrew. f. & f. productions, inc. the great sioux massacre. shock corridor. f & h enterprises. big medicine. the land of the pink snow. f & j pictures, inc. frankie and johnny. f-h productions. topkapi. fkb enterprises. father knows best. fom. aladdin. the lion and the mouse. the nightingale. the traveling musicians. the ugly duckling. fagan, charles r. art linkletter in viet nam and the far east. faherty, william barby. guns for san sebastian. fairbanks (douglas) pictures corp. the thief of bagdad. fairbanks, douglas, jr. the taming of the shrew. fairbanks (jerry) productions. the big question. fairchild, william. the last shot you hear. fairfield associates, inc. connecting wires in an outlet box. convenience outlet installation. outlet box installation. rewiring a lamp. the third wire can save your life. toggle switch installation. trouble shooting a bell circuit. wiring a box with armored cable. wiring an attachment plug. fairman productions, inc. the flight of santa one. fairview productions. d man. fairview productions, inc. dinosaurus! the oldest profession. virgin island, u.s.a. fairway-international films. the sadist. fairway productions. challenge golf. falcon films, ltd. scream of fear. falcon international corp. under age. falcon international productions, inc. death curse of tartu. famartists productions, s.a. the group. what's new pussycat? family affair co. family affair. family service assn. of america. eye of the hurricane. family theater, inc. the fifteen mysteries of the rosary. famous artists productions. the group. walk on the wild side. what's new pussycat? famous artists productions, ltd. casino royale. the honey pot. famous players corp. college confidential. fanny hill: memoirs of a woman of pleasure. the incredible sex revolution. movie star, american style. on her bed of roses. the private lives of adam & eve. fanfare film productions, inc. angels from hell. fanfare films, inc. paradisio. fanfare films, ltd. the boy who stole a million. fant, louie j., jr. filmed instruction in the language of signs. fantasy films. the notorious daughter of fanny hill. farr, joseph w. your decision! or? farrell, henry. hush, hush, sweet charlotte. what ever happened to baby jane? farrell, james t. studs lonigan. farrell (matt) productions, inc. basic reproduction processes in the graphic arts. farrell (virginia) inc. precision hairstyling. fast, howard. man in the middle. spartacus. faulkner, william. sanctuary. faye, doris. the talking torso. feature film corp. of america. cyborg . dimension . a face of war. feature products, inc. dial-o-matic. feathertouch, kitchen magician. healthpan. introducing mince-o-matic. let's make a menu with mince-o-matic. veg-o-matic. feature story film productions. forward march. fedderson (don) productions. family affair. the millionaire. my three sons. feder, sid. murder, inc. federation of protestant welfare agencies. a child waits. feiel, g. m. building economic understanding: investing for future growth. feigelson, julius d. the bowman. one of the missing. feil (edward) productions. the inner world of aphasia. safety in the chemical laboratory. feinberg, robert. the american way. felix the cat productions, inc. felix the cat. pat sullivan's felix the cat. fellman, david. building political leadership. feltner, c. e., jr. america's answer to communism. fenix film. kid rodelo. ferber, edna. cimmaron. ice palace. fernandez, betty. walt disney's wonderful world of color. fernwood productions, inc. not with my wife, you don't. strange bedfellows. ferrion, inc. dan raven. ferster, charles b. performance development in autistic children. fertman, donald g. birth of a helicopter. festival films. unbridled glory. feuer, otto. si si fly. fever heat, ltd. fever heat. feydeau, georges. a flea in her ear. hotel paradiso. fickling, gloria. honey west. fickling, skip. honey west. fidelity bankers life insurance co. double entry. fides-musa production. the nights of lucretia borgia. field communications corp. amazon jungle adventure. antarctic adventure. eastern national parks. louisiana bayou country. seeing italy. south american highlights. fielding, henry. tom jones. fields, joseph. happy anniversary. fields, sid o. communist imperialism. crisis for americans: communist accent on youth. the truth about communism. fields (sid o.) productions. communist imperialism. crisis for americans: communist accent on youth. the truth about communism. fields productions, inc. happy anniversary. fienburgh, wilfred. no love for johnnie. fildebroc, s.a. le diable par le queue. filipinas productions, inc. the walls of hell. filippo, eduardo de. ghosts, italian style. film archives. triumph des willens. film associates. shadows on our turning earth. film associates. see film associates of california. film associates of california. adding to make seven. adventure in science. animal friends. animal habitats. animals breathe in many ways. animals move in many ways. animals see in many ways. animals that fly. ants: backyard science. the aquarium: classroom science. asteroids, comets and meteorites. the background of the civil war. balance of life and the space age. basketball skills series. bees: backyard science. beetles: backyard science. behind the scenes at the supermarket. the bill of rights in action: the story of a trial. birds: how they live where they live. birds of the sandy beach. the birth and death of mountains. building a jet plane. buses that serve the community. caperucita roja. caverns and geysers. characteristics of bony fish. characteristics of the garden snail. ciliates. a city and its people. clouds. a community keeps healthy. conservation and our forests. conserving our natural resources. crickets: backyard science. darwin's finches. the dinosaur age. discovering color. discovering composition in art. discovering creative pattern. discovering dark and light. discovering form in music. discovering harmony in art. discovering ideas for art. discovering line. discovering melody and harmony. discovering numerals. discovering perspective. discovering texture. discovering the music of africa. discovering the music of japan. discovering the sound and movement of music. earth science series. earthquake. earthquake mechanisms. earthquakes and volcanoes. eggs to market: the story of automated egg processing. exploring relief printmaking. external anatomy of the ant. external anatomy of the dragonfly. the factory: how a product is made. farm babies and their mothers. fast is not a ladybug. feeding activity of the amoeba. finding your way to school safely. the fire triangle. firehouse dog. first film on insects. a first film on our library. a first film on the wind. fish are interesting. flagellates. flight of birds. food energy from the sun. food for the city: produce. food for the city: wheat and flour. food of southeast asia. fossils are interesting. fra jacobus. fray felipe. frere jacques. la gallinita roja. geometry: curves and circles. geometry: lines and shapes. geometry: some quadrilaterals. getting angry. gravity, weight, and weightlessness. how does a garden grow? how is clothing made: the story of mass production. how we explore space. how we know about the ice age. how we know the earth moves. how we know the earth's shape. how we study the sun. insect metamorphosis. insects that help us. introduction to contour drawing. introduction to drawing materials. japanese mountain family. let's make a map. let's visit a shopping center. life cycle of the ant. life cycle of the dragonfly. life in the ocean. the life of a dragonfly. life on a dead tree. life science: response in a simple animal. locomotion of the amoeba. machines that help the farmer. magnets and their uses. man makes a desert. microbes and their control. monkeys and apes: an introduction to the primates. more and less. oceanography: science of the sea. offset along faults. our changing earth. our city government. our state government. painting: the creative process. paul revere's ride. people who work at night. le petite chaperon rouge. la petite poule rouge. prehistoric animals of the tar pits: the story of rancho la brea. the protist kingdom. prove it with a magnifying glass. railroad rhythms. reptiles are interesting. rocks and minerals. rocks that reveal the past. salamanders. sarcodina. satellites: stepping stones to space. sea shell animals: molluscs. ships need a harbor. slime mold. snails: backyard science. solar flares. sound waves and stars: the doppler effect. space science series. sporozoa. the story of a check. the story of the goose and the gander. strata: the earth's changing crust. the terrarium: classroom science. los tres osos. triangles: an introduction. triangles: sides and angles. les trois ours. the turtle: care of a pet. united states elections: how we vote. volleyball: skills and practice. washington, city of the world. water for the city. weight training series. what is an eclipse? what is automation? what is poetry? what is rhythm? what's alive. what's in a play: dramatic action. what's in a story? what's inside the earth? what's under the ocean. why communication satellites? wild animal families. zoo families. film columbus. the secret seven. film communicators. split second safety. film counselors. the big question. design for a city. form, design, and the city. iphansis. of mutual interest. protection for people. to be continued. treasure of the tropics. windows on the world. film counselors, inc. daily miracle. michigan year. mission: u.s.a. to reach the dawn. film designers division, emc corp. see emc corp. film designers division. film designs, ltd. the touchables. film enterprises, inc. twentieth century epidemic. film financial co., ltd. the vulture. film group i of michigan, inc. awareness. film-makers, inc. cymbal techniques. timpani techniques. film originals. an american sawmill. come fly with me, darlene. idaho libraries today. idaho school dilemma. montana and its aircraft. potlatch country. rehabilitation center. saw timber. winter world. film programs, inc. the fat black pussy cat. film research co. discovery at hell creek. eclipse of the sun. mahnomen, harvest of the north. sisibakwat--the ojibway maple harvest. film safaris. hautes fagnes. film services (london) ltd. fabulous california. wonderful austria. wonderful caribbean. film services quest productions. jimmy. film sonor, s.a. stowaway in the sky. filmad-led. world without sun. filmakers, inc. gettysburg, july , . filmarchives internationale. goldrausch. filmaster, inc. death valley days. filmaster productions. gunsmoke. filmaster productions, inc. death valley days. have gun--will travel. filmes cinematografica. guns for san sebastian. filmex, inc. modern arithmetic through discovery. filmfair. blaze glory. filmgroup. the mermaids of tiburon. filmline production associates. clothing construction series. filmrite associates, inc. greatest headlines of the century. sportfolio. films ariane. live for life. up to his ears. films ariane, s.a. les gauloises bleues. my son, the hero. films concordia. ghosts, italian style. a place for lovers. films du carrosse. le mariee etait en noir. films du carrosse, s.a. baisers voles. films du carrosse sedif-simar. the soft skin. films du siecle. la bonne soupe. cloportes. friend of the family. the world of fashion: yesterday, today, tomorrow. films du siecle, s.a.r.l. the visit. films du siecle, s.r.l. el greco. les films e.g.e. blood and roses. films for conservation, inc. conservation, for the first time. down the road. les films gibe, s.a.-francoriz-rialto film. the oldest profession. films, inc. national cherry blossom festival, washington, d.c. films jean jacques vital rene modiano. l. n. e. gaumont. the count of monte cristo. films la boetie. les biches. films mountsouris. stowaway in the sky. films odeon. the big risk. films of india. two eyes, twelve hands. films pacifica, inc. the immoral west, and how it was lost. films sirius. les biches. les films . un homme et une femme. filmservice distributors corp. ma barker's killer brood. filmsonor. the big risk. filmsonor, s.a. five miles to midnight. my son, the hero. the night of the generals. filmways. the americanization of emily. the sandpiper. the wheeler dealers. filmways, inc. castle keep. ice station zebra. the loved one. our mother's house. shell's wonderful world of golf. filmways-reynard. don't make waves. filmways-solar. the cincinnati kid. filmways tv productions, inc. the addams family. the beverly hillbillies. the double life of henry phyfe. mister ed. filmways tv productions, inc. see o'brien co. fimberg, hal. our man flint. fineman, irving. rome adventure. fink, daniel alfred, ii. reading company steam locomotives of . finney, charles g. faces of dr. lao. finney, jack. assault on a queen. good neighbor sam. finnish broadcasting co. finlandia. first anthology, inc. alcoa-goodyear theatre. turn of fate. first church of christ, scientist, boston. ambassadors for christian science at the university. a healing ministry. first church of christ, scientist, boston. christian science board of directors. ambassadors for christian science at the university. christian science: what it means. facing the great challenges. go ye forth. a healing ministry. rise up and build. setting and reaching our goals, tuesday evening meeting. the story of christian science. tuesday evening meeting. the unfolding idea of church: the story of the church center. youth speak out. first co. long day's journey into night. first co. of writers. our man higgins. first national. my blood runs cold. my fair lady. ready for the people. the third day. first presbyterian church in germantown, philadelphia. hope for the world, land where our fathers died. fish, robert. the assassination bureau limited. fisher, bob. the impossible years. fisher, clay. yellowstone kelly. fisher, steve. the quick gun. fitzgerald, f. scott. tender is the night. fitzgerald, m. b. big medicine. the land of the pink snow. fitzsimmons, edna. james j. corbett-bob fitzsimmons heavyweight championship boxing match. fitzsimmons, robert, jr. james j. corbett-bob fitzsimmons heavyweight championship boxing match. five film rome. belle de jour. five star films, ltd. no love for johnnie. flaiano, ernio. the night. fleetwood films, inc. triumph des willens. fleischer, max. out of the inkwell. fleischman, sid. the adventures of bullwhip griffin. fleming, ian. casino royale. dr. no. thunderball. you only live twice. flender, harold. paris blues. fletcher, lucille. blindfold. fletcher film productions, ltd. king of blades. flora film-lux, c.c.f. the sweet body of deborah. florida. state university. modern mathematics for the elementary school teacher. florida assn. of realtors. florida--land of action. florida development commission. the adventures of x- . florida institute for continuing university studies. institute of american strategy. the nature of communism. florin corp. alice's restaurant. florin-tatira productions, inc. mickey one. florists' telegraph delivery assn. sphere of service, the story of ftd. flory, phoebe. texture in painting. flowing wells school district. see tucson, ariz. flowing wells school district. fluorite, ltd. + (exploring the kinsey reports) fodor, laszlo. north to alaska. fono-film. the bridge. fono roma production. payment in blood. foote, horton. baby the rain must fall. the chase. foote, richard. the lure of bali. the lure of thailand. foote, cone & belding. casual in store. manners rehearsal. meet cousin casual. ford, john. incident or accident. ford (john) productions, inc. donovan's reef. the man who shot liberty valance. seven women. two rode together. ford, patrick. flame over india. ford foundation, new york. citizen diplomacy. the constitution. ford motor co. auto race, . the automobile engine. listen, listen. portrait of a city. the rouge. seeds of progress. the smith system of space cushion driving. styling and the experimental car. the world of henry ford. ford motor co. tractor & implement division. the ford tractor story. ford-smith productions. cheyenne autumn. ford tractor division. big ford . foreign language dept. of holt, rinehart & winston, inc. see holt, rinehart & winston, inc. foreign language department. foreign mission board, southern baptist convention. see southern baptist convention. foreign mission board. forest, jean claude. barbarella. forest service, u.s. dept. of agriculture. see u.s. dept. of agriculture. forest service. forester, c. s. sink the bismarck! forma, warren. images of leonard baskin. the possibilities of agam. the weapons of gordon parks. forma art associates, ltd. images of leonard baskin. the possibilities of agam. the weapons of gordon parks. format films, inc. icarus montgolfier wright. formosa productions, inc. the adventures of huckleberry finn. forrester, larry. fathom. forster, margaret. georgy girl. forstmann, richard. waterscape. fort howard paper co. fort howard paper co. television commercials. page tissue. testing lab. productions, inc. eden cried. foster (harry) films, inc. sports au-go-go. foster, joanna. the pleasure is mutual: how to conduct effective picture book programs. foster, phillips. a future for ram. foster films, inc. sports carnival. thousand island aquarama. wonders of kentucky. wonders of miami beach. fouchet, max-pol. masters of the congo jungle. fountainhead international, inc. hollywood: the fabulous era. hollywood: the great stars. the rafer johnson story. four k's, inc. mickey. four leaf productions, inc. don't knock the twist. the fastest guitar alive. for singles only. get yourself a college girl. harum scarum. hold on! hootenanny hoot. hot rods to hell. kissin' cousins. the love-ins. riot on sunset strip. a time to sing. twist around the clock. when the boys meet the girls. the wild westerners. the young runaways. your cheatin' heart. four star-amalfi productions. the david niven show. four star-barbety. amos burke, secret agent. burke's law. four star-bentley-blackpool. the detectives. four star-cardiff. law of the plainsman. four star-ewell-carroll-martin productions. the tom ewell show. four star films, inc. the david niven show. law of the plainsman. four star-giyo. the rogues. four star-halmac-zane grey. black saddle. four star-harlen. mckeever and the colonel. four star-hastings. the detectives. four star-hilgarde. stagecoach--west. four star-hondo. saints and sinners. four star-jahfa. the gertrude berg show. mrs. g. goes to college. four star-knave. the smothers brothers show. four star-lederer. ensign o'toole. four star-loring-caron. the lloyd bridges show. four star-malcolm productions. wanted: dead or alive. four star-margate. the big valley. four star-mirisch-mount tom. peter loves mary. four star-naxan. the law and mr. jones. four star-pamaron-zane grey. johnny ringo. four star-pamric productions. the du pont show with june allyson. four star-satyr. dante. four star-sussex. the rifleman. four star television. the dick powell show. the dick powell theatre. honey west. michael shayne. richard diamond, private detective. four star-velie-burrows-ackerman. target: the corruptors. four star-winchester. the westerner. four star-zane grey. dick powell's zane grey theatre. fowles, john. the collector. the magus. fox (george) corp. tin pan fire drill. fox, john, jr. the little shepherd of kingdom come. fox, sonny. this is israel. this is new york. this is venice. fox video productions. so men may see. foxwell (ivan) enterprises, ltd. decline and fall of a bird watcher. foxwell film productions, ltd. a touch of larceny. frachtenburg, emmanuel. quiet victory. understanding diabetes. fractionation research, inc. performance of trays in higher vacuum fractionation. france cinema productions paris. fast and sexy. francis, peggy weber. the art of making candles. francis-montagu film productions, ltd. wonderful beaulieu. francis productions, inc. ladybug, ladybug. franciscan films. art in woodcut. the million dollar customer. frangor films. make-up for the amateur theatre. stage make-up: youthful roles. stagecraft: general scenery construction. stagecraft: scenery frame construction. stagecraft: scenery painting. stagecraft: stage lighting. frangor productions. make-up for the amateur theatre. frank, bruno. cervantes. frank, francis. medical asepsis putting on a previously worn gown. preparation of foley catheter tray. frank, gerold. beloved infidel. the boston strangler. too much, too soon. frank, jerome m. don't walk. frank, pat. man's favorite sport. frankenheimer (john) productions. the extraordinary seaman. franklin, joe. joe franklin's silent screen: yakima canutt in the devil horse. franklin, sidney. jackpot bingo. franklin films, inc. jackpot bingo. frankovich productions, inc. cactus flower. franmet productions, inc. looking for love. franton productions. pocketful of miracles. franzero, c. m. cleopatra. frazee, steve. gold of the seven saints. frazer, john. the nuremberg chronicle. frechette, fred l. double entry. frede, richard. the interns. the new interns. freed (arthur) productions, inc. bells are ringing. light in the piazza. the subterraneans. freeman, don. reading incentive film series. freeman, kenneth. the ken freeman mat techniques. freeman (leonard) productions. hang 'em high. freeman (leonard) productions, inc. hawaii five-o. freeman, robert. the touchables. freeman/enders production. the maltese bippy. frejafilm. hours to live. french, warren g. are poets people? frickert, joseph. one million years b.c. friday harbor laboratories. mysteries of the deep. friedenthal, joseph h. public school activities for trainable mentally retarded children. fromkess (leon)-sam firks production. shock corridor. frye (william) productions, inc. the trouble with angels. where angels go trouble follows. fryman enterprises, inc. platinum high school. the private lives of adam & eve. fudge, robert j. remember eddie simpson? fukuda, keiko. kodokan joshi go shin ho. kodokan ju-no-kata. kodokan kime shiki. fulgosi, niksa. yugoslav boy: story of frane. fulton, john. the bamboo saucer. futurama entertainment corp. come spy with me. frankenstein meets the space monster. futuramic productions, inc. squad car. g gfp, inc. amazon jungle adventure. antarctic adventure. eastern national parks. holiday in japan. louisiana bayou country. seeing italy. south american highlights. gmc truck & coach division of general motors corp. see general motors corp. gmc truck & coach division. gmf production. flareup. gm photographic. aim for the top. cross section of america. gr co. forget me not. g. s.-posa films international production. pepe. g-string enterprises. pull my daisy. g. w. films, ltd. damn the defiant. g. w. p., inc. cobby's hobbies. gaddis, tom. birdman of alcatraz. gaffney, robert. roof tops of new york. gakken co. the ant and the grasshopper. gakken co., ltd. the moonbeam princess, a japanese fairy tale. the rolling rice ball, a japanese fairy tale. gakken film co., ltd. the ant and the dove. the country mouse and the city mouse. the north wind and the sun. galatea-glomer-lyre production. siege of syracuse. galatea production. erik the conqueror. galatea, s.p.a. commando. esther and the king. hercules unchained. mighty ursus. siege of syracuse. torpedo bay. the war of the zombies. galaxy films, inc. the time machine. galaxy productions, inc. atlantis, the lost continent. the power. faces of dr. lao. galbreath pictures, inc. night of evil. galdone, paul. anatole and the piano. gale (john)/leslie phillips production. maroc . galetea-jolly film production. black sunday. gallaudet college, washington, d.c. an experimental film for teaching the manual alphabet. filmed instruction in the language of signs. reading the manual alphabet. teaching mathematical concepts to deaf children, using a non-verbal approach. gallen films, s.a. the wonderful world of the brothers grimm. galletea, s.p.a. hercules. gallico, paul. the three lives of thomasina. gallu (chris-jane) productions, inc. border patrol. gallu (jane) productions, inc. behind closed doors. gamma productions, inc. the cardinal. gann, ernest k. fate is the hunter. gannon, james j., jr. the challenge of love. rebel angel. gannon, james joseph, jr. every sparrow must fall. gantry (elmer) productions. elmer gantry. garden city co., ltd. the crane's magic gift, a japanese fairy tale. gardiner, kenneth n. fertility man. gardner, erle stanley. perry mason. gardner, herb. a thousand clowns. gardner, john. the liquidator. gardner advertising co. baseball. basketball. football. garfias, robert. washington films: ethnic music and dance series. garris, corinne. silent nights? garris, ollie benjamin. silent nights? garrison (greg) productions. the dean martin show. garrison, ron. primate growth and development: a gorilla's first year. garrison productions. wild, wild west. garton, corbin e. an introduction to structural ceramics: the scr building panel. garve, andrew. a touch of larceny. gary, romain. lady l. gasper & gibbons productions. the president, john f. kennedy. gates, mcdonald & co. proper lifting and patient handling. gates-torres productions, inc. master of horror. gateway educational films, ltd. the nile in egypt. the suez canal. gateway film productions, ltd. trumpet, horn and trombone. gaulden, ray. card stud. gaumont, s. n. e. two are guilty. vice and virtue. where the truth lies. gaumont-international. the brain. vice and virtue. gaumont-marianne productions. paris pick-up. geissman, t. a. synthesis of an organic compound. gelbart, larry. the thrill of it all. geller, stephen. pretty poison. gellerman, saul w. motivation in perspective. strategy for productive behavior. genealogical society of the church of jesus christ of latter-day saints. see church of jesus christ of latter-day saints, inc. genealogical society. general dynamics corp. beyond magellan. general dynamics corp. general atomic division. dedication. triga. general electric co. careers in engineering. fundamentals of ac and dc generation. light! the light touch. man-made diamond. principles of electricity. relating sets to numbers. thinking in sets. general electric co. housewares division. sportsman's holiday. general electric research laboratory. ferromagnetic domain wall motion. general learning corp. closure. completeness of communication. cueing. divergent questions. fluency in asking questions. higher order questions. an introduction to microteaching. lecturing. nonverbal responses. planned repetition. probing questions. recognizing attending behavior. reinforcement. set induction. silence and nonverbal cues. stimulus variation. use of examples. verbal and nonverbal responses. verbal responses. general motors acceptance corp. case after case. dealers' report. what's the difference. general motors corp. aim for the top. bridge to safety. challenge of leadership. cross section of america. engineering for safety. from cabbages to cars. gm news: gm salutes -h safety winners. guardrail crash test for safety. a matter of responsibility. milestones to safe driving. a new viewpoint for we drivers. a news report on the gm dealer manpower development program. our american crossroads. safer roadsides. the safest township anywhere! the sign of leadership. ticket to safety. u.f.o., unrestrained flying objects. we drivers. where mileage begins. general motors corp. chevrolet motor division. acapulco at sunset. adventure in style. all dressed up and ready to go! american maker. american thrift. animated show opening for chevy show, dinah shore chevy show, pat boone chevy showroom. any town, u.s.a. appraising other makes. are you listening? ask the experts about advertising. ask the experts about display. ask the experts about prospecting. be an a-c-e driver. the bellwether. best of the breed. the best way to go. the big picture. the birth of the o.k. exchange. the blue vase. building a quality selling organization. camaro, the car of today by chevrolet. el camino--cartin' & courtin'. chevrolet in mexico. chevrolet preview. chevrolet road rally. chevrolet stands the gaff. chevy ii can take it, too. chevy wears well. chevy year round features. closing billboard. closing the truck sale. cold eye or nice guy. come and get it. correction please. corvair cowboy. corvair olympics. crowd stopper! daring the darien! the gap between the americas. the day began. decision at daytona! the desert opens up. doctor, farmer, local police. don't take a chance, thrills on wheels with joie chitwood and his daredevils. double standard. duel in the desert. easy does it. economy--family. entrance. excitement. exciting development. the experts. a family affair. fathers and sons. the filled-uper. fire fighting at chevrolet-indianapolis. the first hours of ownership. first in performance. foundation for the future. fresh as a smile. fresh beauty. fresh, trim and twenty. friend of the family. get right to the point, for fun. giant step. go with glamour. grapevine. great going. handling the unexpected. handsome 'n' handy. hauling apples. having a wonderful time. here to there. he's ok! the hired hands. his and hers! home is where you park it. the house on high street. how soft is a cloud? how to build value. how to buy a used car. how to buy value. how to get where you want to go. how to manage a manager. how was that again? i didn't raise my son to be a salesman. an idea and its progress. impact ' . in control. it can be done. it's a treat! it's go for chevrolet for ' , exciting! it's in the book. join the fun. jump on the bandwagon. king of the mountain. know your car. lz- vs. go- . lean-muscled might! let's create some problems. the level best. listen & care! listen & care! lively is the word! lonely, or a loner? part i-ii. luxury. made with tender care. the magic of motion. make your place in the sun! managing men to sell product. managing men to sell themselves; managing men to sell the house. manpower stability (summary). merchandising service, then and now. the midas touch. modern business management, a probe in depth. montgomery's truck. more for the money. more in ' . new star performers. a new world of worth. a next big step in dynamic owner relations. chevrolet may/june prizes. chevrolet perspective no. . selling showdown. the number one team. the olympians. open season! openers for closing truck sales. opening billboards. operation ok. the option to buy. order! order! prepare! prepare! the owner relations manager. owners! owners! questions! questions! pacesetters sales campaign. people! people! problems! problems! people you should know. the people's choice. perfect partners. performance x-tra. personal problems. perspective. perspective no. . perspective no. . perspective nos. - . pile it on! pinpoint for profit. pinpoint for profit in management. pinpoint for profit in manpower. pinpoint for profit in traffic. pizza, burgers or chicken deluxe. a place in the sun. police pursuit driving. a pony for pip. portrait of two winners. the power of a promise. the power of a smile. power-packed. power that pays. the price of leadership. problem solving. a question of choice. rally u.s.a. ready for business. reconditioning other makes. reconditioning sells the car. right in your pocket! the road to tomorrow. the round peg. second quarterly conference, retail used car manager. selling other makes. a sense of proportion. serve the u.s.a. in your chevrolet truck. show it like it is. show your spirit. showdown, a report to chevrolet dealers and salesmen. side by side. signs of the times. small miracle. small wonder. smooth sailing. so much in common. something just for you. a special message to chevrolet retail sales managers. splendid chariots. sports. spotlight on chevelle vs. competition. spotlight on chevrolet vs. competition. spotlight on trucks on trial. spotlight on vans on trial. the start of something big. stimulating & motivating salesmen. a strong right arm. the subject is growth! success story. sugar and spice. sunday drive. a sure bet! take a giant step. take your choice! test for the best! test of time. the three minute hour. tilt cab announcement. to each his own. tough as they come! trail blazers. the trip into town. truck. truck durability ride. turn on a dime. unified prospecting. the unseen salesman. up frontier. us! us, ii! use. use car volume. wagons aplenty. the way of a leader. what a dealer expects from a sales manager. what a wonderful world it would be. what about the ' chevy's? what salesmen expect from a sales manager. what's the big attraction? who is driving? the winners. wonderful life. wondrous words. a word to the wise. worry wart, part i. you be the doctor. you have the key. general motors corp. delco radio division. electronics in the wonderful tomorrow. general motors corp. gmc truck & coach division. fishing fantastico. sport is where you find it. general motors corp. harrison radiator division. temperatures made to order. general motors corp. oldsmobile division. engineered for leadership. focus on opportunity. happily ever after. the inside story on oldsmobile air conditioning. jetfire. louder than words. olds on the go. point of view. pomona, where the action is. power of suggestion. vital ingredient. general motors corp. pontiac motor division. the subject is growth. general motors corp. public relations dept. challenge of leadership. flags are for flying. u.f.o., unrestrained flying objects. general motors corp. ternstedt division. the ternstedt years. this is ternstedt. general motors corp. united motors service division. delco sales meeting, . general precision, inc. librascope division. libratrac- universal navigation computer. general tire & rubber co. the chance you take. split second. you bet your life. genet. the balcony. genie feature productions, inc. the boy who couldn't walk. gentilella, john. the house fly guest. gentron production. and women must weep. geoffrey-kate productions. experiment in terror. geoffrey productions, inc. gunn. waterhole # . geometric tool co. threading time, the story of die heads and taps. george, jean. my side of the mountain. george, peter. dr. strangelove. george washington university. see washington (george) university, washington, d.c. georgia. university. composition, in three parts. final thaw. golden city. nature of man. pegasus without wings. a political animal. public hearing. the return of prometheus. the sentence is life. sometimes harmonious, sometimes not. step by step. there be dragons. georgia textile manufacturers assn., inc. where's the safety catch? german information center. the day of the young. gernster, hermann. the wonderful world of the brothers grimm. gershwin-kastner production. harper. geyer, morey, ballard, inc. n n dealers. gheorghiu, c. virgil. the th hour. gialdini, david. see living adventure films. giant balloon parades, inc. fun in balloonland. giant production film, ltd. here we go round the mulberry bush. gibraltar productions, inc. man's favorite sport? seconds. tobruk. gibson, william. the miracle worker. two for the seesaw. gibson, inc. an instrument of the people. gilbert, arthur h. thru care you can keep your teeth. gilden, k. b. hurry sundown. gildor production. assignment k. gillette co. gillette co. television commercials. piano mover. sharpie conductor. gillies, jacques. cash on demand. gillman, arthur e. diagnostic studies of emotionally disturbed, blind and visually impaired children: verbal facility masking concept deficit. elizabeth and mary. gilman, peter. diamond head. gllroy, frank d. burke's law. gina productions. sweet november. gina productions, inc. the bobo. ginn & co. arithmetic--providing for individual differences. giovani, jose. rififi in tokyo. giovanni, jose. the big risk. gipson, fred. savage sam. girard-lewis productions, inc. mr. garlund. girl scouts of the united states of america. all on a summer's day. behind the scenes. dear esther. a friend for carol. fund raising through sustaining membership--a fund of friends. journey into friendship. light on the mountain. looking forward. a mile high, a world wide. open your eyes. promise. a question of communication. simply exhibiting. someone like you. something for the girls. this is girl scouting. wearing the uniform. world outdoors. girvin (dick) productions. bring forth my people. gitlin (irving) production. investment in life. gitt, w. the master. gladasya productions, inc. it's about time. gladasya-uatv. gilligan's island. gladden, lee. the incredible sex revolution. gladiator productions, inc. horror castle. gleason, jackie. gigot. glemser, bernard. come fly with me. glenwood-neve. hands of a stranger. gloag, julian. our mother's house. global marine ex. co. experimental deep water drilling, project mohole. global marine, inc. the challenge and the challenger. global production co., ltd. taro, giant of the jungle. global screen associates, inc. a man called dagger. globe films international. the legend of fra diavolo. glomer film, lear & lux, paris. sign of the gladiator. glomer film pr. siege of syracuse. gloriafilm munich. town without pity. god & country. puppy frolics. godden, rumer. the battle of the villa florita. loss of innocence. godey, john. never a dull moment. godi, arthur l. qualifying the buyer. goeffrey stanley, inc. marnie. goetz (william) productions, inc. cry for happy. the mountain road. goetz-vidor pictures. song without end. goff, ivan. portrait in black. gogol, nikolai. black sunday. taras bulba. gold, bert. the painting. gold, donald l. dan raven. two faces west. gold, leon s. imagination at work. pattern for instructions. gold, leon s. see roundtable productions. gold coast productions, inc. no man is an island. gold dolphin. sports in action. way up and way out. gold star productions, ltd. the frozen dead. it. golden, joseph hilary. aircraft observations in the immediate vicinity of two waterspouts. golden age films, inc. joe franklin's silent screen: yakima canutt in the devil horse. golden eagle films. the cliff monster. filmland monsters. golden scroll production. answering objections in witnessing, no. . answering objections in witnessing, no. . bitter fruit. daniel. iron hands. magnificent heritage. moses and the mountain of fire. nehemiah. reclaiming the saved. goldhawk films, ltd. the little ones. golding, diane. see london-aire, ltd. goldman, douglas. neurologic effects of psychotherapeutic drugs. goldman (harold) associates. destination inner space. goldman (harold) associates, inc. cyborg . dimension . goldman, mrs. melvin l. jeeping into the utah wilderness. goldman, william. no way to treat a lady. goldrich, philip. the rhapsody, . goldwyn, samuel, jr. the adventures of huckleberry finn. golf house. the open: ouimet and boros at brookline. nd women's world amateur team championship for espirito santo trophy and th world amateur team championship for eisenhower trophy. the u.s. open: orville moody at champions. the u.s. open: triumph and tragedy, casper & palmer at olympic. gomalco productions, inc. leave it to beaver. gonzalez, arturo. per qualche dollaro in piu. goodman, george j. w. the wheeler dealers. goodman, hal. invitation to a gunfighter. goodson-todman telefilms, inc. jefferson drum. gordon. that darn cat. gordon, archer s. prescription for life: the principles and practice of emergency heart-lung resuscitation. gordon, arthur. one man's way. gordon (bert i.) productions, inc. boy and the pirates. gordon/glyn productions, inc. good hand, good eye. gordon, gordon. experiment in terror. gordon, leo. attack of the giant leeches. gordon, leo v. tower of london. gordon, mildred. experiment in terror. gorg, alan. the savages. gorham productions, inc. the atomic submarine. gould, bert b. the nickel ferry. gould, chester. dick tracy. two heels on wheels. gould (jerome) & associates. styling and the experimental car. gouze (christine)-rena production. a very private affair. governmental affairs institute. citizen diplomacy. grace, princess of monaco. a look at monaco. grace (w. r.) & co. dewey & almy chemical division. breakthrough. graded press. deeper root. graeff, tom. teenagers from outer space. graetz, paul. three murderesses. graham, sheilah. beloved infidel. graham, winston. marnie. the grail. new born again. granart co. operation petticoat. grand (robert) productions, inc. rendezvous. grand blanc, mich. community schools. board of education. grand blanc, its system of education. grandandy productions, inc. bailey's of balboa. grandey (roy) productions. one hundred years and forever. the wonderful world of wine. grandon productions, ltd. the grass is greener. indiscreet. granley co. that touch of mink. granox co. father goose. graphic arts films, inc. offset training films. graphic arts, inc. lithography or offset printing. graphic arts industry, inc. education council. basic reproduction processes in the graphic arts. lithography or offset printing. graphic films. styling and the experimental car. graphical technology corp. walk into tomorrow. grashin, mauri. the trouble with girls. gravatt, quintin m. handling steel with rubber tired equipment. gray, richard alan. image of the sea. gray-mac production. stagecoach to dancers' rock. grayson, leonard w. grace-n-air. great lakes steel corp. from tap to tap. a report to you. greater michigan foundation, inc. the people of michigan enact. greatshows, ltd. a boy ten feet tall. greaves, william. still a brother, inside the negro middle class. gredy. cactus flower. green, d. the master. green, george f., jr. modern mathematics for the elementary school teacher. green, janet. midnight lace. green, thad b. managerial analysis. greenburg, dan. live a little, love a little. greene, clarence. pillow talk. greene, graham. the comedians. greene, harold. hide and seek. greene, john l. my favorite martian. greene-rouse productions, inc. tightrope. greenfield tap & die division. see united-greenfield corp. greenfield tap & die division. greenlawn productions. batman. greenwald, harold. girl of the night. greenway productions, inc. the big bounce. greenwich (conn.) hospital assn. self portrait. grefe, william. death curse of tartu. gregg-don, inc. my three sons. gregor, manfred. the bridge. town without pity. gregor production. gunfighters of casa grande. grey, harry. portrait of a mobster. grey, zane. dick powell's zane grey theatre. grey advertising, inc. old gold cigarette commercial. old gold spin filters commercial. warehouse no. . warehouse no. . greyhawk studios. rebel angel. gries (tom) productions. rat patrol. grieser, edwina h. clothing construction series. griffith, andy. gomer pyle-usmc. griffith, corinne. papa's delicate condition. griffith, james. motorpsycho. griffon graphics, inc. hezekiah's water tunnel. grilikhes, michel m. let freedom ring. grimaldi (hugo) productions. the human duplicators. grimaldi (hugo) productions, inc. mutiny in outer space. grimm, jacob ludwig carl. twelve dancing princesses. grimm, wilhelm carl. twelve dancing princesses. grinstead, daniel. washington films: ethnic music and dance series. grodewald, herbert. handguns. groen, maurice t. and there was light. groening, homer. getting wetter. study in wet. groening (homer) inc. basic brown, basic blue. beachcomber. grosser, george s. insight revisited. grossman, budd. bachelor flat. grossman, ladislav. the shop on main street. grosso, remigio del. the spartans. grosz, george. george grosz' interregnum. ground, robert. herman. group communications division, teleprompter corp. see teleprompter corp. group communications division. group productions, inc. spalding gives you the professional edge. gruber, frank. town tamer. twenty plus two. grumbacher (m.) inc. adventuring in hyplar with lajos markos. brush and color making. exploring casein. hyplar sculpture and hyplar mache. grzimek, bernhard. serengeti shall not die. grzimek, michael. serengeti shall not die. gudaitis, frank. air racing. guedel (john) productions, inc. tell it to groucho. guerra, tonino. the night. guess (cameron) & associates, inc. the shepherd. guest (val) production. the day the earth caught fire. stop me before i kill. guggenheim (charles) & associates. a visit to busch gardens. guggenheim (charles) & associates, inc. a tour of grant's farm. guggenheim productions, inc. children without. robert kennedy remembered. guidance camps, inc. beach interview. boys in conflict. guild, leo. my living doll. gulick, bill. the hallelujah trail. guthrie, a. b., jr. the way west. guthrie, arlo. alice's restaurant. gutman, richard a. back door to hell. gypsum assn. shape of the future. shaping the future with gypsum wall-board. shaping the future with lath and plaster. h h & j pictures, inc. medium cool. h-b enterprises, inc. huckleberry hound show. h. l. p. co. the facts of life. haase, john. dear brigitte. petulia. haberstroh studios, inc. first men into space: solving the space survival problems. space probes: exploring our solar system. hacienda-tropacana-madness. the secret cinema. hackney, alan. i'm all right jack. you must be joking. hader, berta. pancho. hader, elmer. pancho. haedrich, marcel. crack in the mirror. hafner, barbara h. the squinch. hagaman, lloyd h. big medicine. haggard, h. rider. she. haggard, sir h. rider. the vengeance of she. haggart, david. sinful davey. hagmann, stuart. kali nihta socrates. hagopian, j. m. africa is my home. african girl--malobi. how vast is space? hagopian, j. michael. mountain community of the himalayas. the museum, gateway to perception. hailey, arthur. hotel. the young doctors. hakim, raymond. highway pickup. hakim, robert. highway pickup. hakim (robert & raymond) production. weekend at dunkirk. haleff, maxine. face to face. halevy, julian. the young lovers. hall, adam. the quiller memorandum. hall, f. paul. raiders from beneath the sea. hall, frank g. willard-dempsey heavyweight championship fight; boxing match at toledo, ohio, july , . hall, james norman. mutiny on the bounty. hall (robert) clothes, inc. back to school. robert hall commercials. hall, robert b. japan: harvesting the land and sea. hall, william r. alaska, , vacation travelog. halliday, brett. michael shayne. hamart productions, inc. world championship golf. hamilton, donald. the ambushers. murderers' row. the silencers. the wrecking crew. hamm (theo.) brewing co. hamm's beer commercials. hammer, barbara mettler. aqua viva. hammer film productions, ltd. the anniversary. the brides of dracula. the brigand of kandahar. a challenge for robin hood. the crimson blade. the curse of the mummy's tomb. the curse of the werewolf. the devil-ship pirates. the devil's bride. the devil's own. die! die! my darling. dracula, prince of darkness. five million years to earth. frankenstein created woman. the gorgon. hell is a city. hysteria. the kiss of the vampire. the lost continent. maniac. the mummy. the mummy's shroud. the nanny. nightmare. one million years b.c. paranoiac. passport to china. the phantom of the opera. the pirates of blood river. plague of the zombies. prehistoric women. rasputin, the mad monk. the reptile. scream of fear. the secret of blood island. she. the stranglers of bombay. sword of sherwood forest. the terror of the tongs. the vengeance of she. the viking queen. a weekend with lulu. hammer-major production. night creatures. hammerstein, oscar, ii. the sound of music. hammid, alexander. nous sommes jeunes. hammond, peter. jack the ripper. hamner, earl, jr. spencer's mountain. hampton, orville h. jack the giant killer. hamson, robert l. satellites are falling. what holds satellites in orbit? hamson films. satellites are falling. what holds satellites in orbit? handy (jam) organization, inc. according to webster. adults in a hurry. adventure in style. alcoa spreads the word. aldosterone and its control in edema. all dressed up and ready to go! america, the bountiful. american maker. american thrift. any town, u.s.a. appraising other makes. are you listening? arithmetic--providing for individual differences. ask the experts about advertising. ask the experts about display. ask the experts about prospecting. automatic lane maintenance machine. the autonomic nervous system. the ballad of soup du jour. be an a-c-e driver. the bell system looks ahead, a report by frederick r. kappel at the annual meeting. bellingrath gardens & home: the charm spot of the deep south. the bellwether. the best is better. the best meals of our lives. best of the breed. the best way to go. better medicines for a better world--the story of research at parke, davis. the better way to platemaking and printing. the big market on the corner the big oil change. the big picture. the biggest roundup ever in ' with pittsburgh paints. the birth of the o.k. exchange. the blue vase. blueprint for profit. a bridge for the yaque. building a quality selling organization. camaro, the car of today by chevrolet. the camera came to camden, the story of a year. the canteen story. case after case. a case of minding the p's and q. the chair. challenge of change. challenge of leadership. the chance you take. chevrolet preview. chevrolet road rally. chevrolet stands the gaff. chevy ii can take it, too. city on the horizon. clinical investigation. a closer look at sales management. closing the truck sale. cobwebs into ropes. a coin with two heads. cold eye or nice guy. come and get it. company profile. community of the world. compare, demonstrate to sell. copper base alloys in rod form. correction please. crowd stopper! daring the darien! the gap between the americas. darvon-compound . the day they didn't inspect the rope. dealer to dealer. dealers' report. decision at daytona! decision of love. the desert opens up. detroit, city on the move. dissociative anesthesia with ketalar ketamine, parke-davis. distribution of drugs. diversability in modern metal forming. doctor, farmer, local police. dr. norman vincent peale on how to raise your batting average in selling. don't take a chance, thrills on wheels with joie chitwood and his daredevils. double standard. duel in the desert. easy does it. economy--family. engineered for leadership. entrance. examination of reflexes. excitement. the experts. a family affair. farmers meet the challenge. fence building, the modern way. filing. the filled-uper. filling with solder, part i. filling with solder, part ii. fire fighting at chevrolet-indianapolis. the first hours of ownership. first in performance. flat position, square butt weld / " plate. flat t fillet weld. focus on opportunity. the ford tractor story. forever free. foundation for the future. freedom of choice. fresh as a smile. fresh beauty. fresh, trim and twenty. friend of the family. from tap to tap. get right to the point, for fun. giant step. go with glamour. golden opportunity. the gradumet story. a grain of salt. gramps, the old pro in getting set for sales. grapevine. great going. grinding or power sanding, part i. grinding or power sanding, part ii. growing with hoover. hammering off-dolly. hammering on-dolly. handling the unexpected. handsome 'n' handy. happily ever after. happy th anniversary to all of us! having a wonderful time. here to there. he's ok! the hired hands. his and hers! home is where you park it. hook line and what knot? horizontal square butt / " plate. hospital dental service, today & tomorrow. hot rolling of steel sheets. the house on high street. how soft is a cloud? how to build value. how to buy a used car. how to buy value. how to get where you want to go. how to make sludge. how to manage a manager. how to rivet aluminum. how to sell creatively. how to think big with the new xerox . how to use portable scales to weigh a patient. how was that again? i didn't raise my son to be a salesman. an idea and its progress. an idea and its progress, part ii. imagination unlimited. impact ' . in control. interchangeability, the key to mass production. intermittent positive pressure breathing using the bennett respirator. introducing the jd motor grader. introducing the new jd , john deere's better idea for a motor grader. it can be done. it happened last night. it happens every day. it's a treat! it's go for chevrolet for ' , exciting! it's in the book. it's magic. it's time to sell creatively. john paul jones. join the fun. journey to yesterday. jump on the bandwagon. keeping current in plastics. king of the mountain. kitchenaid, a world of difference. know the difference to sell the difference in abc. know the difference to sell the difference in leonard. know your car. lz- vs. go- . lean-muscled might! leave it to me. let's create some problems. the level best. listen & care! listen & care! little packages of happiness. lively is the word! living stereo. lonely, or a loner? part i-ii. a look at the leader. louder than words. luxury. made with tender care. the magic of motion. the magic of training. make your place in the sun! managing men to sell product. managing men to sell themselves; managing men to sell the house. managing your benefit dollar. manpower stability (summary). medicine on the move. merchandising service, then and now. metallurgy, it's contribution to better product design. methods of attaching flatpacks to printed circuit boards. michigan story. the midas touch. a miracle on demand. a model for living. modern business management, a probe in depth. modern trends in swine production. more for the money. more in ' . the most important business in the world. the movable bridge. name of the game. the name of the game is football. name of the game is green. the new automatic filmosound from bell and howell. the new model a- pinsetter. new, new automatic filmosound from bell and howell. new star performers. a new viewpoint for we drivers. a new world of worth. a news report on the gm dealer manpower development program. a next big step in dynamic owner relations. chevrolet may/june prizes. chevrolet perspective no. . selling showdown. series announcement. the number one team. olds on the go. the olympians. one of a kind. open season! openers for closing truck sales. operation ok. operation of the single-arm die. optimum tillage. the option to buy. order! order! prepare! prepare! overhead fillet. the owner relations manager. owners! owners! questions! questions! pa- . pacesetters sales campaign. padding a plate, flat position. the people of michigan enact. people! people! problems! problems! the people you meet. people you should know. the people's choice. perfect partners. performance for profits. performance x-tra. a personal message. personal problems. perspective. perspective no. . perspective no. . perspective # - . pharmaceutical research. physiology of the kidney. pile it on! pinpoint for profit. pinpoint for profit in management. pinpoint for profit in manpower. pinpoint for profit in traffic. pizza, burgers or chicken deluxe. a place in the sun. point of view. police pursuit driving. pomona, where the action is. a pony for pip. portrait of two winners. positioned flat fillet. power for profits. power for progress. the power of a promise. the power of a smile. power of suggestion. power-packed. power that pays. precision taps and tapping. the price of leadership. problem solving. production and engineering. production lifeline! wire rope, maintenance and inspection. profit newsreel. the profit partners. a progress report on a proposed concept design of the - / ton cargo carrier. project kenmore quality, a pedigree of perfection. the prom, it's a pleasure! the pursuit of profit. quest for quality. a question of choice. rally u.s.a. ready for business. reconditioning other makes. reconditioning sells the car. refreshment through the years. report to armco people: a newsreel of events around the world of armco. a report to you. the right combination. right in your pocket! the road to tomorrow. rochester: a city of quality. rooting plants in a windowsill greenhouse, part i. rooting plants in a windowsill greenhouse, part ii. roughing with hydraulic jack. the round peg. the safest township anywhere! second quarterly conference, retail used car manager. selling other makes. the selling secrets of ben franklin. a sense of proportion. serve the u.s.a. in your chevrolet truck. service second to none. servicing brakes for safety. show it like it is. show your spirit. showdown, a report to chevrolet dealers and salesmen. shrinking with heat. side by side. the sign of leadership. signs of the times. sinclair at the world's fair. the skills of football. small miracle. small wonder. small world. smooth sailing. so much in common. something just for you. the sound of power. spangweld, the new quality in pipe. a special breed. a special message to chevrolet retail sales managers. the spenders. sphere of service, the story of ftd. splendid chariots. split second. sports. spotlight on chevelle vs. competition. spotlight on chevrolet vs. competition. spotlight on trucks on trial. spotlight on vans on trial. sssssssst. the start of something big. starting the arc. stimulating & motivating salesmen. the story of lemon juice. the story of woven stretch. stretching. a strong right arm. the subject is growth! success story. sugar and spice. a sure bet! tailored for weldability. take a giant step. take your choice. taking the butt out of rebuttal. technique for life. the techniques of dissection, fetal pig. the techniques of dissection, the crayfish. the techniques of dissection, the earthworm. the techniques of dissection, the frog. the techniques of dissection, the perch. tedlar, the finish we can't wear out. the ternstedt years. test for the best! there is a difference. things are happening. a third dimension. ° horizontal v butt completion, pt. . ° horizontal v butt / " plate, pt. . ° v butt flat, alternate methods. ° v butt flat / " plate. ° v butt vertical weld / " plate. this is ternstedt. threading time, the story of die heads and taps. the three minute hour. stage rocket to higher sales in ' . through man's imagination. time for living. to each his own. tough as they come! trail blazers. a transfer concept for freight containers. treasure at bethany. the trip into town. a trip to remember. truck. turn on a dime. the turned on men. two guys named eddie. u.f.o., unrestrained flying objects. u.s. royal safety . uncle jim's dairy farm. unified prospecting. the unseen salesman. up frontier. upsetting. us! us, ii! the v.i.p.'s. variety club welcomes cavanagh. vertical fillet weld. vertical square butt / " plate. vital ingredient. wagons aplenty. warm 'n thaw oven. washing-action comparison. the way of a leader. we drivers. the well mannered lock. we're on our way. westinghouse vs. sears, a value comparison. what a dealer expects from a sales manager. what a wonderful world it would be. what about the ' chevy's? what salesmen expect from a sales manager. what's the big attraction. what's the difference. who is driving? the will of augusta nash. the winners. the wonder of water. wonderful life. the wonderful world of nylon. wondrous words. a word to the wise. work hardening. worry wart, part i. you are a retailer. you are a team. you are important. you be the doctor. you bet your life. you have the key. ze pel fabric fluoridizer. handy (jam) organization, inc. school service dept. interchangeability, the key to mass production. the techniques of dissection, fetal pig. the techniques of dissection, the crayfish. the techniques of dissection, the earthworm. the techniques of dissection, the frog. the techniques of dissection, the perch. handy (jam) productions. better water for better living. chef profile. compare washing action. a dishwasher clean-in. harvestore beef feeding systems. high moisture corn for dairy cattle. high moisture corn for hogs. how many meals to the moon. hydraulics at work. it's your move. kel-stop, the anti-wheel-lock braking system. the l-phase, some essential facts. the lilly laboratory for clinical research, a unique institution. market detroit. motorola sales convention. marathon dealer meeting. the - / " slug header. big ford . readi-cast is different. reconstituted feeds. spacetacular. the sturdi-bilt s-r installation at general electric appliance park, louisville, kentucky. the sturdi-bilt s-r installation at ibm systems manufacturing division, san jose, california. uss steel sheets. the washer with two agitators. the way it is with man-made fibers. handy & harman, park chemical co. dip brazing of aluminum. hanley, gerald. the last safari. hanna, clifford. car care for jet-age driving. michigan marching forward. operation turn key. this is nest-pak. hanna, j. c. the big farmers' ford. safety knows no season. hanna-barbera productions. bear hug. bear knuckles. bear up. bearly able. beef for and after. big mouse-take. bungle uncle. bunnies abundant. catch meow. chicken fracas-see. chicken hearted wolf. child sock-cology. common scents. count down clown. creepy time pal. crook who cried wolf. crow's fete. the do good wolf. drum-sticked. elephantastic. fee fie foes. the flintstones. habit rabbit. happy go loopy. here kiddie, kiddie. horse shoo. in a fallible fable. the jetsons. just a wolf at heart. kooky loopy. life with loopy. little bo bopped. loopy's hare-do. more than ever before. no biz like shoe biz. not in nottingham. of mutual interest. pork chop phooey. raggedy rug. rancid ransom. sheep stealers anonymous. slippery slippers. snoopy loopy. swash buckled. tale of a wolf. this is my ducky day. time for decision. top cat. trouble bruin. two faced wolf. watcha watchin'? wolf hounded. wolf in sheep dog's clothing. zoo is company. hanna-barbera productions, inc. hey there it's yogi bear. johnny quest. the man called flintstone. the story of dr. lister. hansberry, lorraine. a raisin in the sun. hanson, glen. tv commercials for chiropractic profession. harbel productions, inc. odds against tomorrow. harbord, richard p. management of respiratory failure. harbour-utv. ironside. harbridge house, inc. if these were your children, parts i and ii. harcleroad, fred f. choosing a classroom film. creating instructional materials. how to use classroom films. selecting and using ready-made materials. hardy, lindsay. love is a ball. hardy, thomas. far from the madding crowd. hargreaves, sir gerald. atlantis, the lost continent. harlequin international pictures, inc. nuts in search of a bolt. harlow, william m. exploring with the time-lapse camera. lake louise cloud-land. river. harman pictures, n.v. term of trial. harness tracks of america. bred winners. harper (i. w.) distilling co. envoy to the world. harper, kenneth. prudence and the pill. harper & row, publishers, inc. investifilms for today's basic science. harrell international, inc. art linkletter in viet nam and the far east. harrell productions, inc. a thousand clowns. harris, jack h. dinosaurus! harris, jack j. d man. harris associates. jack of diamonds. harris associates, inc. blood beast from outer space. harris communications, inc. paul taylor & company, an artist and his work. harris county center for the retarded, inc., houston, tex. teaching the young mongoloid child to communicate. harrison, paul. our man higgins. harrison radiator division, general motors corp. see general motors corp. harrison radiator division. hart, moss. act one. hart, rhoda. apres journals. hart (robert) print. co., inc. a case of minding the p's and q. hart schaffner & marx. behind the seams. harvard film corp. beauty and the beast. boy who caught a crook. deadly duo. flight that disappeared. gun street. incident in an alley. saintly sinners. secret of deep harbor. when the clock strikes. you have to run fast. harvard social studies project. see harvard university. social studies project. harvard university. president & fellows of harvard college. children in the hospital. group studies and social psychiatry. one day a week. the psychiatrist in the community. referred for underachievement. some beginnings of social psychiatry. harvard university. social studies project. developing a position. discussion techniques. problems in productive discussion. harvest films, inc. aides in daily living. a bridge to adoption. a child waits. don't push your luck! expedite: school eye safety. glaucoma, the sneak thief of sight. helping hands: aides and physical therapy. hypertension: the challenge of diagnosis. no juegue con su suerte. the smartest kid in town. a special kind of care. straight talk on eye safety. the trap. hasen, irwin. dondi. hastings, phyllis. rapture. hatch, eric. the horse in the gray flannel suit. haveg industries, inc. go. haverland, laszlo. exploring casein. hawaii airlines. hawaii, pacific paradise. hawaii visitors bureau. hawaii calls. hawaii, crossroads of the pacific. hawk films, ltd. dr. strangelove. hawks, howard. red line . hawley, cameron. cash mccall. hawthorne, nathaniel. twice told tales. haycox, ernest. stagecoach. hayes, joseph. bon voyage. the third day. hayes, marrijane. bon voyage. hayward (leland) productions, inc. the old man and the sea. haze, jonathan. invasion of the star creatures. hazen, joseph. a girl named tamiko. hazen, joseph h. all in a night's work. blue hawaii. boeing boeing. easy come, easy go. card stud. fun in acapulco. g.i. blues. girls! girls! girls! paradise hawaiian style. roustabout. the sons of katie elder. summer and smoke. true grit. visit to a small planet. wives and lovers. headliner productions, inc. married too young. the sinister urge. headliner productions of hollywood. the violent years. health research reports. call your chiropractor today. normal nerve energy-health. heard, h. f. the deadly bees. hearst corp. yellow submarine. hearst metrotone news, inc. almanac newsreel. a chance to learn. jacqueline kennedy's asian journey. news of the day. perspective on greatness. the screen news digest. heart assn. of maryland. functional anatomy of the mitral valve. heartland production. fever heat. heath, robert phillip. handguns. heath productions, inc. the secret ways. heathfield films, ltd. the assassination bureau limited. hebald, betty. breakfast. hebald, selian. breakfast. hecht (harold) corp. cat ballou. the way west. hecht (harold) films, inc. flight from ashiya. hecht-curtleigh productions. taras bulba. hecht-hill-lancaster. take a giant step. the unforgiven. hecht-hill-lancaster (australia) pty., ltd. season of passion. hegelman, ted. frame up. heggen, thomas. ensign pulver. hegre, erling s. the anatomy of the eleven mm. pig embryo as seen in serial sections. the anatomy of the nine mm. pig embryo as seen in serial sections. heldon film. the rebel's yell. helena productions, inc. schlitz-lux stripe series. helitzer, waring & wayne, inc. spalding gives you the professional edge. hellman (jerome) productions, inc. midnight cowboy. hellman, lillian. the children's hour. toys in the attic. helwig, werner. as the sea rages. hemingway, ernest. ernest hemingway's adventures of a young man. the killers. hemisphere pictures, inc. moro witch doctor. the walls of hell. henning, paul. the beverly hillbillies. henry, marguerite. brighty of the grand canyon. misty. henry, will. mackenna's gold. young billy young. henson, chester l. see henson (chet) films. henson (chet) films. isle of women. mayaland safari. toltec mystery. henson, glen e. see robar sales co. her majesty the queen in right of ontario. a place to stand. her serene highness, princess grace of monaco. see grace, princess of monaco. herbert, victor. babes in toyland. herlihy, james leo. all fall down. midnight cowboy. herman, lewis. heart attack. pole-top rescue breathing with closed chest heart massage. herman, marguerite s. pole-top rescue breathing with closed chest heart massage. herman, muriel. mary had a little.... herman (norman t.) productions. the glory stompers. hermes productions, inc. invitation to a gunfighter. heron film productions, inc. our mother's house. hersey, john. the war lover. hertelandy associates. c'mon let's live a little. herzog, arthur, jr. mary had a little.... hewitt, david. the time travelers. heyday productions. i'm dickens, he's fenster. hibbs, edwin t. behavior of empoasca fabae (harris) cicadellidae, homoptera. hickey, joseph f., ii. los rincones. high call productions. tree of death. highland-brentwood productions. behold a pale horse. highland films, ltd. a man for all seasons. highroad productions, inc. the guns of navarone. mackenna's gold. otley. highway safety foundation, mansfield, ohio. the child molester. mechanized death. the shoplifter. special delivery. the unteachables. wheels of tragedy. you and the bank robber. hilary productions, ltd. stop me before i kill. hilberman, david. little blue and little yellow. hilbert, benjamin. the breaking of the bread. hilda productions, inc. award theatre. hilfiker, earl l. engineer in a fur coat. the rabbit that runs on snowshoes. hill, weldon. onionhead. hillworth productions, inc. the happy thieves. hilton, james. goodbye, mr. chips. hilton, tony. the hand. hinderaker, ivan. building political leadership. hine, al. lord love a duck. hinton, billy. profits, capital equipment and economic growth. hispamer (p. c.) films. house of a thousand dolls. historical research foundation, lake jackson, tex. the texas revolution. historical society of michigan. when michigan was young. hitchcock, alfred. incident at a corner. hitchcock (alfred j.) productions, inc. the birds. hitchcock, mrs. pat. gurkha country. himalayan farmer. hittleman, carl k. hours. hobart manufacturing co. kitchenaid, a world of difference. the profit partners. hobart productions, inc. the frank sinatra show. hoch, edward d. alfred hitchcock hour. hogan, ray. hell bent for leather. holdaway, jim. modesty blaise. holdean productions, ltd. the th dawn. holding, james. alfred hitchcock hour. holdsworth (gerald) productions, ltd. this was the mary. holiday advertising agency. your hidden strength. holiday in spain co. holiday in spain. holiday magic. a formula for happy living. holland-wegman productions, inc. if you hear the explosion, the danger has passed. industrial hygiene--science of survival. you and office safety. holles, robert. guns at batasi. hollingsworth, meredith theodore. fun with parachutes. holm, richard w. natural selection. holmstrom, john paul. international hollywood. holt (nat) production. cattle king. holt, rinehart & winston, inc. addition background. algorithms addition and subtraction of whole numbers. applying the number system of arithmetic. developing an understanding of whole numbers and decimals. division, part & . factors and prime numbers, part & . figures on a plane. fractional numbers, part & . mathematical systems, part - . measurement. multiplication is not vexation, part & . non-decimal numeration systems. non-metric geometry, part & . the number system of arithmetic, part - . numbers and numeration. numeration systems. patterns and techniques in arithmetic problem solving. pre-number concepts. primes. the reading team: the teacher, the child, the textbook. subtraction, the inverse of addition. using materials of learning in a meaningful arithmetic problem. whole numbers and their properties, part & . holt, rinehart & winston, inc. foreign language dept. the two o'clock class. hombre productions, inc. hombre. homer productions, inc. diary of a bachelor. homeric films (u.k.) ltd. the vulture. honig-cooper & harrington. dirty band. hooper, tobe. the abyss. hoover co. company profile. growing with hoover. hope enterprises, inc. on the lam. hopics, inc. chrysler presents a bob hope comedy special. the house next door. hopkins (johns) university. locomotion of cancer cells in vivo compared with normal cells. hopper, hal. motorpsycho. horgan, paul. a distant trumpet. horizon. the chase. horizon dover, inc. the happening. the swimmer. horizon pictures (g.b.) ltd. lawrence of arabia. the night of the generals. suddenly, last summer. horizon productions. mondo keyhole. horter (don) productions, inc. the living fiber, wool. hospital & professional division, johnson & johnson. see johnson & johnson. hospital & professional division. hossfeld manufacturing co. metal forming processes. hotspur films, ltd. the brides of dracula. the curse of the werewolf. hough, stanley l. bandolero! houseman (john) productions, inc. all fall down. in the cool of the day. two weeks in another town. hovue productions. bob hope presents the chrysler theatre. howard, clark. alfred hitchcock hour. howard, eldon. the great van robbery. howard, hartley. assignment k. howard, john, jr. india peace corps training. village india, kalghatgi. howard, leigh. chance meeting. howard, peter d. voice of the hurricane. howard, sidney. a breath of scandal. howco international. country boy. the shepherd of the hills. thunder in carolina. howell, wayne k. country school. howlett, john. if. hubbard, margaret carson. liebalala. huber, louis r. alaska, the friendly th. eskimo river village. glaciers. people of alaska. hubley, john. of stars and men--concerning man's place and performance in the universe. hubley studios. windy day. hubris productions, ltd. the third secret. huffaker, clair. flaming star. posse from hell. rio conchos. seven ways from sundown. the war wagon. hughes (donald) productions. a parable. hughes, donald e. a parable. hughes, richard. a high wind in jamaica. hughes-treitler manufacturing corp. dip brazing of aluminum. huie, william bradford. the americanization of emily. the outsider. wild river. hulett, ralph. the first noel. a light shines in the darkness. hulme, kathryne c. the nun's story. human development institute, atlanta. i'm not too proud anymore. hume, doris. susan slade. humphrey, william. home from the hill. humphreys, robert. building political leadership. hundt, charles j. people afloat. hunter, evan. mister buddwing. strangers when we meet. the young savages. hunter, j. a. killers of kilimanjaro. hunter, jack. the blue max. hunter (ross)-arwin production. midnight lace. hunter (ross) productions, inc. the art of love. back street. the chalk garden. flower drum song. i'd rather be rich. if a man answers. madame x. the pad. portrait in black. tammy and the doctor. tammy tell me true. thoroughly modern millie. the thrill of it all. hurok, s. the best of the bolshoi. hurst, fannie. back street. hurwitz, harry l. the penny arcade. hutchison, paula. horses and their ancestors. man and his tools. a world full of homes. hutton productions. the betty hutton show. hyman, mac. no time for sergeants. i ibm corp. the national drivers test. i.d.e.a. see institute for the development of educational activities. ibanez, vincente blasco. see blasco ibanez, vincente. ibsen, henrik. peer gynt. idaho education assn. idaho school dilemma. idaho state library. idaho libraries today. iliad films (canada) ltd. the vulture. illinois. southern illinois university, carbondale. building lines. design for correction. phrase reading film series, primary grades. the role of the wheel. shapes a la cart. to lighten the shadows. illinois. southern illinois university, carbondale. center for the study of crime, delinquency and correction. design for correction. illinois. western illinois university, macomb. country school. ilson-chambers productions. the john gary show. the smothers brothers comedy hour. imagination, inc. the bonanza years. of gods and galleons. steel across the sierra. under three flags. immortal swan productions, ltd. le cygne immortel. imperial pictures, inc. vice raid. imperial studios of ballet, inc. a report on findings of seven-year research and development program on ballet and dance training. independent artists production, ltd. chance meeting. independent television corp. the gale storm show. spotlight. indiana state board of health. eyes of regret. indiana university. adaptation in plants. adventuring in conservation. algae. alice, a high school junior. camping, a key to conservation. canals: towpaths west. the check collection process. constellations. controlled experiments. controlled photographic lighting. the cotton belt: yesterday and today. crayfish anatomy. the dairy belt. development of the cardio-vascular system of the chick: the heart. development of the chick: extra embryonic membranes. dick, a fifth grader. earthworm anatomy. editing synchronous sound. electricity: distribution. electricity: measurement. electricity: production. epileptic seizures. exposure. exposure meter: theory and use. fetal pig anatomy. the fish that turned cold. the fraternity idea. frog anatomy. genetic investigations. globes: an introduction. the great plains. greg, an eighth grader. how big? how far. the indiana school for the blind. ionization and ionic equilibrium. jet and rocket engines. keith, a second grader. the land along the water. long journey west: . maps: an introduction. measurement and man. minerals and rocks. nervous system in man. new england sea community. northeast farm community. operating the jeep audio-visual unit. the parade of ancient life. perch anatomy. personal adjustment training in a sheltered workshop. the pioneer blacksmith. pioneer spinning & weaving. plains and plateaus. plants obtain food. principles of endocrine activity. the regional campuses of indiana university. rivers. the senses of man. the seven wives of bahram gur. sound recording for motion pictures. static electricity. thai images of the buddha. time. vocational distributive education: the program and the plan. the wheat belt. which way? witness to an accident. indiana university. audio visual center. adaptation in plants. adventuring in conservation. algae. alice, a high school junior. camping, a key to conservation. the check collection process. controlled experiments. controlled photographic lighting. crayfish anatomy. the dairy belt. development of the cardio-vascular system of the chick: the heart. development of the chick: extra embryonic membranes. dick, a fifth grader. earthworm anatomy. editing synchronous sound. electricity: distribution. electricity: measurement. electricity: production. epileptic seizures. exposure. exposure meter: theory and use. fetal pig anatomy. the fish that turned cold. the fraternity idea. frog anatomy. genetic investigations. globes: an introduction. the great plains. greg, an eighth grader. how far. the indiana school for the blind. ionization and ionic equilibrium. jet and rocket engines. keith, a second grader. the land along the water. long journey west: . maps: an introduction. measurement and man. minerals and rocks. new england sea community. northeast farm community. operating the jeep audio-visual unit. perch anatomy. performance development in autistic children. personal adjustment training in a sheltered workshop. the pioneer blacksmith. pioneer spinning & weaving. plants obtain food. principles of endocrine activity. the regional campuses of indiana university. the seven wives of bahram gur. sound recording for motion pictures. static electricity. thai images of the buddha. time. vocational distributive education: the program and the plan. the wheat belt. which way? witness to an accident. indiana university. dept. of fine arts. the seven wives of bahram gur. infascelli. a stranger in town. inge, william. the dark at the top of the stairs. the stripper. insight, inc. expedition. institut für film und bild. planets in orbit--the laws of kepler. stars and star systems. institute for dermatologic communication & education. dermatosis cenicienta. familial circumscribed erythrokeratoderma. toxic anhidrosis. turban tumor. institute for dermatologic communication & education, san francisco. acrodermatitis chronica atrophicans. congenital ichthyosiform erythroderma. epizoonoses. gold leaf treatment of cutaneous ulcers. granulomatous dermo-hypodermitis with progressive atrophy. keratosis follicularis. lipoid proteinosis. lupus erythematosus. metastasizing basal cell carcinoma. pellagra and other avitaminoses in the bantu. pustular psoriasis. surgical treatment of benign acanthosis nigricans. xeroderma pigmentosum. institute for dermatologic communication & education, washington, d.c. distinctive exudative discoid and lichenoid chronic dermatosis. institute for development of educational activities, inc. the improbable form of master sturm, the nongraded high school. make a mighty reach. institute for human development. see new york institute for human development. institute for special musical studies, university of southern california. see california. university of southern california. institute for special musical studies. institute for the crippled & disabled. the tower evaluators. what finer purpose? institute of american strategy, florida institute for continuing university studies. see florida institute for continuing university studies. institute of american strategy. institute of corrections. american foundation. the odds against. institute of life insurance. trouble in paradise. what changes and does not change in communication. institute of scrap iron & steel, inc. born to the flame. the endless search. institute of visual communication, inc. a little bit more. my kind of story. institute on communism & constitutional democracy, vanderbilt university. see vanderbilt university, nashville. institute on communism & constitutional democracy. instructional enterprises, inc. reading: diagnosing needs. instructional materials center, michigan state university. see michigan. state university, east lansing. instructional materials center. interlude films. anthem. forest murmurs. one got fat. international afro-american museum, inc. you can be a doctor. international assn. of assessing officers. the search for equity. international assn. of fire fighters. local , san francisco. fire fighter. international assn. of laryngectomees. a second voice. international business machines corp. alc storage to storage instructions. a-v methods, reel . a-v methods, reel . accounting machine selectors, part . an automated method for producing transistors. the bank. binomial distribution. cos. card listing and addition. carriage control and summary punching. chi square. communication between sub-programs. compiler output. compiler output and slack bytes. component circuit locations. computer programming for n/c machines. concepts. conditional probability. continuous distribution. control sections. costs that make sense. counter coupling and total transfer. course review. dos execution time debugging. dos system control magnetics. data types and i/o review. decision tables: files and file organization. the defined attribute; pointers and based variables. design automation at ibm. dimension of life. diode logic circuits, part . diode logic circuits, part . direct access files. disk record formats; indexed-sequential file organization. the disks that are a cylinder. document writing machine. executive seminar. exponential distribution. film record of the highlights of the ibm banking premiere at ibm poughkeepsie from may to may , . floating point arithmetic, part . floating point arithmetic, part . the alphameric optical reader. fundamentals of control programs; dps organization. group indication and minor totals. group printing and field/class selection. hardware lesson one. hardware lesson two. hypergeometric distribution. hypothesis testing. ibm data processing for hospitals. ibm electric typewriter. ibm s/ model installation programming. ibm data communication system. indexed sequential files. inferences concerning means. installation control. insurance information bulletin no. . internal data formats fortran/assembler. introduction and model punched card concepts. introduction: tps organization. introduction to diagnostic programs. introduction to disk processing. introduction to rax, program modification and storage. introduction to teleprocessing systems. introduction to the oscilloscope. lesson one. lesson two. list-directed transmission in stream-oriented input/output for basic pl/i. macro writing. the magnetic inventory story. the mechanics of the photoelectric paper tape reader. a new tool for profit, the . the next step. normal approximations of binomial. normal distribution. number systems. oao, eye in space. os execution time debugging. os/ accounting facility review. os/ advanced checkpoint restart. os/ system management facilities. os/ pl/i(f) object program management. the model interpreting card punch. oscilloscope sweep delay. poisson distribution. probabilities. program linkage and overlays. programming. proof machine, part . proof machine, part . proof machine, part . quality assurance news. the question tree. random variables. the report generator. s/ demonstration. sampling distribution. the school information center. scope of identifiers. selective dissemination of information. set manipulation. prolay maintenance & start/stop adjustments. message accounting tape reader. small miracle. sort/merge. special features. string of perils. subprogramming, data files. sub-routines and functions; program checkout facilities. subtraction and selection. symbolic programming, part . symbolic programming, part . symbolic programming, part . system design procedures review. systems. systems communications. tape handling. tape record formats; rpg coding for tape files. tele-processing. & disk head cleaning. ramac disk removal. portable oscilloscope. operating system volume states. time sharing concepts. topic . topic , lesson one. topic , lesson two. topic , lesson three. topic , lesson four. topic , lesson one. topic . lesson two. topic . transistors in dp equipment. transit banking today. the wrap. international business machines corp. advanced systems development division. information retrieval. international business machines corp. data processing division. information retrieval. international championships, inc. mack and myer for hire. international city managers' assn. tomorrow's government today. international classics, inc. the agony and the ecstasy. la bonne soupe. la fuga. please, not now! international film bureau, inc. audio-visual supervisor. building lines. children in the hospital. exploring our community. exploring with the time-lapse camera. facts about film. facts about projection. language of algebra. the role of the wheel. shapes a la cart. tomorrow's government today. international film foundation, inc. african village life. amazon family. children of israel. south america. sunflight. international ladies' garment workers' union. american fashions fall and winter, - . fall and winter fashions, - . the fashion picture spring to summer . fashions u.s.a. fashions u.s.a., fall and winter - . fashions u.s.a.--spring and summer, . spring and summer fashions . international milling co. robin; brownies. robin; cake. robin; drawing. international nickel co., inc. refining precious metals from the sudbury nickel ores. international producers enterprises, ltd. the square root. international sanitary supply assn., chicago. the importance of sanitation. international scientific foundation. masters of the congo jungle. international silk association (u.s.a.) inc. naturally, silk. international telemeter co. the consul. international temperance assn., washington, d.c. countdown. interns co. the interns. interstate bakeries corp. upside down bread. invest in california co. i could have been a millionaire. investment co. institute. of mutual interest. inzom corp. the horror of party beach. iowa. state college. foundations in mathematics for elementary teachers. iowa. state university of science & technology, ames. algal syngamy: isogamy in chlamydomonas. algal syngamy: oogamy in oedogonium. algal syngamy: zygote formation in pandorina. apical dominance. before your mill or elevator burns. behavior of empoasca fabae (harris) cicadellidae, homoptera. a book by its cover. early development of the root system. early development of the shoot in quercus. effect of red and far-red light on internode length. effects of red and far-red light on seedling development. the flowering stimulus, location of the photoreceptor. the flowering stimulus, translocation between species. the flowering stimulus, translocation of the response factor. gamete transfer in the bryophytes: the splash cup in a moss. gamete transfer in the bryophytes: the splash platform in marchantia. growth and reproduction in saprolegnia. heterothallism in phycomyces. isolation of phytochrome. liberation of zoospores in the alga basicladia. liberation of zoospores in the alga oedogonium. liberation of zoospores in the alga stigeoclonium. life cycle of ceratocystis ulmi, the dutch elm disease fungus. livestock farmers and the four flies. oxygen levels during an algal bloom. oxygen liberation by isolated chloroplasts: the hill reaction. pathways of water in herbaceous plants. pathways of water in woody plants. patterns of development during infancy. photochemical properties of phytochrome. photosynthetic fixation of carbon dioxide. phototropic response in coleoptiles. plant science film studies. pollen release in zea mays. pollen tube growth. pollination in zea mays. portable extinguishers. regulation of plant development: coleoptile response in zea. root nodule formation. spore dispersal in equisetum. spore dispersal in the fungi-coprinus. stomatal opening and closing. irish, william. le mariee etait en noir. iron foxhole, inc. tank battalion. irving, reid. guideposts to speaking and writing. writing and revising. isleib, malcolm e. see s & i films. italian international film. spy in your eye. war italian style. ittac-s.m.c. marco the magnificent. iversen-ford associates. boycott. iverson, joe a. tanzania. ivy films research, inc. le corbusier in america. iwanami productions, inc. strata: the earth's changing crust. izard, anne. the pleasure is mutual: how to conduct effective picture book programs. j j & m productions, inc. holiday lodge. jack benny television show. j. c. corp. see jones-carpenter corp. jackson, martha. the ivory knife. new york . jackson, shirley. the haunting. jacobs, andrew, jr. i walked with a child. jacobson, joel. mississippi john hurt in washington. jaffe (henry) enterprises, inc. shirley temple's story book. a very special occasion. a very special occasion: buddy greco, susan barrett. a very special occasion: jerry vale, joanie sommers. jaffe, joanne wilson. twelve dancing princesses. jaguar-bilben productions. schlitz-lux playhouse. jaguar production. guns of the timberland. jaillite, e. ski happy. jalem productions, inc. the april fools. cool hand luke. stowaway in the sky. jamco productions. checkmate. jamel productions, inc. the painting. james, ed. father knows best. james, henry. the innocents. james, rian. dead ringer. james, will. smoky. james productions, inc. the unforgiven. jana film enterprises, inc. ride the wild surf. janni (joseph)-vic films production. far from the madding crowd. janssen, john a. the last full measure of devotion. jantzen, inc. surf. swim meet. jarrett, g. b. tides of war. jarrett, g. burling. tides of war. jason, inc. the naked edge. paris blues. jay gee productions, inc. every sparrow must fall. jayark corp. i am me. jazz arts society, inc. at home with jazz. jeanson, henri. paris when it sizzles. jefferson parish, la. recreation dept. library division. the jefferson parish story. jefferson standard broadcasting co. robert williams, cuba. jeffry, alix. who's afraid of virginia woolf. jenga productions. the face of jesus. jenkins, geoffrey. a twist of sand. jennings, john j. the face of jesus. jennings, talbot. the sons of katie elder. jennings, william dale. barbara. jensen, viggo w. growth failure and maternal deprivation. jensen productions. aladdin. the country mouse and the city mouse. the lion and the mouse. the nightingale. the traveling musicians. the ugly duckling. jerry thorpe productions, inc. the venetian affair. jessup, richard. chuka. the cincinnati kid. jewish child care assn. of new york. a family for now. jewish family service, inc. of new york. in and out of psychosis. joel productions, inc. grand prix. the list of adrian messenger. lonely are the brave. seconds. seven days in may. johnson, bruce e. teeki. johnson, clara. skin preparation for delivery. johnson, dennis s. some of the boys. johnson, don. africa and schweitzer. johnson, dorothy m. the hanging tree. the man who shot liberty valance. johnson, duane woodworth. artist's life. johnson, george clayton. ocean's . johnson, lincoln f., jr. elysium. johnson, marlin d. this time the world. johnson, nora. the world of henry orient. johnson (r. verle) associates. the constitution, guardian of liberty. johnson, robert l. trainers' secrets. johnson (s. c.) & son, inc. getting the bugs out. paging women. to be alive! johnson & johnson. aseptic bovine surgery. baths and babies. first aid now. it's time to take stock. plaster casts and splints: preparation, application, removal. space project. take time for your teeth. johnson & johnson. hospital & professional division. the problem of our hands. johnson & johnson. vetco division. aseptic bovine surgery. johnson corp. paper dryer studies, slow speed. johnson motors. the greatest show on water. johnson publications. trainers' secrets. johnston, george f. mark. joint committee on continuing legal education of the american law institute & the american bar assn. the irrevocable trust. jolly film-production, d.s. up the macgregors. jolly film, s.a.r.l. per una pugno di dollari. jones, arthur a. savage. jones (bob) university, greenville, s.c. red runs the river. jones (dallas) productions, inc. adapting to conditions. can you stop in time. delivery injuries. high and dry. intersection safety. the invaders. make way for magnesium. more than manners. report that accident! shape of the future. shaping the future with gypsum wall-board. shaping the future with lath and plaster. split second decisions. tribute to a money maker. what's in sight? jones, james. the thin red line. jones (john paul) productions, inc. john paul jones. jones, proctor. art in woodcut. jones-carpenter corp. savage. jonson, ben. the honey pot. jordan, daniel c. metamorphosis of the owls. jorilie & argus productions. : p.m. summer. jorilie productions establishment. never on sunday. phaedra. joshua tree productions. basketball: game coaching. basketball: pre-season coaching. children's classic story series. defense: guarding man with ball. defense: guarding man without ball. dribbling. fakes and feints. the foul shot. the hook shot. the jump shot. the lay-up. new guinea. offensive footwork. offensive pivot play. passing. rebounding. schools and jobs: lots of people work here. schools and learning: learning is my job. schools and neighborhoods: josh gets a school. schools and rules: rules to view a zoo by. schools and safety: david won't be here today. schools and sharing: let's share a seesaw. screening. the set shot. the visiting nurse. journal films, inc. animal predators and the balance of nature. animal reproduction, the wonderful process of creating a new life. a boy's trip into the grand canyon. a child of hawaii. decorating and planning your home: some basic ideas. energy and power: a first look. food preparation: some basic ideas. food supply: its effect on civilization. galvani and volta, an early debate in science. going to school is your job. instincts in animals. language of the mute swan. learning from pets in the classroom. let's look at levers. nothing to do! four summertime episodes. the rest of your life. river of power. rivers and our history. salesmanship: career opportunities. school bus safety with strings attached! speaker of the house. speaker of the house: the legislative process. spring is a season. the survival of the kit fox, a conservation case study. a test can teach. things to do when you visit the zoo. this is a cooperative. united nations: organization for peace. vocations in agriculture. what's so important about a wheel? what's the good of a test? jovera, s.a. funeral in berlin. junction films, ltd. the long day's dying. june productions, inc. someone's stealing from you. junior league of san francisco, inc. palo alto merit. lincoln's gold. junior league of san francisco, inc. palo alto unit. lincoln's gold. juri productions, inc. blaze starr goes nudist. jurow-shepherd-pennebaker productions. the fugitive kind. jurow-shepherd productions. breakfast at tiffany's. love in a goldfish bowl. juta, jan. the explorations of prince henry. jymie productions, inc. the folks. kick. king is dead. k k. e. t. c. production. this student generation: conflict and commitment. khf productions. the outrage. kqed film unit. see kqed, tv station. kqed, tv station. anatomy of a hit. u.s.a.: photography. u.s.a.: poetry. kron-tv. v.d., the disease that won't go away. kästner, erich. emil and the detectives. the parent trap. kahans film productions. magnets and their uses. kahn, ronald. prudence and the pill. kalb, voorhis & co. more money to spend. kaler, james otis. toby tyler. kalimers, n.v. he who must die. kalin, robert. modern mathematics for the elementary school teacher. kam productions, inc. don't worry, we'll think of a title. kamen (clifford j.) productions. the mediterranean world. kampen, irene. the lucy show. kana productions, inc. private property. kane (al) productions, inc. hope for the world, land where our fathers died. kane, bob. batman. the case of cousin outrageous. the case of the abandoned movie sets. the case of the auto tycoons. the case of the backwards clock. the case of the bank robbery. the case of the big ball game. the case of the big movie star. the case of the big party. the case of the big pipe line. the case of the big prison break. the case of the big race. the case of the big squeeze. the case of the big trial. the case of the blinking planet. the case of the boxing champ. the case of the carnival capers. the case of the cat cave treasure. the case of the construction caper. the case of the counterfeiters. the case of the creatures from down under. the case of the crime lab. the case of the diamond smugglers. the case of the embassy stake out. the case of the fabulous diamond. the case of the flying eye. the case of the flying saucer. the case of the frogmen. the case of the fugitive at large. the case of the gasoline war. the case of the golden statue. the case of the great circus mystery. the case of the gun mixup. the case of the haunted house. the case of the hermit of creepy hollow. the case of the invisible robbers. the case of the iron shark. the case of the kidnapped amusement park. the case of the laughing gas victims. the case of the mad cowboys. the case of the mad painter. the case of the mad scientist. the case of the magic wand. the case of the mail train robbery. the case of the masked raiders. the case of the minced spies. the case of the mind reader. the case of the missing masterpiece. the case of the missing partner. the case of the moon giant. the case of the mysterious bottle. the case of the mysterious submarine. the case of the mysterious weather. the case of the nine lives. the case of the northwoods caper. the case of the opera singer. the case of the peace pipe. the case of the perfect alibi. the case of the professor's machine. the case of the rescue squad. the case of the robber rabbit. the case of the saggin' dragon. the case of the scheming cleaners. the case of the secret weapon. the case of the shoo shoo fly. the case of the sniffer machine. the case of the spies return. the case of the stolen cheese. the case of the stolen pyramid. the case of the t.v. director. the case of the thinking cap. the case of the trampolene performers. the case of the undercover agents. the case of the unmentionables. the case of the unthinkables. the case of the visiting patient. the case of the waterfront caper. the case of the wax museum. disguise the limit. monster from outer space. the return of the shoo shoo fly. kane, bob. see cavalier films, ltd. kane, frank. key witness. kane, robert g. kisses for my president. kanin, fay. the outrage. kanin, garson. high time. the rat race. the right approach. kanin, michael. the outrage. kanipe, lee. carl sandburg, man of the world, poet of the people. kansas. university. physical education, more than fun. this is k. u. kansas. university. medical center. emergency airway: crisis and action. kansas. university. school of medicine. dept. of audio-visual education. emergency airway: crisis and action. kantor, mackinlay. follow me, boys! kaplan (boris d.) productions, inc. let no man write my epitaph. kaplan, norman r. no. team. kaplan (richard) productions. the cold war: the early period ( - ) kaplan, robert j. life endeath. karig, walter. zotz! karmel, alex. something wild. karp, theodore b. the nature of language and how it is learned. the organization of language. the sounds of language. words and their meanings. kass, peter. time of the heathen. kass, walter. diagnostic studies of emotionally disturbed, blind and visually impaired children: verbal facility masking concept deficit. elizabeth and mary. kata, elizabeth. a patch of blue. katcha, vahe. the hook. katcher, leo. king of the roaring 's, the story of arnold rothstein. katkov, norman. twinkle and shine. katz, max. wisp. katzka-berne productions, inc. marlowe. kaufman, bel. up the down staircase. kaufman (henry j.) & associates. evening star broadcasting tele-image. kaufman-lubin productions, inc. reprieve. kay (f. d.) production. pink sand, blue water. kay (gordon) & associates. he rides tall. taggart. kayos productions, inc. rachel, rachel. kayro, inc. calvin and the colonel. kayro-jam. ichabod and me. kayro productions, inc. bringing up buddy. kayro-vue productions. harris against the world. karen. the munsters. tom, dick, and mary. kazantzaki, nikos. he who must die. zorba the greek. keaton, buster. the balloonatic. the blacksmith. the boat. buster keaton der boxer und der cowboy. college. cops. der general. the general. the haunted house. my wife's relations. the paleface. the playhouse. steamboat bill, jr. three ages. keaton (buster) film corp. the balloonatic. the blacksmith. the boat. college. cops. the general. my wife's relations. the paleface. the playhouse. three ages. keaton (buster) productions corp. steamboat bill, jr. keats, ezra jack. the snowy day. keech, gilbert w. white lightning. keefe, frederick l. before winter comes. keelou corp. twist all night. keelou production co. twist all night. keene, day. joy house. the trouble with girls. keeney, phillip gordon. agents of drug abuse. keep films, ltd. great catherine. lord jim. keitz & herndon, inc. artist. hawaii. jot. keller (paul f.) & associates, inc. the church in the world. kelley, f. joseph. the maya of mysterious ancient mexico. kelley (joe) film productions. the maya of mysterious ancient mexico. kellman, brian. ye faithful. kelsay, bill. my living doll. kelsey-fraser productions. electric utilities television. decorate with light. luxtrol light control. kelsey-hayes co. kel-stop, the anti-wheel-lock braking system. kelvinator division of american motors corp. see american motors corp. kelvinator division. ken productions, inc. frigid wife. kendel, roy. puppy frolics. kendrick, john. productivity--key to progress. kendrick, john w. productivity: key to america's economic growth. kenlo, john, pseud. see weinstein, julian. kennecott copper corp. copper! kennedy, john fitzgerald. profiles in courage. kennedy (robert f.) memorial foundation. robert kennedy remembered. kent, laurence w. caressed. kent, max r. i saw aucas pray. kent films, inc. i saw aucas pray. kentucky. university. medical center. management of respiratory failure. kenyon, norman. the new detroit. kenyon & eckhardt, inc. beecham, inc. television commercials. keon, michael. the th dawn. kerckhoff marine laboratory. mysteries of the deep. kerouac, jack. the subterraneans. kerr, jean. mary mary. please don't eat the daisies. kessel, joseph. belle de jour. the lion. kestler, otto c. disk dance, the life and death of the intervertebral disk. ketcham, hank. dennis the menace. kettering (charles f.) foundation. institute for the development of educational activities. see institute for development of educational activities. kettledrums productions, inc. blue. kettler bros., inc. another way. key productions, inc. beyond a doubt. kikkoman international, inc. adventures in flavor. kim lighting & manufacturing co., inc. a report on fountain designs. kimberly-clark corp. avocado. bananas. casual in store. help; kim-fcb . manners rehearsal. meet cousin casual. more and more tired. turkey. kimco pictures corp. boys' night out. kimpton, lawrence. the need for economic education. kine-afrika productions. africa, yesterday and tomorrow. king, paul. operation petticoat. king broadcasting co. the golden calf. parent problems. snow. wheels, wheels, wheels. king bros. productions, inc. captain sinbad. heaven with a gun. maya. king feature syndicate division. yellow submarine. king features syndicate, inc. et tu otto. the hat. hero's reward. home sweet swampy. keeping up with krazy. the method and maw. mouse blanche. psychological testing. snuffy's song. take me to your gen'rul. a tree is a tree is a tree? king screen productions. the golden calf. parent problems. snow. wheels, wheels, wheels. king-seeley thermos co. queen products division. gramps, the old pro in getting set for sales. kingsley-international. the savage eye. kingsley international release production. only two can play. kingsmead productions, ltd. our man in havana. kingsrow enterprises, inc. the judy garland show. kipling, rudyard. the jungle book. kirk, jeremy. madison avenue. kirschey, helmut p. mondo caribbean. kirst, hans hellmut. the night of the generals. kitchel, allan, jr. down the road. kjelgaard, jim. big red. klaeger film production. the wonderful world of trains. klein, alexander. the counterfeit traitor. klein, karl k. swimming for a congenital quad amputee. klein, larry. invitation to a gunfighter. klein, theodore frederick. numbers and numerals. klement, otto. fantastic voyage. kleth, stanley. reclaimed. klingman, larry m. store. knapp bros. shoe manufacturing corp. tell it like it is. knebel, fletcher. seven days in may. kneeland, edward s., jr. a report on findings of seven-year research and development program on ballet and dance training. stop! play that stick. kneeland, jo anna. a report on findings of seven-year research and development program on ballet and dance training. kneeland, mary ada. stop! play that stick. knight (derrick) & partners, ltd. abc scope. knott, frederick. the honey pot. wait until dark. knowles, dorothy. rabbits are the friends of toads. knowlton, edward rogers. assignment america. knox reeves advertising, inc. [alberto-culver co. television commercials] kohlmar (fred) productions, inc. the devil at o'clock. kohlmar-quine production co. the notorious landlady. kohlmar-sidney co. bye bye birdie. kohlmer (fred) productions, inc. the wackiest ship in the army. kohner, frederick. gidget goes hawaiian. komjathy, anthony. majd mi gyozunk. kopit, arthur l. oh dad, poor dad, mamma's hung you in the closet and i'm feelin' so sad. korn, david. cold sun. kornerstone productions. which way is paradise? kraft-ebing, richard freiherr von. on her bed of roses. krainin, julian. hide and seek. kramer, stanley. it's a mad, mad, mad, mad world. kramer (stanley) corp. the secret of santa vittoria. kramer co. invitation to a gunfighter. kraana, norman. indiscreet. sunday in new york. who was that lady? krieger, lillia f. ikebana for everyone. krumgold, joseph. and now miguel. kudu film productions. the quest for the indian rope trick. kurnitz, harry. hatari. a shot in the dark. kurosawa, akira. the outrage. kutza, michael joseph, jr. emanon. l l. & n. r. r. co. see louisville & nashville railroad co. lfa productions, inc. question . l. k. o. productions. hypnotic induction. la barbiera, samuel, jr. angels flight. labor-management training service. a common sense look at industry's perennial problem. performance rating practice film. lacey, franklin. the music man. ladd enterprises, inc. all the young men. guns of the timberland. island of lost women. west street. lado, robert. la feria: regocijo de sevilla. la jolla productions. terror from the year . lakeside pictures, inc. born reckless. up periscope. lamb, max. waco. lamb-graham production. mondo keyhole. lambert, gavin. inside daisy clover. lamont, austin f. a dream to learn. your in lordds land!! l'amour, louis. guns of the timberland. heller in pink tights. taggart. lampedusa, giuseppe tomasi di. the leopard. lampell, millard. merry go round. lance productions, inc. what will they think of next? lancer productions, inc. route . landau, arthur. harlow. landau co. the pawnbroker. landis, paul h. engagement: romance and reality. handling marital conflicts. psychological differences between the sexes. landon, christopher. desert attack. lane, anthony. musky madness. lane (anthony) film studios, inc. musky madness. lanford, douglas. this is the soviet union today. lang (fritz) picture. journey to the lost city. langford productions, inc. the untouchables. langstaff, john m. frog went a-courtin'. lankershim co. bedtime story. a very special favor. lanrus pictures corp. mondo teeno. lansburgh, larry. run, appaloosa, run. lansbury (edgar) productions, inc. the subject was roses. lansford, william douglas. villa rides. lantz (walter) productions, inc. calling dr. woodpecker. case of the cold storage yegg. charlie's mother-in-law. coy decoy. goose in the rough. goose is wild. greedy gabby gator. hi-seas hi-jacker. pesky pelican. salmon loafer. science friction. short in the saddle. shutter bug. stowaway woody. the tenant's racket. tepee for two. lapierre, dominique. is paris burning? lappin, peter. the green tree. larcas productions, inc. a child is waiting. invitation to a gunfighter. pressure point. larsen, james a. map of california, agricultural uses of lowlands in coastal valleys. map of california: the desert and how man uses desert valleys for agriculture. maps and their meaning. maps, land symbols and terms. larson, ray b. weltek model ncrm- tape controlled reflow solder machine. larteguy, jean. lost command. lasse (fred) productions. electromagnets: electricity makes magnets. induced current: magnets move electrons. static electricity: friction transfers electrons. lasse, fred r. electromagnets: electricity makes magnets. induced current: magnets move electrons. lassie programs, inc. lassie. latimer production co. m-squad. latour, ira h. antonio gaudi. the million dollar customer. laughlin, tom. the proper time. laughlin films, ltd. joanna. laundry division, westinghouse appliance sales & service. co. see westinghouse appliance sales & service co. laundry division. laurel productions. el dorado. red line . laurel productions, inc. man's favorite sport? laurence, margaret. rachel, rachel. laurentiis, dino de. five branded women. laurentiis (dino de) cinematografica, s.p.a. anzio. barabbas. barbarella. the best of enemies. the bible. the brain. danger: diabolik. fraulein doktor. the great war. kiss the girls and make them die. le mariee etait en noir. romeo and juliet. laurents, arthur. west side story. lavagnino, john. soccer's here. laval university, quebec. dept. of mechanical engineering. bending stresses in gear teeth. la varre, andre de. a wish and ticino. laven-gardner-levy. geronimo. laverents, sidney n. snails. lawren productions. candidate for stroke. knock on every door. lawrence, d. h. sons and lovers. lawrence, jerome. inherit the wind. lawrence, paul. they do not walk alone. lawrence (paul) films. they do not walk alone. leacock pennebaker, inc. don't look back. leahy, john j. neuroleptanalgesia with innovar. leahy productions. anesthesia for out-patient surgery. learn at home films, inc. arthur murray dance studios present. vic tanny international gym and health clubs present. leasor, james. where the spies are. le breton, auguste. rififi in tokyo. le carre, john. the deadly affair. the spy who came in from the cold. leder, paul. the rotten apple. leder (robert j.) co. revolution. lederer, william j. mchale's navy joins the air force. ensign o'toole. the ugly american. lee, c. y. flower drum song. lee, harper. to kill a mockingbird. lee, john r. rivers and our history. lee, robert e. primate growth and development: a gorilla's first year. inherit the wind. le fanu, sheridan. blood and roses. lehn & fink products, division of sterling drug, inc. see sterling drug, inc. lehn & fink products. leiber, fritz. burn, witch, burn. leinster, murray. the navy versus the night monsters. leitner, alfred. an introduction to superconductivity. liquid helium ii, the superfluid. lemay, alan. the unforgiven. lemke, earle. a boogle, da moogle, da clug. lemke (earle) productions. a boogle, da moogle, da clug. lemmerman, barbara. rhythmic ball exercises. lennart, isobel. funny girl. lennon, john. yellow submarine. leno, c. s. blue monday. lent, blair. reading incentive film series. lenwil productions, inc. tallahassee . leonard, elmore. the big bounce. hombre. the secret. leonard (herbert) enterprises, inc. perils of pauline. leonard (sheldon) productions. accidental family. leonard division. see american motors corp. leonard division. leonard films, inc. popi. leone, sergio. once upon a time in the west. per qualche dollaro in piu. leprechaun production. i wanna hold your paw. leroux, gaston. the phantom of the opera. leroy (mervyn) productions, inc. home before dark. moment to moment. no time for sergeants. wake me when its over. le tarte co., inc. proof of sag proof. levene, carol. listen and sing. leveridge, leo. distinctive exudative discoid and lichenoid chronic dermatosis. le vien films, ltd. the finest hours. levin, herman. my fair lady. levin, ira. critic's choice. rosemary's baby. levy, j. the traitors. levy, melvin. pirates of tortuga. levy-gardner-laven production. clambake. lewis (edward) productions, inc. the extraordinary seaman. lewis (jerry) enterprises, inc. the disorderly orderly. the nutty professor. lewis (jerry) films, inc. the big mouth. hook, line and sinker. lewis (jerry) pictures corp. the bellboy. cinderfella. it's only money. who's minding the store? lewis (jerry) productions, inc. the errand boy. the family jewels. three on a couch. lewis, richard b. choosing a classroom film. creating instructional materials. how to use classroom films. selecting and using ready-made materials. lewis, sinclair. elmer gantry. lewislor enterprises, inc. the loretta young show. lewisohn (walter) associates. a mexican war diary, . lewman, inc. schlitz-lux playhouse. ley, willy. first men into space: solving the space survival problems. libby, mcneill & libby. grand opening. liber film. the mystery of thug island. liber film, s.r.l.-societa europea cinematografica. superargo vs. diabolicus. liberatori, ugo. the spartans. library division, jefferson parish recreation dept. see jefferson parish, la. recreation dept. library division. library of congress. library of congress. librascope division, general precision, inc. see general precision, inc. librascope division. life science library. riddle of heredity. ligneris, francoise des. psyche . lilly (eli) & co. the l-phase, some essential facts. the lilly laboratory for clinical research, a unique institution. medicine on the move. the v.i.p.'s. lilly (eli) & co., inc. darvon-compound . limbacher, james l. the lost world revisited. lincoln county production co. the tall man. lindabob productions, inc. many happy returns. lindemann, gerard b. at the beach. cacti. four seasons. the gateway arch to the west. my works of and by gerard b. lindemann. what to be or not to be. lindemann, orion m. four seasons. my works of and by gerard b. lindemann. lindner, robert. pressure point. lindop, audrey erskine. the singer, not the song. lindsay, howard. the sound of music. tall story. lindy productions. cakes, cars, and water coolers. line, francis r. navajo--a people between two worlds. line, helen e. navajo--a people between two worlds. linebrook corp. from the terrace. linkletter productions. hollywood talent scouts. linton, bruce a. this is k. u. lionel corp. the wonderful world of trains. lionni, leo. little blue and little yellow. lipp, frederick j. beyond a doubt. lippert, robert l. the tennessee beat. lippert (robert l.) production. the cabinet of caligari. lippert films, ltd. curse of the fly. the earth dies screaming. the last shot you hear. night train to paris. the return of mr. moto. spaceflight ic- . lippert, inc. back door to hell. raiders from beneath the sea. wild on the beach. lippincott (j. b.) co. administration of an intramuscular injection. back rub. bed bath. care of dentures. drop foot: some causes, prevention and care. how to make an occupied hospital bed. manipulating hospital bed linen. positioning a patient: prevention of external rotation using a trochanter roll. preparation of injection from an ampule. preparation of injection from a tablet. preparation of injection from a vial. selection of site for intramuscular injection: deltoid. selection of site for intramuscular injection: dorsogluteal. selection of site for intramuscular injection: lateral thigh. selection of site for intramuscular injection: ventrogluteal. subcutaneous injection: site selection and administration. lipsky, eleazer. ready for the people. lipton (thomas j.) inc. the america's cup races, . the america's cup races, . the america's cup races, . lipton goes to market. living adventure films, inc. economics in action. el espanol en accion. marshlands. llenroc productions. a new kind of love. the pigeon that took rome. lloyd, harold. the freshman. funny side of life. harold lloyd's world of comedy. lobert pictures corp. muriel. locke, friday. rope of flesh. lockhart, bette ann. world of a different drum. lockhart, donald g. sans egal. world of a different drum. lodge (arthur) productions, inc. industry on parade: design for highway safety. loew's, inc. the adventures of huckleberry finn. all the fine young cannibals. ben-hur. down and outing. the gazebo. home from the hill. it's greek to me-ow. key witness. the last voyage. please don't eat the daisies. the subterraneans. the time machine. loffredo, gaetan. amazons of rome. lofting, hugh. doctor dolittle. lofts, nora. seven women. logan, joshua. ensign pulver. fanny. lohmann, karl b., jr. images from nature. lohmann, karl baptiste, jr. just like me. lojeare productions, inc. pandora and her magic box. lomas, stanley a. tipstick: a new shoe care product. lomitas productions, inc. inherit the wind. on the beach. london, jack. the assassination bureau limited. london, l. s. schizo. london-aire, ltd. london-aire ladies hosiery commercial. lone star pictures corp. the chase. long (jerry) productions, inc. polysulfides for industry. rx: caution. long, norton e. building political leadership. long, sumner arthur. never too late. long island jewish hospital, new hyde park, n.y. vocational rehabilitation in a community hospital. longo, richard. the bridge. longo, ronald. the bridge. longridge enterprises, inc. studs lonigan. lopatin (ralph) productions. early diagnosis and management of breast cancer. lopatin (ralph) productions, inc. trouble in eden. lopert pictures corp. baisers voles. le diable par la queue. electra. les gauloises bleues. the girl with green eyes. the great war. he who must die. here we go round the mulberry bush. kiss me, stupid. le mariee etait en noir. mary had a little.... never on sunday. phaedra. the proper time. revolution. stowaway in the sky. : p.m. summer. the thief of paris. up to his ears. the vampire and the ballerina. waiting for caroline. zwei sÄrge auf bestellung. lopert pictures corporation, inc. the night. loraine, philip. eye of the devil. lorajon productions, inc. navajo run. lorenzini, carlo. pinocchio in outer space. lorillard (p.) co. old gold cigarette commercial. old gold spin filters commercial. spring cigarette commercial. warehouse no. . warehouse no. . los altos, inc. st. valentine's day massacre. los angeles. dept. of airports. # world way. los angeles athletic club. toward a better life. los angeles city schools. school bells ring at home. los angeles county museum. the museum, gateway to perception. los angeles geographical society. the enchanted islands, galapagos. louisville & nashville railroad co. the general's ribbon. lovaas, o. ivar. behavior or modification: teaching language to psychotic children. lovcen films. the white warrior. lovcen films production. square of violence. lovecraft, h. p. die, monster, die. lowie museum of anthropology. obsidian point making: tolowa indians. lube (henri a.) production. dalton that got away. lubell, samuel. building political leadership. luce, ralph w. the innocent eye. luckwell (bill & michael), ltd. the hand. ludlow productions, inc. teenage millionaire. luedecke, werner joerg. morituri. lukas film productions, inc. getting the bugs out. lumb, h. c. building economic understanding: the keys to progress. lumet (sidney) film productions, ltd. the deadly affair. lumet (sidney) productions, ltd. the sea gull. lumin films, inc. aesop's fables. casey at the bat. the deacon's masterpiece. the emperor's nightingale. hiawatha's childhood. paul revere's ride. poems of lewis carroll. poems of tennyson and browning. poems of walt whitman. the red shoes. the skyline series. the steadfast tin soldier. luther, barbara. a ticklish affair. luther film, g.m.b.h. question . lutheran brotherhood. dialogue brotherhood. lutheran film associates. question . a time for burning. lutz, gerita k. 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stroke turns. basketball: game coaching. basketball: pre-season coaching. the bear cub and the river inhabitant. the body mechanics of sitting. the body mechanics of stooping, lifting, and carrying. the body mechanics of standing. boring a hole. breast stroke. breast stroke starts. breast stroke turns. budding of a yeast plant. butterfly. butterfly starts and turns. care of the incontinent patient. care of utensils after patient's discharge. carnivorous plants. casey at the bat. central america: the coastal lowlands. central america: the crowded highlands. championship swimming: perfecting technique. championship swimming: preparing for competition. checking a crankshaft journal for wear. checking cylinder taper. checking main bearing clearance with plastigage. checking piston ring fit. checking piston size and fit. chemical and physical change series. children of the fort. children's classic story series. chile. china: feeding one quarter of the human race. china: the awakening giant. china: the industrial revolution. china: the old and the new. china: the social revolution. cities and beauty: cities can be beautiful. cities and commerce: where we get our goods and services. cities and communication: keeping the community informed. cities and geography: where people live. cities and government: governing our local community. cities and history: changing the city. cities and manufacturing: where we make things. cities and protection: protecting lives and property. cities and recreation: places we play. cities and shopping: where we get our food. cities and suburbs: the metropolitan area. cities and transportation: moving people and goods. cities and utilities: our public utility system. the civil war: a house divided. cleaning a piston. cleansing enema for the geriatric patient. clothing construction series. the cold war: the early period ( - ). colombia. colonial america in the th century. the commercial photographer. communist china. the continent of africa. cutting a taper using the compound rest. cutting a thread. czechoslavakia [sic]: progress in industry. danish farm family. david copperfield. the deacon's masterpiece. defense: guarding man with ball. defense: guarding man without ball. disassembly and inspection of rocker arms. disaster: initial procedures. dissection and anatomy of the earthworm. dissection and anatomy of the frog. dissection and anatomy of the mammalian heart. the dragon. dressing a valve seat grinding stone. dribbling. east africa: tropical highlands. the economy of africa. emergency nursing procedures. the emperor's nightingale. the enchanted cranes. energy and man. engagement: romance and reality. european culture region: its people at work. fakes and feints. families and history: why is my name anderson? families and jobs: risa earns her dime. families and learning: everyone's a teacher. families and recreation: fun is for everyone. families and rules: watch how well everything works. families and shelters: a house for the hernandez. families and transportation: what's a pocket for? families and weather: what's the weather like. family life in india: ten of us. family life in japan: remember i'm me. feeding patients in bed. feeding patients with disabilities. la feria: regocijo de sevilla. the ferns, simple vascular plants. field trips for discovery. the first violin. the foul shot. the four coins. four jaw chuck: precision truing. four jaw chuck: standard truing. france: new horizons. from flower to fruit. freestyle. freestyle breathing. freestyle starts. freestyle turns. general objectives. geotropism. germination of a seed. goldilocks and the three bears. the good little gremlin. greece: so rich, so poor. grinding a valve seat. growth of molds. growth of mushrooms. growth of woody plants. guyana, south america's newest nation. handling marital conflicts. the haunted mill. hawaii: america's tropical state. hiawatha's childhood. helen keller. how things dissolve. how to make biological drawings. hungary: dependence on agriculture. india: the struggle for food. india: urban conditions. individual medley. inspecting cylinder head parts. installing a cylinder head. installing a piston assembly in a cylinder. installing piston rings. installing valves in a cylinder head. intersection of sets. italian farm family. italy: progress amidst the past. jamaica, haiti, and the lesser antilles. jobs and continuing education: ernie rodriguez hates school. jobs and interviews: getting started. jobs for men: where am i going? jonas salk. the jump shot. knurling. lapping a valve. the lay-up. learning experiences, colors. learning to look at hands. life on a coral atoll. the liverworts, adaptations to terrestrial life. the lost sun. the low countries: very much alive. machine shop series: bench work, set i. machine shop series: elementary engine lathe . the machinist: you always do the best job you can. the magic stick. making cuttings. malaysia: building a nation. mario and the marvelous gift. matter into energy. mean, median, mode. measuring and recording fluid intake. the mechanic supervisor. the metric system. mexico, part i: northern and southern regions. mexico, part ii: central and gulf coast regions. middle america: the land and the people. mike and ann: a journey to maturity. modern east african wood carver. modern elementary mathematics series. modern engines and energy conversion. the mosses, simple land plants. moving a patient to the head of the bed. negro slavery. new guinea. northern africa: water and man. oceania. offensive footwork. offensive pivot play. the orient: toward a better life. the pacific northwest: putting water to work. paraguay and uruguay, contrast on the plata. paris, un reve pour tous. passing. paul revere's ride. the peoples of africa. el peru. peter and the wolf. the philippines: island republic. phototropism. poems of lewis carroll. poems of tennyson and browning. poems of walt whitman. poland: the factory and the farm. portrait of a disadvantaged child: tommy knight. portrait of the inner city. portrait of the inner city school: a place to learn. positioning a patient on her abdomen. positioning a patient on her back. positioning a patient on her side. positioning a patient on the bedpan. precision alignment of centers. preparing a piston and rod assembly for installation. principles of balance. probability. production of oxygen by green plants. the progressives. psychological differences between the sexes. reading and critical thinking. reading: diagnosing needs. reading in the humanities. reading in the math and science areas. rebounding. the recording engineer. the red shoes. refacing a valve. relay starts. removing a cylinder ridge. removing glaze from cylinder wall. removing the piston from the cylinder. replacing a lower main bearing insert. replacing an upper main bearing insert. removing valves from a cylinder head. the rivals. safety in the patient unit. safety on the nursing ward. safety 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soldier. switzerland and austria: the mountain countries. a tv talent coordinator. a tale of two cities. tanzania: progress through self-reliance. teaching techniques. thailand: winds of change. tub bath for the geriatric patient. turning a taper using the offset method. the twenties. , leagues under the sea. the united kingdom: crowded islands. the useless jug. using a parting tool. venezuela. a village in china today. the visiting nurse. water plants. west africa: tropical lowlands. west germany: industrial giant. westward expansion. what is active and creative reading? what is effective reading? the who and why of reading. woodworking series: handtool operations, set . woodworking series: handtool operations, set . woodworking series: handtool operations, set . woodworking series: set iv, circular saw. woodworking series: set v, lathe. world war i. wuthering heights. the years of reconstruction: - . mcgraw-hill text-films. above the timberline: alpine plants. the adventures of candy the squirrel. aesop's fables. afghanistan: emerging from isolation. air plants. the airline stewardess. alexander and the sleep people. ali baba and the forty thieves. aligning a connecting rod. anatole and the piano. the apple. assembly of rocker arms. basketball: game coaching. basketball: pre-season coaching. the bear cub and the river inhabitant. boring a hole. budding of a yeast plant. carnivorous plants. casey at the bat. ceramic art: the coil method. checking a crankshaft journal for wear. checking cylinder taper. checking main bearing clearance with plastigage. checking piston ring fit. checking piston size and fit. chemical and physical change series. children of the fort. china: the awakening giant. cities and beauty: cities can be beautiful. cities and commerce: where we get our goods and services. cities and communication: keeping the community informed. cities and geography: where people live. cities and government: governing our local community. cities and history: changing the city. cities and manufacturing: where we make things. cities and protection: protecting lives and property. cities and recreation: places we play. cities and shopping: where we get our food. cities and suburbs: the metropolitan area. cities and transportation: moving people and goods. cities and utilities: our public utility system. the civil war: a house divided. cleaning a piston. the commercial photographer. conservation, for the first time. the constitution. cutting a taper using the compound rest. cutting a thread. czechoslavakia [sic]: progress in industry. david copperfield. the deacon's masterpiece. the declaration of independence. defense: guarding man with ball. defense: guarding man without ball. disassembly and inspection of rocker arms. the dragon. dressing a valve seat grinding stone. dribbling. the emperor's nightingale. the enchanted cranes. energy and man. fakes and feints. families and history: why is my name anderson? families and jobs: risa earns her dime. families and learning: everyone's a teacher. families and recreation: fun is for everyone. families and rules: watch how well everything works. families and shelters: a house for the hernandez. families and transportation: what's a pocket for? families and weather: what's the weather like. family life in india: ten of us. family life in japan: remember i'm me. the first violin. the foul shot. the four coins. four jaw chuck: precision truing. four jaw chuck: standard truing. from flower to fruit. geotropism. germination of a seed. goldilocks and the three bears. the good little gremlin. grinding a valve seat. growth of molds. growth of mushrooms. growth of woody plants. guyana, south america's newest nation. the haunted mill. helen keller. hiawatha's childhood. the hook shot. how things dissolve. hungary: dependence on agriculture. india: the struggle for food. india: urban conditions. inspecting cylinder head parts. installing a cylinder head. installing a piston assembly in a cylinder. installing piston rings. installing valves in a cylinder head. jobs and continuing education: ernie rodriguez hates school. jobs for men: where am i going? jonas salk. the jump shot. knurling. lsd, the trip to where? lapping a valve. the lay-up. learning to look at hands. life on a coral atoll. living biology. the lost sun. machine shop series: bench work, set i. machine shop series: elementary engine lathe . the magic stick. making cuttings. malaysia: building a nation. mario and the marvelous gift. matter into energy. the mechanic supervisor. the microscopic plants. mike and ann: a journey to maturity. modern east african wood carver. modern elementary mathematics series. modern engines and energy conversion. monsters of the ocean deep. negro slavery. new guinea. oceania. offensive footwork. offensive pivot play. the orient: toward a better life. paraguay and uruguay, contrast on the plata. passing. paul revere's ride. peter and the wolf. the philippines: island republic. phototropism. poems of lewis carroll. poems of tennyson and browning. poems of walt whitman. poland: the factory and the farm. the pond. precision alignment of centers. preparing a piston and rod assembly for installation. production of oxygen by green plants. the progressives. reading and critical thinking. reading: diagnosing needs. reading in the humanities. reading in the math and science areas. reading incentive film series. rebounding. the recording engineer. the red shoes. refacing a valve. removing a cylinder ridge. removing glaze from cylinder wall. removing the piston from the cylinder. removing valves from a cylinder head. replacing a lower main bearing insert. replacing an upper main bearing insert. the rivals. a robin family. schools and jobs: lots of people work here. schools and learning: learning is my job. schools and neighborhoods: josh gets a school. schools and planning: the puppet show caper. schools and rules: rules to view a zoo by. schools and safety: david won't be here today. screening. see a job. servicing a hydraulic valve lifter. the set shot. setting a valve grinder. setting up a steady test. setting up collets. setting up the cylinder dial gauge. setting up to cut a thread. setting work between centers. the shepherd's hat. the shivering king. the skyline series. sleep: the fantastic third of your life. standard alignment of centers. the steadfast tin soldier. a tv talent coordinator. a tale of two cities. tanzania: progress through self-reliance. transformational grammar series. turning a taper using the offset method. the twenties. , leagues under the sea. the useless jug. using a parting tool. the visiting nurse. water plants. westward expansion. what is active and creative reading? what is effective reading? the who and why of reading. woodworking series: handtool operations, set . woodworking series: handtool operations, set . woodworking series: handtool operations, set . woodworking series: set iv, circular saw. woodworking series: set v, lathe. world war i. wuthering heights. the years of reconstruction: - . you can be a doctor. mcgraw-hill text-films. see mcgraw-hill book co. mcguire co., inc. don't call me charlie! macilwraith, bill. the anniversary. macinnes, helen. the venetian affair. mcintosh, lois. starting english early. macisaac, donald m. the end of the game. mckee, william. basketball skills series. macken, walter. home is the hero. mckenna, richard. the sand pebbles. mckenna, rollie. the days of dylan thomas. mackenzie, donald. malaga. mackenzie, kent r. the exiles. mckesson & robbins, inc. new approaches to manpower motivation. mckinney, virginia. learn to lipread. learn to lipread; basic lesson , parts i & ii. maclean, alistair. the guns of navarone. ice station zebra. mclean productions. volcano surtsey. mclendon radio pictures corp. my dog buddy. macleod, robert. the appaloosa. rifles. macmanus, john & adams, inc. eg- . mcmurry, robert n. how to select salesmen who can and will sell. mcmurtry, larry. hud. mcnamara, patrick e. learning about air. mcpartland, john. johnny cool. macpherson (cameron) productions. dawn to dawn. mcswigan, marie. snow treasure. madden, eddie van de. aladdin. maddow, ben. the balcony. maddox, alvie. the magnificent idiot. madera productions, inc. angel baby. madison productions, inc. death valley days. magee-womens hospital. a good beginning. magic productions, inc. trick and treat. maglan films, inc. the eternal tramp. magna pictures distribution corp. destination inner space. magnier, claude. where were you when the lights went out. magnum films. china: a portrait of the land. china's industrial revolution. china's villages in change. mahan, bruce h. ionization energy. mahan, patte wheat. doctor, you've got to be kidding. maher, eleanor r. see maher film productions. maher, patrick l. see maher film productions. maher film productions. my american city. mailer, norman. an american dream. the naked and the dead. main, ian. subway in the sky. maine. dept. of agriculture. adventures in eating. maiolini, nelson. brother dominique. the camel driver and the tales. majestic films, s.p.a. the white warrior. malabar productions, inc. hatari. malamud, bernard. the fixer. malenotti, maleno. the savage innocents. mallet, robert. the valiant. mallowan, agatha christie. murder ahoy. murder at the gallop. murder most foul. maloney, sally. as the grass. malpaso co. hang 'em high. mangione, giuseppe. mighty ursus. manhattan effects, inc. a healing ministry. maniscalco, joseph. progress of a portrait. manley (walter) enterprises. horror castle. manley (walter) enterprises, inc. the legend of fra diavolo. marco the magnificent. mann, abby. judgment at nuremberg. mannix, dan p. killers of kilimanjaro. manor productions, inc. alcoa theater. mansfield productions, inc. fanny. tall story. mantell (harold) inc. emergency . thornton wilder. manufacturing chemists' assn., inc. chemistry of water. oxidation-reduction. safety in the chemical laboratory. manulis (martin)-jalem productions. days of wine and roses. manulis (martin) productions, inc. the many loves of dobie gillis. manulis-jalem productions, inc. luv. manzanita-talbot productions. the last time i saw archie. marathon international productions. the constant miracle. images. in spite of walls. of sea and ships. the young ambassadors. marathon international productions, inc. bug beat. the carmakers. the day of the young. formula vee, such stuff as dreams are made on. goin' buggy. images . it's all downhill. left turn at the t. the right hand of plenty. thin along with c. v. hostetler. a time like this. treasure with pleasure. the way of a ship. wolfsburg . the years between. marathon newsreel. the give and take. marathon oil co. marathon dealer meeting. marathon pictures corp. second fiddle to a steel guitar. marathon tv newsreel. a report from budd. marceau, felicien. la bonne soupe. marcellini, romolo. taboos of the world. marco (vicente) productions. master of horror. mardeb productions, a.g. a story of david. mardi gras productions, inc. the dead one. marge, pseud. see buell, marjorie henderson. marge, pseud. see henderson, marjorie. mari, isa. and the wild, wild women. marianne productions. barbarella. benjamin. danger: diabolik. where the truth lies. marianne productions, s.a. is paris burning? marianne-s. n. e. gaumont-galatea production. paris pick-up. marine midland corp. marine midland plus. marine studios, marineland, florida. mysteries of the deep. marischka (ernst) & co. forever my love. marischka (ernst) & co., wien, erma filmproduktionsgesselschaft. see erma filmproduktionsgesselschaft. mark l. enterprises. phyllis and terry. mark vii, ltd. dragnet . dragnet . the last time i saw archie. schlitz-lux stripe series. . marker (tom) & co. special report: the automobile industry. the idea. marketechs, inc. doing your apricot. markfield, wallace. bye bye braverman. markham production co. markham. marko, zekial. once a thief. marks, leo. sebastian. marlow, derek. a dandy in aspic. marlow productions, ltd. nearly a nasty accident. marlowe, christopher. doctor faustus. marlukin productions, inc. uptight. marmac enterprises. health-o-ciser. marman productions, inc. the many loves of dobie gillis. marner films. phyllis and terry. marpol productions, inc. the appointment. sylvia. marquisee, ronald s. hippie! instructional television performance. parrish blue. marschalk co., inc. minute maid television commercials. marsh & mclennan, inc. managing your benefit dollar. marshall, anthony. swordsman of siena. marshall, laurence k. giwke bushmen of the kalahari desert. the hunters. kung bushmen of the kalahari desert. marshall, rosamond. all the fine young cannibals. marten productions, inc. the impossible years. period of adjustment. signpost to murder. marterto enterprises, inc. the danny thomas show. martin, al. my living doll. martin (burt) associates. a crutch for all seasons. martin, francis joseph. stop! play that stick. martin, fred. in the beginning. martin, freddy. dixie paradise. martin, philip. requiem for a president: funeral of john f. kennedy. martin-marietta corp. rendezvous in space. target you! martin productions, inc. the unsinkable molly brown. martinez, mario. citizen smith. martinez (mario) associates. citizen smith. marx, arthur. the impossible years. maryland. university. dept. of agricultural economics. a future for ram. masefield, joseph r. citizen smith. masino, filino. death of a dangerous man. mason, edward a. beach interview. boys in conflict. children in the hospital. group studies and social psychiatry. one day a week. referred for underachievement. some beginnings of social psychiatry. mason, richard. the wind cannot read. the world of suzie wong. masterson, whit. warning shot. the yellow canary. matacia, louis j. go by river trail. materials research group. see shell oil co. materials research group. maternity center assn. from generation to generation. mathematical council of america. mathematics for tomorrow. mather, berkeley. genghis khan. matheson, richard. the young warriors. mattco associates, inc. ireland on the go. world jamboree xii. mattco production. a voyage from tahiti. mattel, inc. mattel television commercials. matthews (james h.) & co. something for uncle ben. matthews (james h.) & co. bronze division. something for uncle ben. matthews (william w.) & co. decision: electric. matthews (william w.) & co., inc. from the bottom up. mattos, olavo pessoa de. brazilian postal cards: this is rio. maugham, robin. portrait of a sinner. maugham, w. somerset. of human bondage. maupassant, guy de. diary of a madman. maurer, norman. the three stooges in orbit. maurer (norman) productions, inc. mad room. three stooges scrapbook. who's minding the mint. max production. queen of the pirates. maxfield, henry s. the double man. mayberry enterprises. the andy griffith show. maycliff production. the big night. mayer, art. swing around brazil. upwind down under. what's up down under? mayer (art) motion picture productions. big john. mayer (oscar) & co., inc. oscar mayer & co. television commercials. mayer-sklar, inc. focus on behavior. mayer-sklar production. the inheritance. mayflower pictures, inc. gruesome twosome. she devils on wheels. mayo, james. hammerhead. mayo clinic. meeting patient needs: ii--food. meeting patient needs, iv: the patient who cannot drink. the patient who cannot eat. mayo productions, inc. see o'brien co. mayor's commission for senior citizens. see chicago. mayor's commission for senior citizens. maysles films, inc. truman capote--the nonfiction novel. mazin-wyckoff co. lapped application of a zipper. making a chain loop. making an invisible hem. sewing on a pierced button. mazurka productions, ltd. assignment k. mea productions, inc. who's been sleeping in my bed? who's got the action. mead, shepherd. how to succeed in business without really trying. meade johnson & co. the successful losers. meader, elaine a. the wilderness, a way of life. meader, frederick putnam. the wilderness, a way of life. meadowlane enterprises, inc. the steve allen comedy hour. meadway-claude films no. . the ambushers. meadway-claude films no. . the wrecking crew. meadway-claude pictures no. . murderers' row. meadway-claude productions co. the silencers. meadway productions, inc. desperados. mechanical engineering dept., quebec. see laval university, quebec. dept. of engineering. medallion films. back door to hell. meddaugh, ray c. this is curling. media directions council. me in media? medical college of virginia. see virginia. medical college, richmond. medical communications associates. cine cardio angiography in acquired valve disease. medical illustration division, albany medical college. see albany (n.y.) medical college. medical illustration division. meginnis, irving k. the movies march along. meladare co. riverboat. melcher (martin) productions, inc. send me no flowers. melcher-arcola productions. caprice. move over, darling. melcher-arcola productions, inc. do not disturb. melchior, ib. the time travelers. melina productions, ltd. the day the earth caught fire. melinafilm production. never on sunday. melnor films ltd. the road to hong kong. meltz, martin. o-ye-dalay. melville, herman. bartleby. billy budd. enchanted island. melville-talbot productions. cape fear. memorial enterprises, ltd. if. mendelson, lee. children's letters to god. travels with charley. the wonderful world of pizzazz. mendelson (lee) film productions, inc. children's letters to god. travels with charley. the wonderful world of pizzazz. menninger foundation, topeka, kan. who cares about jamie? mensajeros de cristo. la gran busqueda. mercer, charles. the sins of rachel cade. merchandise national bank of chicago. the second revolution in banking. merchant ivory production. the guru. merck & co., inc. congestive heart failure. indomethacin in rheumatic diseases. saddle up. the shapes and sounds of profit. thought for food. winning the worm war. merck, sharp & dohme. indomethacin in rheumatic diseases. self portrait. mercury production. five miles to midnight. meredith corp. behavior or modification: teaching language to psychotic children. imprinting. primate growth and development: a gorilla's first year. meredith pub. co. behavior theory in practice. mergendahl, charles. the bramble bush. merit productions, inc. world's heavyweight championship fight: charles "sonny" liston v. cassius clay. merle, robert. weekend at dunkirk. merlin film co., ltd. the terror of the tongs. merrick (david)-champion five, inc. mary martin: hello dolly 'round the world. merrill, bob. funny girl. metalious, grace. return to peyton place. metallizing service contractors. flame sprayed coatings. metallurgical division, colorado school of mines research foundation. see colorado. school of mines research foundation, inc. metallurgical division. methodist church (united states) board of education. dept. of family. for better, for worse. methodist church (united states) board of education. editorial division. deeper root. methodist church (united states) board of missions. the newcomers. methodist church (united states) television, radio & film commission. breakthru. the coming of the stranger. for better, for worse. hello up there. talk back. metro-goldwyn-mayer. the adventures of huckleberry finn. all the fine young cannibals. ben-hur. flipper's new adventure. the gazebo. home from the hill. key witness. the last voyage. news of the day. please don't eat the daisies. the subterraneans. the time machine. metro-goldwyn-mayer british studios, ltd. alfred the great. the alphabet murders. children of the damned. eye of the devil. the green helmet. kill or cure. the liquidator. murder ahoy. murder most foul. murder she said. night must fall. operation crossbow. the secret of my success. where the spies are. metro-goldwyn-mayer, inc. ada. advance and be mechanized. ah, sweet mouse-story of life. alfred the great. all fall down. the alphabet murders. the americanization of emily. the angel wore red. any number can win. the appointment. around the world under the sea. atlantis, the lost continent. a-tom-inable snowman. bachelor in paradise. battle beneath the earth. the bear that wasn't. bells are ringing. the best house in london. the big parade of comedy. the biggest bundle of them all. blowup. boys' night out. bridge to the sun. the brothers carry-mouse-off. buddies thicker than water. butterfield . cain's hundred. cairo. calypso cat. cannery rodent. captain sinbad. carmen get it! the cat above and the mouse below. cat and dupli-cat. cattle king. the cat's me-ouch. catty cornered. cimmaron. the cincinnati kid. clarence, the cross-eyed lion. the colossus of rhodes. come fly with me. the comedians. the comedians in africa. company of cowards? the counterfeiters of paris. the courtship of eddie's father. daktari. dark of the sun. the day and the hour. day of the evil gun. the day they robbed the bank of england. dicky moe. dime with a halo. the dirty dozen. dr. kildare. doctor, you've got to be kidding. dr. zhivago. don't make waves. the dot and the line. double trouble. down and outing. drums of africa. duel personality. escape from berlin. the extraordinary seaman. eye of the devil. family diary. far from the madding crowd. the fastest guitar alive. the fearless vampire killers. filet meow. the fixer. flareup. flipper. follow the boys. the four days of naples. the four horsemen of the apocalypse. get yourself a college girl. ghosts, italian style. the giant of marathon. the girl and the general. the girl from u.n.c.l.e. girl happy. gladiators seven. the glass bottom boat. a global affair. go naked in the world. gold for the caesars. the golden arrow. goodbye, mr. chips. grand prix. the green slime. guided mouse-ille. gunfighters of casa grande. guns for san sebastian. the gypsy moths. harum scarum. the haunted mouse. the haunting. heaven with a gun. hercules, samson & ulysses. high steaks. the hill. hold on! honeymoon hotel. the honeymoon machine. the hook. hootenanny hoot. the horizontal lieutenant. hot millions. hot rods to hell. hotel paradiso. how the west was won. hysteria. i thank a fool. ice station zebra. i'm just wild about jerry. the impossible years. in the cool of the day. invasion quartet. is there a doctor in the mouse? it happened at the world's fair. it's greek to me-ow. jack of diamonds. jerry-go-round. jerry, jerry, quite contrary. joy house. joy in the morning. jumbo. kenner. king of kings. kiss the other sheik. kissin' cousins. lady l. landing stripling. the last challenge. laurel and hardy's laughing 's. the legend of lylah clare. light in the piazza. live a little, love a little. lolita. looking for love. love me, love my mouse. the loved one. made in paris. magic boy. mail order bride. the main attraction. the maltese bippy. a man called dagger. the man from u.n.c.l.e. marco the magnificent. marlowe. matinee mouse. maya. mayerling. mister buddwing. mrs. brown, you've got a lovely daughter. the money trap. a monkey in winter. more than a miracle. morgan the pirate. the mouse from h.u.n.g.e.r. mouse into space. much ado about mousing. murder at the gallop. murder most foul. murder she said. mutiny on the bounty. news of the day. night must fall. the night of the iguana. o-solar-meow. of feline bondage. of human bondage. once a thief. our mother's house. the outrage. the password is courage. a patch of blue. penelope. pent-house mouse. period of adjustment. a place for lovers. platinum high school. please don't eat the daisies. point blank. the power. the prize. purr-chance to dream. puss 'n boats. quick, before it melts. rhino. ride the high country. rififi in tokyo. ring of fire. rock 'n' rodent. the rounders. sandokan the great. the sandpiper. the savage guns. the secret partner. the secret seven. faces of dr. lao. seven seas to calais. seven women. she. the shoes of the fisherman. shutter bugged cat. signpost to murder. the singing nun. the slave. snowbody loves me. sol madrid. son of a gunfighter. sorry safari. speedway. spinout. the split. square of violence. stay away, joe. stop, look, and listen. a stranger in town. the stranger returns. the subject was roses. sunday in new york. surf-bored cat. sweet bird of youth. switchin' kitten. swordsman of siena. tall in the trap. tamahine. the tartars. tarzan goes to india. tarzan's three challenges. the thief of baghdad. hours. three bites of the apple. a thunder of drums. tick, tick, tick. a ticklish affair. tiko and the shark. a time to sing. the tom and jerry cartoon kit. tom-ic energy. trial and error. the trouble with girls. the th hour. twilight of honor. two are guilty. two loves. : a space odyssey. two weeks in another town. the unshrinkable jerry mouse. the unsinkable molly brown. the v.i.p.s. the venetian affair. a very private affair. vice and virtue. village of the damned. viva las vegas. welcome to hard times. the wheeler dealers. when the boys meet the girls. where eagles dare. where the boys are. where the hot wind blows. where were you when the lights went out. the wild, wild planet. the wonderful world of the brothers grimm. the wonders of aladdin. the world in my pocket. the year of the mouse. the yellow rolls-royce. the young and the brave. the young lovers. the young runaways. your cheatin' heart. zebra in the kitchen. metro-goldwyn-mayer television. flipper. the girl from u.n.c.l.e. the man from u.n.c.l.e. metromedia. wolper productions, inc. see wolper productions, inc. metromedia producers corp. australia: the timeless land. the mystery of animal behavior. polynesian adventure. reptiles and amphibians. metropolitan baseball club, inc. see new york metropolitan baseball club, inc. metropolitan life insurance co. emergency . if these were your children, parts i and ii. looking at children. the time of growing. metropolitan museum of art, new york. what is a painting? meyer, r. albion. lorna. meyer, russ. faster pussycat! kill! kill! motorpsycho. meynall, laurence. the price of silence. miami seaquarium. flipper. michael (claude) inc. on solder. michener (edward c.) associates. your spine is your lifeline. michener, james. hawaii. michigan. dept. of conservation. black bears and hound music. lakes, trout and tackle. the seasons. michigan. state university, east lansing. board of trustees. an introduction to superconductivity. liquid helium ii, the superfluid. michigan. state university, east lansing. instructional materials center. an introduction to superconductivity. michigan. university. medical center. dept. of anesthesiology. neuroleptanalgesia with innovar. michigan. university. medical center. dept. of pharmacology. neuroleptanalgesia with innovar. michigan consolidated gas co. louisiana legacy. michigan story. the new detroit. partners for progress. michigan diabetes assn., inc. if you have diabetes. mid-century film productions, ltd. jack the ripper. the siege of sidney street. middleham, ken. life cycle of the monarch, a story of metamorphosis. middleham (ken) productions. life cycle of the monarch, a story of metamorphosis. midnight. johnny midnight. midwest film studios. the dual shield story. mihovich, george. the bishop in focus. the death of christ in focus. the eucharistic congress in focus. fatima in focus. the life of christ in focus. lourdes in focus. rome in focus. shrines of canada in focus. milani foods, inc. milani's french dressing. milani's famous salad dressings. milani's italian dressing. milani's low calorie dressings. milani's low calorie french lady dressing. milani's low calorie italian dressing. miles laboratories, inc. the mechanism of analgesia and pain. miletic, octavian. yugoslav boy: story of frane. milgram, stanley. obedience. millar (stuart) productions, inc. paper lion. millar/turman productions, inc. the best man. i could go on singing. stolen hours. the young doctors. miller, arnold. from animism to reading. miller, eileen eller. from animism to reading. miller, franklin, jr. absorption spectra. the cavendish experiment. centripetal acceleration. critical temperature. double slit. equal masses. ferromagnetic domain wall motion. michelson interferometer. nonrecurrent wavefronts. paramagnetism of liquid oxygen. radioactive decay. resolving power. scintillation spectrometry. single slit. tacoma narrows bridge collapse. temperature waves. translational acceleration. unequal masses. the wilberforce pendulum. miller, herbert j. building political leadership. miller, max. secret of deep harbor. miller, sigmund. jet storm. miller-consolidated pictures. beyond the barrier. mills, hugh. prudence and the pill. milne, a. a. winnie the pooh and the blustery day. winnie the pooh and the honey tree. milner-fenwick. developing the vocabulary. the lesson doesn't end. the matter of air. planning the story. milner-fenwick, inc. before the day. cycle of life. the language of maps. o'er the ramparts we watched. reproduction and birth. the school's environment. steps to mature reading. the widening world of books. minerva films, ltd. modern east african wood carver. tanzania: progress through self-reliance. minerva international film. secrets of the nazi criminals. minerva international production. mein kampf. ministers life & casualty union, minneapolis. minister. minnesota. university. a film study of robert flaherty's louisiana story. minoff, lee. yellow submarine. minter (george) productions, ltd. portrait of a sinner. minter-siodmak production. portrait of a sinner. minute maid co. a look at the leader. miral productions. by love possessed. mirisch-alpha. the great escape. the magnificent seven. mirisch co. the pink panther. the magnificent seven. mirisch co., inc. the apartment. follow that dream. irma la douce. kid galahad. one, two, three. stolen hours. town without pity. toys in the attic. mirisch corp. fitzwilly. the hallelujah trail. in the heat of the night. the satan bug. mirisch corp. of delaware. the fortune cookie. hawaii. how to succeed in business without really trying. inspector clouseau. kiss me, stupid. a rage to live. the russians are coming, the russians are coming. squadron. mirisch d-f. see mirisch-depatie-freleng. mirisch-d.f.i. fitzwilly. mirisch-depatie-freleng. the ant and the aardvark. the ant from uncle. the deadwood thunderball. a pair of sneakers. tiajuana toads. mirisch films. attack on the iron coast. mirisch films, inc. pink panic. pink pistons. pink posies. mirisch films, ltd. inspector clouseau. return from the ashes. stolen hours. submarine x- . mirisch-g&e productions. the pink panther. mirisch-geoffrey d-f. ape suzette. canadian can-can. cirrhosis of the louvre. cock-a-doodle deux deux. come on in! the water's pink. congratulations! it's pink. dial p for pink. le escape goat. g.i. pink. genie with the light pink fur. the great degaulle stone operation. the hand is pinker than the eye. jet pink. napoleon blown apart. an ounce of pink. pickled pink. pink-a-boo. the pink blueprint. pink ice. pink of the litter. pink outs. pink pajamas. pink panic. pink panzer. pink pistons. pink, plunk, plink. pink posies. pink punch. the pink tail fly. pinkadilly circus. pinkfinger. pinknic. the pique poquette of paris. plastered in paris. prehistoric pink. reaux reaux reaux your boat. reel pink. rock-a-bye pinky. sicque, sicque, sicque. sink pink. sky-blue pink. smile pretty, say pink. super pink. that's no lady, that's notre dame. toulouse la trick. vitamin pink. mirisch-geoffrey d-f. see mirisch-geoffrey depatie-freleng. mirisch-geoffrey depatie-freleng. le ball and chain gang. bear de guerre. bully for pink. carte blanched. cherche le phantom. extinct pink. french freud. le great dane robbery. in the pink. la feet's defeat. little beaux pink. lucky pink. les miserobots. pierre and cottage cheese. pink in the clink. pink is a many splintered thing. pink on the cob. pink paradise. pink pest control. pink phink. the pink pill. pink valiant. pinkcome tax. pinto pink. prefabricated pink. psychedelic pink. put-put-pink. sacre blue cross. shocking pink. the shooting of caribou lou. transylvania mania. unsafe and seine. we give pink stamps. mirisch-geoffrey productions. the party. a shot in the dark. what did you do in the war, daddy? mirisch-kappa. the hallelujah trail. hour of the gun. the satan bug. mirisch-llenroc-batjac. cast a giant shadow. mirisch-mccrea productions. wichita town. mirisch-orchard. return from the ashes. mirisch pictures-argyle enterprises-talbot productions. two for the seesaw. mirisch pictures, inc. by love possessed. two for the seesaw. west side story. mirisch productions, inc. the first time. return of the seven. mirisch productions, ltd. guns of the magnificent seven. mirisch-rich television productions. hey landlord. rat patrol. mirisch-rogallan production. the first time. mirisch-simkoe-solar productions. the thomas crown affair. mirisch-webb productions. sinful davey. mirisch-worldwide. the children's hour. mississippi. university. faulkner's mississippi: land into legend. mississippi chemical corp. this is our story. missouri productions, inc. cattle king. mister ed co. mister ed. mitchell (john e.) co. erector set. painting. sandpile. there's an icee machine in the place. mitchell, wayne. food of southeast asia. japanese mountain family. mobil oil corp. hydraulics at work. modern language assn. of america, inc. the nature of language and how it is learned. the sounds of language. words and their meanings. modern learning aids. the anatomy of free enterprise. everyday economic terms. foreign trade--challenge of a changing world. the need for economic education. productivity--key to progress. profits, capital equipment and economic growth. modern management films. a good beginning. the trouble with archie. the winning combination for cost control. modern talking picture service. naturally, silk. spring and summer fashions . tomorrow's trees. modern talking picture service, inc. aluminum. goodwill ambassadors. nothing but lookers. the sales building role. you've sold me, mrs. marlowe. modesty blaise, ltd. modesty blaise. moeller, robert f. project iv, ub cin . moffett, john c. exclusive. moley, raymond. building political leadership. molino productions, inc. pretty poison. molnar, ferenc. a breath of scandal. one, two, three. momboisse, raymond m. civil disobedience. monash, paul. cain's hundred. mondex films, s.a. the big risk. mondo productions. professional soccer. moned associates, inc. the incident. monica corp., inc. the naked edge. paris blues. monmouth, inc. the naked edge. paris blues. monroe auto equipment co. new horizons and hidden profits. safety knows no season. monsanto chemical co. farm chemicals. functional fluids. house of the future. paint chemicals. personnel recruiting. urethane foam. monsanto co. before hydraulic fires start. working with skydrol fluids. montana. aeronautics commission. montana and its aircraft. monteilhet, hubert. return from the ashes. montgomery, rutherford. walt disney's wonderful world of color. montici, piazzi. montici intarsia. moody bible institute of chicago. belshazzar's feast. experience with an eel. living temples. to every creature. water of life. windows of the soul. moody institute of science. belshazzar's feast. biography of a bee. city of the bees. debt to the past. debt to the past: language and communication. debt to the past: science and technology. experience with an eel. a fish family. language of the bee. living temples. mathematics of the honeycomb. mightier than the sword. primitive man in a modern world. the professor and the prophets. sense perception. signposts aloft. to every creature. water of life. windows of the soul. wonder of grasshoppers. wonder of reproduction. the woodpecker gets ready for winter. moody institute of science. educational film division. debt to the past. language of the bee. primitive man in a modern world. sense perception. moore, carroll. send me no flowers. that funny feeling. moore, dudley. bedazzled. moore, lilian. bear trouble. the girl in the white hat. the house that jack built. the kid. miss esta maude's secret. old mother hubbard and her dog. the old woman and her pig. sophocles the hyena. tony's good luck. moore, omar k. early reading and writing. moore, robin. the green berets. moore, samuel. calamity join. moore school of electrical engineering, the university of pennsylvania. see pennsylvania. university. moore school of electrical engineering. moraites, maria. kali nihta socrates. moral re-armament. voice of the hurricane. moran, james c. name this dealer. morey, walt. gentle giant. morningside films. railroaded. morningside production. the worlds of gulliver. morningside worldwide pictures, s.a. jason and the argonauts. morpics, inc. bob hope presents the chrysler theatre. morrall, william rowland. the quest for the indian rope trick. morris, donald r. all hands on deck. morris (philip) inc. great moments in the history of tennis. morris (philip) international. great moments in the history of tennis. morrison, sean. reading incentive film series. morros (richard b.) inc. almanac newsreel. morrow, martha. mittie and chico come to america. morsella, fulvio. per qualche dollaro in piu. mortimer, john. a flea in her ear. trial and error. morton international, inc. a grain of salt. morven film. the end of the game. mosel, tad. all the way home. mosel, ted. dear heart. moser, james e. ben casey. mosfilm production. bolshoi ballet . mosley, leonard. foxhole in cairo. motion picture assn. of america, inc. the movie experience: a matter of choice. motion picture corp. of america. two before zero. motion picture division, ohio state university. see ohio. state university, columbus. motion picture division. motion pictures international production. good times. motivational art films. exploring relief printmaking. motley, willard. let no man write my epitaph. motorola, inc. motorola sales convention. motors insurance corp. service second to none. mount rushmore national memorial society of black hills, rapid city, s.d. mount rushmore. movietone news, inc. my city. pope john xxiii, - . moyer, martin. animal capers for fun and fitness. creative body movements, transportation. long rope jumping. mechanical capers for fun and fitness. perc! pop! sprinkle!--interpreting perceptual movements. red man and the red cedar. the soil makers: decomposition by simple plants and insects. spin! toot! scoot! tinikling, the bamboo dance. tumbling, the forward roll. moyer (martin) productions. animal capers for fun and fitness. creative body movements, transportation. the cultured christmas tree. father ocean. helicopters in the grand canyon. lichens and mosses. long rope jumping. mechanical capers for fun and fitness. perc! pop! sprinkle!--interpreting perceptual movements. red man and the red cedar. rope skipping: basic steps. the soil makers: decomposition by simple plants and insects. spin! toot! scoot! tinikling, the bamboo dance. tumbling, the forward roll. tumbling ii: progression of skills. moyer, martin william. the cultured christmas tree. mueller brass co. copper base alloys in rod form. diversability in modern metal forming. metallurgy, it's contribution to better product design. mulligan stewdios. breakfast. mullin, hilda. being me. multiscreen corp., ltd. ibm: close-up. mulvihill, william. sands of the kalahari. mundy, paul. mythology of racism. munk, burton m. learning about air. murder, inc. how to murder your wife. muren, dennis e. the equinox. murphy, dennis. the sergeant. murray, mary p. kenner. murray, warren. fun 'n' fathoms. to see ourselves. murray, william. the sweet ride. murray, william h. when michigan was young. murray hill enterprises. cobby's hobbies. murray-wood productions. the hoodlum priest. museum of modern art, new york. anna pavlova, - . le cygne immortel. music print corp. the musicwriter. mustang productions, inc. the devil's sisters. mutual benefit health & accident assn. the biggest bridge in action. my way co. going my way. myrick, al. trade at home. n nbc. see national broadcasting co., inc. nbc news. the daughters of orange. mary martin: hello dolly 'round the world. mississippi: a self portrait. raymond burr visits vietnam. who shall live? nbc productions. the high chaparral. nbc-tv network. accidental family. dan raven. the don knotts show. dragnet . flipper. the girl from u.n.c.l.e. hey landlord. i spy. ironside. laredo. the man from u.n.c.l.e. michael shayne. the outsider. please don't eat the daisies. the road west. run for your life. the virginian. nbi co. splendor in the grass. n. c.-devon film. secret agent fireball. nea. see national education assn. nea project school dropouts. jimmy. n.s.f. summer institute for mathematics teachers of the deaf. see u.s. national science foundation. division of scientific personnel & education. summer institutes program. ntd, inc. promises! promises! naamani, safouh. the pilgrimage to mecca. nabokov, vladimir. lolita. nadel, richard h. flight of the century. steam power on the new york central. naho productions. the private navy of sgt. o'farrell. nancy enterprises. barefoot in the park. narayan, r. k. the guide. narcotics education, inc. a crutch for all seasons. narrow, barbara. administration of an intramuscular injection. back rub. bed bath. care of dentures. drop foot: some causes, prevention and care. how to make an occupied hospital bed. manipulating hospital bed linen. positioning a patient: prevention of external rotation using a trochanter roll. preparation of injection from a tablet. preparation of injection from a vial. preparation of injection from an ampule. selection of site for intramuscular injection: deltoid. selection of site for intramuscular injection: dorsogluteal. selection of site for intramuscular injection: lateral thigh. selection of site for intramuscular injection: ventrogluteal. subcutaneous injection: site selection and administration. nashville assn. of musicians. the country music show of shows. nassau library system. one detective, a spy, a thief, four clues and you. nathanson, e. m. the dirty dozen. national academy of sciences of the united states of america. challenge of the oceans. cosmic rays. the flaming sky. the force of gravity. the hidden earth. the inconstant air. magnetic force. the nearest star. radio waves. research by rockets. science in space. secrets of the ice. the shape of the earth. national aeronautics and space administration. see u.s. national aeronautics and space administration. national assn. of automotive mutual insurance companies. adapting to conditions. can you stop in time. delivery injuries. intersection safety. more than manners. report that accident! split second decisions. national assn. of bedding manufacturers. the big happy bed. national assn. of manufacturers of the united states of america, inc. bill and susan boynton go into politics. industry on parade: design for highway safety. the most important campaign in the world. the most important politician in the world. the most important precinct in the world. national assn. of purchasing agents, inc. the king corporation. national assn. of purchasing management, inc. the management in purchasing management. systems contracting. national assn. of secondary school principals. the modern corporation. national association of state aviation officials. come fly with me, darlene. national broadcasting co. bonanza. dangerous assignment. flight. life of riley. the outlaws. tomorrow's world. national broadcasting co., inc. accidental family. after civil rights--black power. america and americans. the american alcoholic. american profile: home country usa. american profile: somehow it works. the americans. an austrian affair. the aviation revolution. the battle for asia. the big little world of roman vishniac. bonanza. canada faces the future. captain nice. congo, victim of independence. the daughters of orange. the documentaries of ted yates. don't call me charlie! the first americans. first tuesday. the hill country: lyndon johnson's texas. i am with you. justice for all? kentucky jones. laredo. law of the plainsman. the learning process. man, beast and the land. mary martin: hello dolly 'round the world. mississippi: a self portrait. nbc white paper. the new american catholic. the new voices of watts. of men and freedom. the ordeal of woodrow wilson. organized crime in the united states. the outlaws. project . pueblo: a question of intelligence. the pursuit of pleasure. the richard boone show. the ship that wouldn't die: the u.s.s. franklin. siberia, a day in irkutsk. the smithsonian. the southern baptist hour. the soviets in space. special project. t.h.e. cat. thomson model of the atom. tippecanoe and lyndon too. beacon street. vatican council ii, part i. vatican council ii, part ii. who shall live? whose right to bear arms. the world of the teenager. national broadcasting co., ltd. see national broadcasting co., inc. national christian church of japan. audio-visual aids commission. the new age in japan. national committee for careers in medical technology, washington, d.c. cytology, parts i & ii. in a medical laboratory. some techniques of tissue section preparation in the pathology laboratory. national consumer finance assn. the wise use of credit. national council of catholic men. i am with you. vatican council ii, part i. vatican council ii, part ii. national council of churches. treasure at bethany. national council of churches of christ in the u.s.a. dept. of education for missions. the new age in japan. national council of churches of christ in the u.s.a. dept. of stewardship & benevolence. the spenders. the will of augusta nash. national council of teachers of mathematics. addition and its properties. addition and subtraction algorithms. beginning number concepts. the decimal numeration system. development of our decimal numeration system. the distributive principle. division. division algorithms. mathematics for tomorrow. multiplication. multiplication algorithms and the distributive property. sets & products. sets and sums. sets and the numbers associated with them. subtraction. the whole number key ideas. national cylinder gas, chemetron corp. see chemetron corp. national cylinder corp. national dairy council. food the color of life. uncle jim's dairy farm. national education assn. all in a lifetime. are our schools up-to-date? and other questions. can we help a slow learner and other questions. a chance to learn. children without. the constitution. the declaration of independence. how does my child learn to read? and other questions. how much homework is enough? and other questions. jimmy. learning for life. monsters of the ocean deep. our schools have kept us free. should i know my child's iq? and other questions. summer harvest. a time for talent. the time of their lives. watch out for ollie. what are teaching machines? and other questions. will we have year 'round schools? and other questions. national educational films, inc. famous golf courses: scotland. first world amateur team championship for eisenhower trophy. golf's longest hour. great moments in golf. on the green. play them as they lie. st. andrews, cradle of golf. walker cup highlights. national educational television. animal war, animal peace. antarctica, because it's there. the child watchers. the dam builders. eero saarinen, architect. eric bentley. life in parched lands. the st day. questions of time. riddle of heredity. the sun watchers. survival in the sea. thornton wilder. water, old problems, new approaches. the weather watchers. the winners. national educational television & radio center. anatomy of a hit. andy warhol and roy lichtenstein. barnett newman. carmina burana. claes oldenburg. education builds a nation. an essay on death, a memorial to john f. kennedy. focus on behavior. frank stella and larry poons, the new abstraction. the heifetz master class. the history of the negro people. in search of rembrandt. intertel. jack tworkov. jasper johns. jim dine. knowledge and ideas. lay my burden down. legacy. losing just the same. metropolis--creator or destroyer? music on the river. national educational television. net report on the national defense education act. the new abstraction: morris louis and kenneth noland. - : the loss of innocence. ralph ellison on work in progress. robert rauschenberg. saul bellow: the world of the dangling man. the sun and richard lippold. to speak with friends. truman capote--the nonfiction novel. u.s.a.: photography. u.s.a.: poetry. vladimir nabokov. willem de kooning. national educational television corp. still a brother, inside the negro middle class. national educational television, inc. see national educational television & radio center. national film board of canada. above the horizon. acceleration due to gravity. analysis of a hurdle race. the animal movie. central forces: iterated blows. a child in his country. colliding freight cars. collisions with an unknown object. conservation of energy, aircraft takeoff. conservation of energy: polevault. down through the years. duo. dynamics of a billiard ball. explosion of a cluster of objects. finding the speed of a rifle bullet. miles. galilean relativity: ball dropped from mast of ship. galilean relativity: object dropped from an aircraft. galilean relativity: projectile fired vertically. get wet. gravitational potential energy. inelastic one-dimensional collisions. inelastic two-dimensional collisions. jupiter satellite orbit. kepler's laws. kinetic energy. king of blades. lonely boy. a matter of relative motion. a method of measuring energy: nails driven into wood. nobody waved goodbye. one-dimensional collisions: i. one-dimensional collisions: ii. production of sodium by electrolysis. program orbit, i. recoil. retrograde motion, geocentric model. retrograde motion, heliocentric model. reversability of time. the ride. rutherford scattering. scattering of a cluster of objects. standing electromagnetic waves. standing waves in a gas. standing waves on a string. superposition. take it from the top. tuktu and his animal friends. tuktu and his eskimo dogs. tuktu and his nice new clothes. tuktu and the big kayak. tuktu and the big seal. tuktu and the caribou hunt. tuktu and the clever hands. tuktu and the indoor games. tuktu and the magic bow. tuktu and the magic spear. tuktu and the snow palace. tuktu and the , fishes. tuktu and the trials of strength. two-dimensional collisions, i. two-dimensional collisions, ii. unusual orbits. vector addition: velocity of a boat. vibrations of a drum. vibrations of a metal plate. vibrations of a rubber hose. vibrations of a wire. waiting for caroline. what on earth? national film board of canada productions. the great toy robbery. national film board of ottawa. see national film board of canada. national gallery of art, washington, d.c. behold, a child is born. in search of rembrandt. national gallery of art, washington, d.c. trustees. the american vision. national general corp. divorce american style. national general pictures. the april fools. national general productions, inc. how sweet it is. national geographic society, washington, d.c. alaska. alaska, settling a new frontier. amazon. americans on everest. america's wonderlands: the national parks. australia: the timeless land. dr. leakey and the dawn of man. grizzly! the grizzly bear: a case study in field research. the hidden world. the hidden world: a study of insects. the lonely dorymen: portugal's men of the sea. miss goodall and the wild chimpanzees. the mystery of animal behavior. polynesian adventure. reptiles and amphibians. the voyage of the brigantine yankee. washington irving's spain. winged world. the winged world, instinct and intelligence in birds. the world of jacques yves cousteau. yankee sails across europe. national industrial conference board, inc. the managerial revolution. national institute of modeling, oakland, calif. national studios presents a course in modeling. national junior achievement. freedom of choice. national league for nursing. quiet victory. the shelter: psychological aspects of disaster nursing. understanding diabetes. national league for nursing. film service. quiet victory. understanding diabetes. national lumber manufacturers assn. unicom. national lutheran council. it's light time. national lutheran council. dept. of radio & television. it's light time. national macaroni institute. how to prepare and serve spaghetti, macaroni, noodles. national park service. the constitution. the declaration of independence. national restaurant assn. how to prepare and serve spaghetti, macaroni, noodles. national rifle assn. of america. at home with guns. national right to work committee. and women must weep. the people and (b). national safety council. expert driving series. in case of fire. look! stop backing accidents. the national drivers test. safety in the home. safety management film series. safety on the street. national society for the prevention of blindness. don't push your luck! straight talk on eye safety. national society for the prevention of blindness, inc. expedite: school eye safety. glaucoma, the sneak thief of sight. the smartest kid in town. national steel corp. high speed steel. national steel corp. great lakes steel corp. see great lakes steel corp. national steel corp. stran-steel corp. division. the farmstead acre--new profit frontier. national telefilm associates, inc. the bamboo saucer. grand jury. how to marry a millionaire. i sailed to tahiti with an all girl crew. man without a gun. official detective. sheriff of cochise. this is alice. united states marshal. the walter winchell file. national telepix, inc. the baron. the bodyguards. the camp cook. comedy capers. the golfer. house for rent. the hunter. mischief makers. our boy. remote control. tall timber. the troubadours. union station. national tuberculosis assn. the art of detection. merry go round. point of view. signposts. national vitamin foundation. vitamins and your health. national world pictures. the transplanted mind. nationwide insurance co. the fur lined foxhole. natwil productions, inc. wendy and me. naud-hamilburg productions. safe at home. naughton, bill. alfie. nauheim, ferd. more money to spend. nauman, charles w. tahtonka. nauman films. mount rushmore. tahtonka. nebula productions, inc. the beast. neider, charles. one-eyed jacks. nelson, craig. recollection. nelson, ken. walt disney's wonderful world of color. nelson, lawrence. journey into a smaller world. nelson (spencer) productions. skiing: beginning movements. nelson-engel-cherokee production. duel at diablo. nemerov, howard. tall story. nepi film, s.p.a. the night. neptune film productions, inc. the open locket. neptune production. the underwater city. nestle co. nestle co. television commercials. netherlands. government information service. netherlands: past and present. nett, del. my life to live? the odyssey of a dropout. nett-link productions. my life to live. what about sex? new city films. team, team, team. new england aquarium corp. beneath new england waves. new england mutual life insurance co. assignment america. the new england heritage trail. new era films. premiere. the space flight of john h. glenn. new films co. look in any window. new jersey. dept. of education. design for learning. new world film corp. of love and desire. new york academy of science. life story of a water flea, daphnia. new york (city) dept. of hospitals. aides in daily living. helping hands: aides and physical therapy. new york (state). information sharing: the hidden challenge. new york (state) legislature. the common good, new york state's legislature in action. new york (state) state dept. of social services. a bridge to adoption. new york (state) university. state education dept. camera . new york (state) westchester library system. the pleasure is mutual: how to conduct effective picture book programs. new york air brake co. water treatment, a century of progress. new york city transit authority. daily miracle. new york institute for human development, inc. i'm here now. new york life insurance co. the big question. new york metropolitan baseball club, inc. let's go mets. new york stock exchange. at the market. new york telephone co. more than telling. new york times co. the hurdler. new york university. medicine today--continuing education for practicing physicians. new york zoological society. antarctic seals. from the pampas to patagonia. newley, anthony. stop the world, i want to get off. newman, ralph g. the last full measure of devotion. newman, robert. king in shadow. newman, samuel. the wizard of baghdad. newman, walter b. jefferson drum. news & publications service, stanford university. see stanford (leland) junior university. news & publications service. newscope, inc. while brave men die. newsfilm, usa. information retrieval. newsweek, inc. the day before tomorrow. the green light. in the company of men. me in media? newtown productions, inc. splendor in the grass. niagara frontier services. holland-wegman productions. see holland-wegman productions, division of niagara frontier services. niall, ian. a tiger walks. nicholas, john. the devil's sisters. nichols, john. the sterile cuckoo. nicholson (james h.) & samuel z. arkoff production. roadracers. nielson, helen. alfred hitchcock hour. niklaus, thelma. tamahine. niles (fred a.) productions. nashville rebel. niles (fred a.) productions, inc. it's light time. ninety-nines, inc. the stamp of friendship. nix, orville. the assassination of president kennedy. nob hill productions, inc. lover come back. that touch of mink. noble productions, inc. operation cross eagles. nonnenmacher, nicholas t. peace or communism? noonan, tommy. nuts in search of a bolt. noonan-mcglashan. nuts in search of a bolt. noonan-taylor productions. promises! promises! nordhoff, charles. mutiny on the bounty. norge division, borg-warner corp. see borg-warner corp. norge division. norma productions, inc. birdman of alcatraz. normandy productions, inc. the outlaws is coming. the three stooges go around the world in a daze. the three stooges in orbit. the three stooges meet hercules. norris, mariana. this is ireland. norsworthy-mercer, inc. erector set. painting. sandpile. there's an icee machine in the place. north, sterling. rascal. north american communications corp. the last full measure of devotion. north dakota. game & fish dept. rabies in wild life. north dakota. state wheat commission. how to prepare and serve spaghetti, macaroni, noodles. north shore news co., inc. volcano surtsey. northern films. eskimo river village. glaciers. people of alaska. northern illinois university. how to prepare and serve spaghetti, macaroni, noodles. northwestern bell telephone co. iowa challenge and change. northwestern, inc. the outcasts. northwestern university, evanston, ill. creative drama: the first steps. norton, william. the rotten apple. norwood studios, inc. at home with guns. a good beginning. the marvelous mousetrap. requiem for a president: funeral of john f. kennedy. the trouble with archie. the winning combination for cost control. nouvellea editions de films. the thief of paris. viva maria. nova-hugh productions. johnny tiger. novak, mickell. one million years b.c. novosti press agency. the soviets in space. novus films, ltd. masquerade. woman of straw. nulaen, david. curves. la mer. nulsen (david) enterprises. curves. la mer. nye, dorothy hooker. adventures in flavor. nye communications enterprises. adventures in flavor. o o.s.c.a.r. film, s.p.a. hercules. oakhurst productions, ltd. the italian job. where's jack. oakmont productions, inc. attack on the iron coast. submarine x- . oakshire co., ltd. corruption. obelisk, inc. brushfire. obern, vaughn. an aesthetic quality. friday. oboler, arch. + (exploring the kinsey reports). o'brien, edna. the girl with green eyes. o'brien co. the trials of o'brien. o'casey, sean. young cassidy. ochoa, buddy. flight forms. o'connolly, j. p. the traitors. o'connor, honor. six seaports of europe. odell (j. harold) productions, inc. counterplot. o'dell, scott. island of the blue dolphins. o'donnell, peter. modesty blaise. odyssey pictures corp. the iron mask. odyssey pictures, ltd. the thief of bagdad. off-broadway productions, ltd. the sin of jesus. official films, inc. almanac newsreel. biography. greatest headlines of the century. off we go! peter gunn. sportfolio. o'flaherty, liam. uptight. ogburn, charlton, jr. merrill's marauders. ogle, marbury b., jr. building political leadership. ohanian, h. e. experimental deep water drilling, project mohole. o'hara, eliot. restraint. sea and surf. space cutting. tensions. texture in painting. o'hara, john. butterfield . from the terrace. ohio. state university, columbus. absorption spectra. brandenburg concerto no. . carpal tunnel syndrome. the cavendish experiment. centripetal acceleration. crisis and the university. critical temperature. cut ups. double slit. equal masses. ferromagnetic domain wall motion. an isolated organ laboratory for experimental surgery. kevin is four: the early development of a child amputee. king of the cheese. a man's reach. michelson interferometer. morphology of the shark. nesting redwinged blackbirds. nonrecurrent wavefronts. one out front. paramagnetism of liquid oxygen. radioactive decay. resolving power. school for fours. scintillation spectrometry. the shakers. single slit. sonny's lucky dream. tacoma narrows bridge collapse. temperature waves. translational acceleration. unequal masses. the wilberforce pendulum. ohio. state university, columbus. dept. of photography & cinema. school for fours. the shakers. sonny's lucky dream. ohio. state university, columbus. motion picture division. brandenburg concerto no. . carpal tunnel syndrome. crisis and the university. cut ups. an isolated organ laboratory for experimental surgery. kevin is four: the early development of a child amputee. king of the cheese. a man's reach. one out front. ohio. state university, columbus. school of home economics. school for fours. ohio council on economic education. the anatomy of free enterprise. foreign trade--challenge of a changing world. the need for economic education. productivity--key to progress. profits, capital equipment and economic growth. ohio state highway patrol. mechanized death. special delivery. wheels of tragedy. oil states rubber co. condensation in gas pipelines. okapia film production. serengeti shall not die. oklahoma city motor carriers claim prevention conference. the saga of malfunction junction. old dartmouth historical society. whaler out of new bedford. oldsmobile division, general motors corp. see general motors corp. oldsmobile division. olin. winchester-western division. skeet well! tips on trap. olin mathieson chemical corp. e. r. squibb & sons. see squibb (e. r.) & sons. olivetti underwood corp. all this and . olsen, raymond william. the creation. omega productions. the breaking of the bread. a visit to the milwaukee county war memorial center. omicron films, inc. revolution. omnia deutsche film export, g.m.b.h. the corrupt ones. the viscount. omnia films, ltd. foxhole in cairo. on film, inc. baths and babies. color for joy. dedication. the exciting world of stevens fabrics. keeping up with baby. triga. what is a painting? why they buy. oneida, ltd. patterned for dining. o'neil (l. e.) & associates, inc. landmarks of history. ongly, byron. three on a spree. ontario. a place to stand. open road films, ltd. born free. the guns of navarone. the victors. opera society of washington (d.c.) journey to le havre. operations dept. of the cbs television network. see cbs television network. operations dept. orbit films, ltd. subway in the sky. oregon. state game commission. te-na'. oregon. university. development fund. transformational grammar series. oregon curriculum study center. transformational grammar series. orinda union school district. anyone can. orkin exterminating co., inc. elevator - . grandpa - . mechanical rat - . multiple termites - . - . - . - . - . - . - . o'rourke, frank. the professionals. orsay films. world without sun. ortho pharmaceutical corp. modern obstetrics: normal delivery. point of no return. ortho pharmaceutical corp. diagnostic division. point of no return. osborn, paul. the world of suzie wong. osborne, john. inadmissible evidence. look back in anger. osborne, lloyd. the wrong box. osborne laboratories of marine science. plankton: pastures of the ocean. oscar films. aida. ostrander, sheila. nelya. otis productions. the born losers. ouida, pseud. see ramee, maria louise. oursler, fulton. the greatest story ever told. out of the inkwell, inc. out of the inkwell. out-of-towners co. dear heart. outboard marine corp. johnson motors. see johnson motors. overend, john. molecular spectroscopy. overland productions, inc. tales of wells fargo. owen, frank. triple cross. owen, guy. the flim-flam man. owen, robert. si si fly. owens, leonard k. see l. k. o. productions. oxford productions-gold medal enterprises, inc. love is a ball. oxford productions, inc. love is a ball. oxford productions, ltd. doctor faustus. p p-c productions. robin and the hoods. p.e.a. see produzioni europee associate. pecf, s.a.r.l. the visit. p.k.l. pictures, ltd. loss of innocence. p.m.c. productions. touring washington, d.c. poau. see protestants & other americans united for separation of church & state. p-r productions. von ryan's express. pacific films. ikebana for everyone. pacific gas & electric co. mister in between. pacific hawaiian products co. hawaiian punch love punch. pacific international picture. beyond the barrier. pacific productions. the mermaids of tiburon. pacific research laboratories international. the outcasts. pacific telephone & telegraph co. school bells ring at home. pad productions. steam heat. pad-ram enterprises, inc. erotica. paddock, wallace h. or-bits. page, lee. walt disney's wonderful world of color. page, richard. journey into a smaller world. page detroit, inc. pa- . pagnol, marcel. i like money. paine, frank r. this train. paisano productions. perry mason. pakula-mulligan productions, inc. to kill a mockingbird. pal (george) production. the wonderful world of the brothers grimm. palmer (w. a.) films, inc. mathematics for tomorrow. palo alto merit of the junior league of san francisco. see junior league of san francisco, inc. palo alto merit. palo alto unit of the junior league of san francisco. see junior league of san francisco, inc. palo alto unit. pan american productions, inc. of new jersey. virgin sacrifice. pan arts co., inc. a fine madness. the world of henry orient. panamint films. cherry, harry & raquel. pando co. easy rider. pandora pictures, inc. born hunters. pangloss productions, inc. t.g.i.f. panoramic productions, inc. up from the beach. panpiper. the president's analyst. paolino, edmond. greyhound sweepstakes. parachute club of america. sport of the space age. parallel film distributors, inc. shoot out at big sag. paramount british pictures, ltd. the world of suzie wong. paramount film service, ltd. becket. the bliss of mrs. blossom. half a sixpence. the last safari. the strange affair. paramount films service, ltd. my side of the mountain. paramount international films, inc. sissi. paramount pictures corp. abner the baseball. accidents will happen. africa, texas style. africa, yesterday and tomorrow. air racing. alfie. all in a night's work. all the way home. alter egotist. alvin's solo flight. the amorous adventures of moll flanders. anatole. and so tibet. anyone can play. apache uprising. the aquanuts. arizona bushwhackers. arrivederci, baby! the assassination bureau limited. assault on a queen. baggin' the dragon. a balmy knight. barbarella. barefoot in the park. basic brown, basic blue. be mice to cats. beach ball. beachcomber. becket. the bellboy. belmont park: a new era. benjamin. best in show. the big a. the big night. black spurs. the blacksheep blacksmith. the bliss of mrs. blossom. blood and roses. blue. blue hawaii. blue ribbon champions. blueprint for robbery. boats a-poppin'. boeing boeing. bolshoi ballet . bopin' hood. born hunters. the boss is always right. boston: the freedom trail. bouncing benny. bow jests. a boy ten feet tall. the boy who stole a million. the brain. breakfast at tiffany's. breaking the language barrier. a breath of scandal. bred winners. breezing through bavaria. a bridge grows in brooklyn. bronco kids. the brotherhood. brushfire. buckskin. the bus way to travel. the busy body. busy buddies. the byways of france. cagey business. call me a taxi. calypso au go go. cane and able. cape kidnaveral. carnival in quebec. the carpetbaggers. chance meeting. chuka. cinderfella. circus world. clean sweep. c'mon let's live a little. come back to erin. come blow your horn. commuting for adventure. conspiracy of hearts. cool cat blues. counter attack. the counterfeit traitor. crack in the world. crumley cogwheel. cue master. danger: diabolik. the daring game. the deadly bees. deep sea hunt. the defiant giant. defiant island. derby daze. disguise the limit. the disorderly orderly. the dixie golf circle on the dixieland trail. dr. terror's house of horrors. donovan's reef. downhill racer. drum up a tenant. duck fever. duel of the titans. easy come, easy go. el dorado. electronica. the errand boy. escape from zahrain. et tu otto. the expert. the fall of the roman empire. the family jewels. fascinating finland. the festival of the bulls. fever heat. fiddle faddle. fiddlin' around. fine feathered fiend. fire away, the story of a trotter. five branded women. card stud. fix that clock. fizzicle fizzle. flemish seascape. forever my love. fort utah. foxhole in cairo. fraulein doktor. a friend in tweed. frog legs. from dime to dime. from nags to witches. fun in acapulco. fun in the sun. funderful suburbia. funeral in berlin. the fuz. g.i. blues. galaxia. gentle giant. geronimo and son. getting ahead. getting wetter. giddy gadgets. a girl named tamiko. girls! girls! girls! the girls on the beach. gold medal divers. good and guilty. good snooze tonight. goodbye, columbus. goodie the gremlin. goodie's good deed. gramps to the rescue. gun play. gunn. half a sixpence. a hair-raising tale. halt, who grows there? hamburger u. harlow. harry happy. the hat. hatari. hell drivers. hell is for heroes. heller in pink tights. hello down there. here comes rusty. here's homer. here's nudnik. hero's reward. hey, let's twist. hi-fi jinx. hiccup hound. highway slobbery. hip hip ole. hobo's holiday. holland off guard. home sweet swampy. homer on the range. horning in. hostile guns. hound about that. hound for pound. hud. hurry sundown. i want my mummy. if. images. in harm's way. in the nicotine. in the wake of a stranger. inadmissible evidence. inferior decorator. the inquisit visit. instant holland. ireland on the go. is paris burning? isabel. isles of the sun. it started in naples. the italian job. the itch. it's for the birdies. it's only money. jack the ripper. jamaica. jamboree at marathon. johnny reno. journey into flight. journey to understanding. judith. jumping frog jubilee. keep the cool, baby. keeping up with krazy. the kid from mars. kid rodelo. the king of madison avenue. kings of the keys. kings of the wild waves. kozmo goes to school. ladders up. laddy and his lamp. the ladies man. lady in a cage. the last of the secret agents. law of the lawless. a leak in the dike. les boys. lifeline to hongkong. the lion's busy. the long day's dying. the long duel. love in a goldfish bowl. love with the proper stranger. man-trap. the man who shot liberty valance. maroc . marvin digs. mayflower, u.s.a. medium cool. melody for machines. the method and maw. mighty mites. the mighty termite. mike the masquerader. mini squirts. mirror of spain. miss smile. mr. chat. mr. garlund. monkey doodles. moroccan highways. mouse blanche. mouse trek. muggy-doo boycat. munro. my daddy the astronaut. my geisha. my side of the mountain. my six loves. the naked prey. near sighted and far out. nevada smith. a new kind of love. niceniks. the night of the grizzly. indianapolis . no way to treat a lady. northern mites. the nutty professor. ocean bruise. the odd couple. of sea and ships. oh dad, poor dad, mamma's hung you in the closet and i'm feelin' so sad. oh! what a lovely war. the old west trail. ollie the owl. on the bounce. on the double. on the wing. the once over. once upon a sunday, the island of dominica. once upon a time in the west. one-eyed jacks. one of the family. one weak vacation. only when i larf. op, pop, wham and bop. the opera caper. the outside dope. panhandling on madison avenue. papa's delicate condition. paradise hawaiian style. paris pick-up. paris when it sizzles. the patsy. peck your own home. pee-wees on ice. penny pals. the penthouse. perry popgun. the phantom moustacher. the pigeon that took rome. the pigs' feat. the planet mouseola. please, not while i'm putting. the pleasure of his company. the plot sickens. the plumber. poor little witch girl. popcorn and politics. porpoise posse. potions and notions. the president's analyst. press on regardless. prisoner of the volga. project x. promise her anything. psycho. psychological testing. the psychopath. race for the golden flag. race with the wind. racers away. the rat race. reading, writhing and 'rithmetic. red line . red tomahawk. ring of treason. the ringading kid. riot. the roaring road. robin hoodwinked. robinson crusoe on mars. the robot ringer. robot rival. romeo and juliet. rosemary's baby. roustabout. sailing zero. samson scrap. san francisco, san francisco, san francisco. sands of the kalahari. the savage innocents. scouting for trouble. the sea pirate. sebastian. seconds. service with a smile. seven days in may. the sheepish wolf. she's no lady. the shoe must go on. shoeflies. shootin' stars. sick transit. siege of syracuse. a sight for squaw eyes. the silent screamer. silly science. situation hopeless, but not serious. ski america. ski boom. skidoo. the skull. sky divers. sleeping bag. the slender thread. smashing time. smoky mountain magic. snow fun. snuffy's song. solitary refinement. the son of captain blood. the sons of katie elder. sour gripes. space kid. speed on ice. speedway. the spirit is willing. a sport is born. the sporting british. sports in action. spring in scandinavia. the spy who came in from the cold. the squaw-path. stage to thunder rock. the sterile cuckoo. the story of george washington. the strange affair. the stubborn cowboy. summer and smoke. swim gym. the swinger. swingin' west. swinging brazil. swiss movement. sylvia. symphony in motion. tv or no tv. take me to your gen'rul. tally-hokum. tapestry of thailand. targets. tarzan and the great river. tarzan and the jungle boy. tarzan the magnificent. tell me a badtime story. ten pin tour. terry the terror. texas longhorns. texas today. thin along with c. v. hostetler. think or sink. this property is condemned. this was the mary. those daring young men in their jaunty jalopies. three parts of gaul. throne for a loss. a tiger's tail. too late blues. top cat. a touch of larceny. town tamer. trail ride. trash program. a tree is a tree is a tree? trick or cheat. trick or tree. trigger treat. the trip. trouble date. true grit. turning the fables. turtle scoop. two by two. two worlds of scandinavia. under ten flags. up the junction. uptight. villa rides. virginia city centennial. visit to a small planet. a voyage from tahiti. the vulture. waco. walk a tightrope. walk like a dragon. the wandering wind. warning shot. waterhole # . waters of bangkok. way up and way out. a wedding knight. west point athletes. the wet memorandum. where love has gone. where the truth lies. where's jack. whiz quiz kid. who's been sleeping in my bed? who's got the action. who's minding the store? will penny. williamsburg, the story of a patriot. windy day. the winning strain. winning styles. winter sports italian style. winter time in melbourne. without time or reason. wives and lovers. world jamboree xii. the world of suzie wong. the world starts next door. the world's richest horse race. wyoming snapshoot. young fury. yule laff. paramount pictures corp. international telemeter co. see international telemeter co. paramount pictures, inc. exclusive. the monster and the girl. spawn of the north. paramount pictures (u.k.) ltd. the italian job. paramount theaters, inc. hamlet. the young man from boston. parc film-madeleine films. the young girls of rochefort. parc-film, s.a. benjamin. paris film production. belle de jour. highway pickup. weekend at dunkirk. paris inter-productions. erotique. les femmes. parish tithing, inc. the secret. park lane enterprises, inc. assault on a queen. park place productions, inc. inside daisy clover. up the down staircase. park place-solar productions. baby the rain must fall. parke, davis & co. better medicines for a better world--the story of research at parke, davis. clinical investigation. dissociative anesthesia with ketalar ketamine, parke-davis. distribution of drugs. epilepsia infantil. l'epilepsie chez l'enfant. epilepsy in children. examination of reflexes. pharmaceutical research. production and engineering. readi-cast is different. there is a difference. things are happening. time for living. to fall or not to fall. parker bros., inc. the interview. parker-orchard productions. john goldfarb, please come home. parkway films, ltd. victim. parroch-mccallum production. the eyes of annie jones. walk a tightrope. the woman who wouldn't die. parson, mary jean. who's afraid of virginia woolf. parthenon pictures. washington, city of the world. pasadena (calif.) foundation for medical research. morphology, growth and pacemaker activity of mammalian heart ventricle cells in culture. pasternak, boris. dr. zhivago. pasternak (joe) production. jumbo. the sweet ride. pate, michael. most dangerous man alive. pathe-american distributing co., inc. victim. whistle down the wind. pathe news, inc. aida. patricia-jalem-reynard co. the great race. patrick, william p. a formula for happy living. patterson studios. reading: diagnosing needs. patterson studios, inc. the improbable form of master sturm, the nongraded high school. patti enterprises, inc. the patsy. pavor, s.a. romanoff and juliet. pawnbroker co., inc. the pawnbroker. pax enterprises, inc. in cold blood. the professionals. pax films. the day the earth caught fire. pax films, inc. just between us. peale, norman vincent. what it takes to be a real salesman. pearce, donn. cool hand luke. pearlayne production. kisses for my president. pearson, l. o. under the living tide. pearson, leonard. the inner world of aphasia. peavy, paulina. american airlines, america's leading airline. peck, leonard. puerto rico, showcase of america. peck (leonard) productions. puerto rico, showcase of america. peckham productions. a time and a place. peckham productions, inc. simply beautiful. pederson (j. hans) inc. way up and way out. peed, george c. colonel orion, his astro-commandos and the pip-squeaks. peeler, richard. ceramic art: the coil method. peeler, richard e. ceramics, what, why, how? creating mosaics and tiles. handbuilding methods. potters of japan. potters of the u.s.a., pt. . peerless productions, inc. badman's country. peet productions, ltd. the running man. pegasus productions co., inc. steve canyon. pelican motion pictures. intersection of sets. similarity. pendennis productions, ltd. jet storm. sands of the kalahari. pendick enterprises. slattery's people. pendleton woolen mills. the living fiber, wool. pendulum productions. pendulum. penelope films, inc. agents of drug abuse. penkalski, ervin. a visit to the greek church. a visit to the guggenheim. a visit to the johnson buildings. a visit to the milwaukee county war memorial center. pennebaker, hugh s. antonio gaudi. the million dollar customer. pennebaker-baroda productions. the naked edge. pennebaker, inc. bedtime story. one-eyed jacks. wild seed. pennebaker, ltd. man in the middle. pennebaker productions. paris blues. penney (j. c.) co. mexican watercolor. one peseta two peseta. ski happy. welcome aboard penny's carib cruise. penney (j. c.) co., inc. lapped application of a zipper. making a chain loop. making an invisible hem. sewing on a pierced button. pennsylvania. dept. of internal affairs. give and go. trouble in eden. pennsylvania. state college, edinboro. franklin: the autobiography and beyond. pennsylvania. state teachers college, edinboro. face to face--walt whitman: a hundred years hence. pennsylvania. state university. dark lines to the planets. upgrade. pennsylvania. university. moore school of electrical engineering. electromagnetic fields and waves, pt. : transmission lines. pennsylvania. university. trustees. electromagnetic fields and waves, pt. : transmission lines. pennsylvania chiropractic society. district . your spine is your lifeline. pepsi-cola co. dotted line. it's a small world. night football. on the beach. parade. pepsi-cola co. television commercials. pepsico, inc. pepsi-cola co. television commercials. percy, edward. mad room. perkins, james s. the original films of frank b. gilbreth. perlberg-seaton production. the counterfeit traitor. perlberg-seaton productions, inc. the hook. hours. twilight of honor. perlsea co. the counterfeit traitor. the pleasure of his company. the rat race. permax enterprises. the notorious daughter of fanny hill. perry, donald r. the face of mardi gras. the rebel's yell. perry, helen. the face of mardi gras. the rebel's yell. perseus productions, n.v. francis of assisi. pertwee, michael. it started in naples. peshak, ted. man to man. pestriniero, renato. planet of the vampires. petersham films, ltd. how i won the war. petersham films (petulia) ltd. petulia. petersen productions, inc. malibu u. peterson, charles e. cycles. peterson, louis s. take a giant step. peterson, millard w. the peterson on target method of teaching safe driving by means of helicopter photography. petramonte productions est., ltd. cry of battle. petrilli, vittoriano. operation crossbow. petroleum industry electrical assn. petroleum industry radio, an indispensable tool. pfizer (charles) & co., inc. agriculture, research, and you. the dynamics of animal agriculture. pfizer (charles) & co., inc. pfizer laboratories. development of the immune capacity in the newborn. pflaum (george a.) publisher, inc. the lay catechist. phalanx productions. irma la douce. phalanx-jalem productions. the fortune cookie. pharmaco, inc. sixty-nine point three. phelan, raymond a. too young, too immoral. phillips, roger m. how was your evening? phillips, ronald l. leaves. phillips-harvey & co. variation one. phillips petroleum co. refrigerated ammonia spill tests. phoenix film studios. four fast guns. riders on a dead horse. third of a man. photo-school films, inc. learn to lipread. photoplay associates, inc. confessions of an opium eater. dondi. sex kittens go to college. piccolo, marco. goliath and the dragon. pickering, donald e. an artificial environment for studying fetal development in monkeys: first successful application. pickford (mary) corp. the birth of a legend. the taming of the shrew. piggott, james p. dedication of new haven municipal airport, august , . nd annual seaplane meet, new haven air terminal, sept. ' . pike productions, inc. demo derby. feelin' good. pilot productions, inc. craftsmanship and automation. pink, sid. journey to the seventh planet. pink, sidney. reptilicus. pinkston, everett pat. weight training series. pintoff productions, inc. the critic. the violinist. piper, evelyn. bunny lake is missing. the nanny. pirro, ugo. five branded women. pisgah productions. carl sandburg, man of the world, poet of the people. pitt, dale. conspiracy of hearts. pittsburgh. university. the psychoanalyst: his contributions and his training. pittsburgh. university. post graduate medical school. a good beginning. pittsburgh. university. western psychiatric institute & clinic. the psychoanalyst: his contributions and his training. pittsburgh paints division. see pittsburgh plate glass co. pittsburgh paints division. pittsburgh plate glass co. window glass cutting diamond techniques. pittsburgh plate glass co. pittsburgh paints division. the biggest roundup ever in ' with pittsburgh paints. stage rocket to higher sales in ' . pittsburgh psychoanalytic institute. the psychoanalyst: his contributions and his training. place, graham. si si fly. planned parenthood assn. of kansas city, mo., inc. less than human. plautus productions, inc. the defenders. the doctors and the nurses. for the people. the nurses. play schools assn. setting up a room, creating an environment for learning. playboy pictures, inc. early to bed. playfilm productions, inc. the miracle worker. playhouse pictures. pete and harry. plaza pictures-ry associates. shark hunt. plimpton, george. paper lion. podhajsky, alois. the miracle of the white stallions. poe, edgar allen. the fall of the house of usher. the haunted palace. the masque of the red death. the oblong box. pit and the pendulum. the premature burial. the raven. spirits of the dead. the tomb of ligeia. war-gods of the deep. pointer system, inc. professor pointer: organ teaching film lesson no. . professor pointer: organ teaching film lesson no. - . polaroid corp. a time to play. ponderey productions. the steel claw. ponti (carlo) production. lady l. pontiac motor division. see general motors corp. pontiac motor division. pontifical assn. of the holy childhood. decision of love. a miracle on demand. popeil bros., inc. hi-temp & super knife. steamset commercials. trimcomb. popular science pub. co., inc. audio-visual division. aladdin. the country mouse and the city mouse. the lion and the mouse. the nightingale. the traveling musicians. the ugly duckling. population council, inc. new intra-uterine plastic contraceptive devices. port of new york authority. today the twenty-first. portafilms. pipeline people. the river that came back. what's it going to cost you? when michigan was young. port-a-films presentations, inc. how to change a flat tire. porter, eleanor h. pollyanna. porter, katherine anne. ship of fools. portis, charles. true grit. portland cement assn. concrete curtain walls. concrete ' . construction of a demonstration of prestressed concrete pavement. a county builds soil-cement. new shapes in concrete. the pageant of american farms. soil-cement shoulders for modern highways. portland productions, inc. hero's island. posa films, s.a. cantinflas boxeador. cantinflas estadita. cantinflas ruletero. cantinflas y su prima. jengibre contra dinamita! siempre-listo in las tinieblas. post graduate medical school, university of pittsburgh. see pittsburgh. university. post graduate medical school. post-keyes-gardner, inc. rodeo--old milwaukee beer. speedboat--old milwaukee beer. surfing--old milwaukee beer. postlethwait, samuel n. anthocyanin. buds i: leaf buckeye. buds ii: flower, peach, elm, maple. germination i: corn. germination ii: bean. germination iii: pea. germination iv: castor bean. how to make slides. how to use the microscope. pigments: summer red leaf. pigments i: green leaf. pigments ii: yellow leaf. potlatch forests, inc. potlatch country. potomac films, inc. discovery. potoski, stanley. sod sisters. potter, orchard & petrie, inc. the time of growing. powell, amos. tower of london. powell pat. motivation in perspective. strategy for productive behavior. powell, richard. follow that dream. the young philadelphians. powell, richard e. catalysis. power (jules) international productions. cities and beauty: cities can be beautiful. cities and commerce: where we get our goods and services. cities and communication: keeping the community informed. cities and geography: where people live. cities and government: governing our local community. cities and history: changing the city. cities and manufacturing: where we make things. cities and protection: protecting lives and property. cities and recreation: places we play. cities and shopping: where we get our food. cities and suburbs: the metropolitan area. cities and transportation: moving people and goods. cities and utilities: our public utility system. power (jules) productions, inc. the constitution. the declaration of independence. monsters of the ocean deep. prairie states life insurance. tahtonka. pratolini, vasco. family diary. pratt, kenneth. weekend adventure drive. pratt, lois v. family legacy. pratt, theodore. the incredible mr. limpet. pratt & whitney aircraft, division of united aircraft corp. see united aircraft corp. pratt & whitney aircraft. precision valve corp. sssssssst. premier productions co., inc. blowup. preminger, otto. the cardinal. exodus. premium pictures, inc. a dog's best friend. the music box kid. noose for a gunman. oklahoma territory. three came to kill. prescott, norm. pinocchio in outer space. president & fellows of harvard college. see harvard university. president & fellows of harvard college. pressburger, emerie. behold a pale horse. price, will. flame over india. priestley, j. p. the old dark house. printing industries of america, inc. pia laser pep talk. prisma, s.a. cervantes. prisma, wolfgang hartwig, rapid film production. the head. pro artis iberica, s.a. murieta. procinex. cervantes. procter, maurice. hell is a city. procter & gamble co. autogenous transplantation of a tooth. baseball. basketball. dynamics of dental caries. football. good housekeeper. happy woman. implantation of a denture. methods, money and mops. mr. clean attic commercial no. - . mr. clean baby commercial no. - . mr. clean bird cage commercial no. - . mr. clean bone digger commercial no. - . mr. clean boys room commercial no. - . mr. clean bubble popper commercial no. - . mr. clean floor commercial no. - . mr. clean foot prints commercial no. - . mr. clean golf ball commercial no. - . mr. clean grease spot commercial no. - . mr. clean housewife's helper commercial no. - . mr. clean janitor commercial no. - . mr. clean label commercial no. - . mr. clean light switch commercial no. - . mr. clean little boy jingle commercial no. - . mr. clean paint brush commercial no. - . mr. clean pencil marker commercial no. - . mr. clean satur-daddy commercial no. - . mr. clean save ¢ commercial no. - . mr. clean spilly willy commercial no. - r. mr. clean spring cleaning commercial no. - . pleasant surprise. procter & gamble co. television commercials. smiling. whip demonstration. procter & gamble co., inc. procter & gamble co. television commercials. procter & gamble distributing co. a closer look at sales management. a coin with two heads. the pursuit of profit. the right combination. procusa. the colossus of rhodes. prodi cinematografica. marco the magnificent. producciones cinematograficas balcazar. see balcazar, producciones cinematograficas. product finder co., inc. inventions for sale: the toothpaste brush. production vpi. a time to play. productions artistes associes. baisers voles. live for life. le mariee etait en noir. the thief of paris. the train. viva maria. up to his ears. produzione circeo cinematografica latina. fast and sexy. produzioni artistiche internazionali. cloportes. produzioni artistiche internazionali, s.p.a. el greco. produzioni europee associate. le diable par la queue. the good, the bad and the ugly. produzioni europee associate, s.a.s. per qualche dollaro in piu. professional assn. of america. championship bowling. professional research, inc. anatomy and physiology of pregnancy. cataracts. a child's first visit. course of labor. delivery in the hospital. glaucoma. good brushing techniques. the importance of a periodic health examination. new obstetric patient. peridontics. postpartum. prenatal management. preventive dentistry. prosthodontics, complete. prosthodontics, fixed partial. prosthodontics, removable partial. self-examination of the breasts. strabismus. understanding your anesthesia. weight control and exercise in pregnancy. your stay in the hospital. project action, venice, calif. the savages. project productions. the civil war: a house divided. helen keller. jonas salk. negro slavery. the progressives. the twenties. westward expansion. world war i. the years of reconstruction: - . prometheus enterprises, inc. harlow. something wild. prominent films. the shop on main street. proscenium films, ltd. a hard day's night. protectoseal co. flammables engineering. protestants & other americans united for separation of church & state. boycott. protor. cervantes. prudential insurance co. of america. a chance to save a life. publi italia. spy in your eye. public affairs committee, inc. right from the start. public affairs dept. of cbs news. see columbia broadcasting system, inc. public library of cincinnati & hamilton county. see cincinnati & hamilton county. public library. public relations dept., general motors corp. see general motors corp. public relations dept. public service films, inc. tin pan fire drill. purcell (james) productions. a new view of corticosteroid action in inflammatory dermatoses. purdue research foundation. learning french the modern way. learning spanish the modern way. pure oil co. make me useful. the profit journey. pursall, david. murder ahoy. purvis, charles g. see purvis-pearce productions. purvis-pearce productions. purvis' perfection passing. pyramid film producers. pulse of life, the story of artificial respiration and artificial circulation. pyramid productions. turned on. pyramid productions, a.g. one, two, three. q qm productions. the f.b.i. the fugitive. the new breed. quadrangle films, s.a. a funny thing happened on the way to the forum. quality bakers of america cooperative, inc. animated loaf. animated loaf; husband & wife. bag. band. brand. cheaper-round top. clyde mclean. clyde mclean; cheaper. egg salad elephant. a fall campaign. family. farm. father & son; cheaper. hat. husband & wife-cheaper. husband & wife id. husband & wife id, no. . it's a bird, it's a plane. lasso. little girl, pony tail. look ma, no holes. more than good looks. pan. quality bakers of america cooperative television commercials. round 'n round. schmidt, hollywood pony tail. snak cake. snap. square and round. stroehmann easy open batter whipped sunbeam. stroehmann family. sunbeam milk no. . sunbeam milk, print no. - - . teenager. teenager-cheaper brands. teenager id. teenager id; cheaper. toasted cheese tiger. vegetable oil. whistle. queen products division of king-seeley thermos co. see king-seeley co. queen products division. queens college, flushing, n.y. blocks, a medium for perceptual learnings. quest film productions, ltd. isabel. quest production. the abc man: the manager in mid-career. effective decisions. focus on tomorrow. human nature and organization realities. job enrichment in action. kita. the management of human assets. managing time. the modern meaning of efficiency. motivation through job enrichment. the self-motivated achiever. staffing for strength. understanding motivation. what can i contribute? quest productions, inc. a time for burning. quine (richard) productions, inc. paris when it sizzles. synanon. quittner, robert m. dropouts anonymous. quota rentals, ltd. the chalk garden. the truth about spring. r rca victor radio & victrola division. see radio corp. of america. rca victor & victrola division. rd-dr corp. man on a string. question . rfg associates, inc. to be continued. rfg productions, inc. mission: u.s.a. rko general, inc. a gift for heidi. home is the hero. king kong vs. godzilla. rko radio pictures. a gift for heidi. rko teleradio pictures, inc. the naked and the dead. rackin (martin) productions. stagecoach. radiant educational corp. the split second. radiant films. montici intarsia. radim films, inc. the gardens of winterthur. radio & television commission of the southern baptist convention. see southern baptist convention. radio & television commission. radio & television packagers, inc. journey to the beginning of time. radio corp. of america. tiros: experimental weather satellite. radio corp. of america. astro-electronic products division. tiros: experimental weather satellite. radio corp. of america. rca victor radio & victrola division. living stereo. radio service corp. of utah. let freedom ring. radius productions. secret agent fireball. radnitz (robert b.) productions, inc. island of the blue dolphins. radnitz (robert b.) productions, ltd. and now miguel. radrick productions, inc. where time is a river. rafal, marvin. new approaches to manpower motivation. rafal (marvin) associates, inc. new approaches to manpower motivation. rafilm, inc. michigan year. rafran cinematografica, s.p.a. once upon a time in the west. rafran-san marco production. once upon a time in the west. rage production. a rage to live. rainbow productions, inc. duel at diablo. lilies of the field. rajkamal kalamendir production. two eyes, twelve hands. ralston purina co. balloon. chex squarecrow. maharajah. piano. pitchfork. talking package. ram films, inc. the green slime. ramee, maria louise. a dog of flanders. ramo, simon. all about polymorphics. ranberg, robert. william b. ide. rand corp. the computer in the classroom. joss. randall, dick. early to bed. randall, wilbur w. telemobile. randall co. telemobile. random production. racers away. rank film distributors, ltd. operation amsterdam. upstairs and downstairs. the wind cannot read. rank organisation. the ipcress file. sapphire. rank organisation film productions, ltd. the captain's table. conspiracy of hearts. ferry to hong kong. flame over india. the long duel. operation amsterdam. the singer, not the song. the steps. upstairs and downstairs. the wind cannot read. the young and the willing. rank organisation, inc. the quiller memorandum. rankin/bass production. king kong escapes. ranown pictures corp. comanche station. ransohoff (martin) productions. boys' night out. rapaport, monroe. hoo ha. rapid-film, g.m.b.h. liebe wie die frau sie wuenscht. rapids-standard co., inc. genesco's genstar system. rappoport, gerald j. the case of cousin outrageous. the case of the auto tycoons. the case of the big movie star. the case of the big squeeze. the case of the big trial. the case of the blinking planet. the case of the carnival capers. the case of the cat cave treasure. the case of the counterfeiters. the case of the creatures from down under. the case of the crime lab. the case of the diamond smugglers. the case of the fabulous diamond. the case of the flying eye. the case of the frogmen. the case of the fugitive at large. the case of the gasoline war. the case of the iron shark. the case of the laughing gas victims. the case of the mad scientist. the case of the minced spies. the case of the mind reader. the case of the missing masterpiece. the case of the missing partner. the case of the mysterious bottle. the case of the mysterious submarine. the case of the peace pipe. the case of the perfect alibi. the case of the rescue squad. the case of the saggin' dragon. the case of the shoo shoo fly. the case of the sniffer machine. the case of the spies return. the case of the t.v. director. the case of the trampolene performers. the case of the undercover agents. the case of the unmentionables. the case of the unthinkables. the case of the visiting patient. disguise the limit. monster from outer space. the return of the shoo shoo fly. rarig film productions. hezekiah's water tunnel. rascovich, mark. the bedford incident. rasmussen, george j., iii. racing hilights ' . rasmussen productions. new albany --the year of the sesquicentennial. racing hilights ' . racing hilights ' . racing hilights ' . racing hilights ' . racing hilights ' . rastar productions, inc. funny girl. ray (reid) film production. discover hawaii. ray (reid) films, inc. discover america. invitation to the east. invitation to the west. ray (reid) television productions. your daily horoscope, january . ray, reid h. adventures in sharps and flats. ray (reid h.) film industries. the challenge of six billion. goals and dreams. ray (reid h.) film industries, inc. avoiding communication breakdown. cash on the barrel head. changing attitudes through communication. communicating management's point o view. communication feedback. meanings are in people. the nature of language and how it is learned. the sounds of language. words and their meanings. ray (reid h.) films. are you earning the right to ask them to buy? are you earning the right to manage others? the heritage of the uncommon man. people don't resist change. rayant pictures, ltd. song of london. raybar films. machine shop series; elementary engine lathe . raybar technical films. boring a hole. cutting a taper using the compound rest. cutting a thread. four jaw chuck: precision truing. four jaw chuck: standard truing. knurling. machine shop series: bench work, set i. precision alignment of centers. setting up a steady test. setting up collets. setting up to cut a thread. setting work between centers. standard alignment of centers. turning a taper using the offset method. using a parting tool. woodworking series: handtool operations, set . woodworking series: handtool operations, set . woodworking series: handtool operations, set . woodworking series: set iv, circular saw. woodworking series: set v, lathe. raybar technical films, inc. adjusting the distributor cam angle. auto safety inspection. battery service. bleeding the brakes. carburetor idle adjustment. cutting an armature commutator. engine trouble shooting. installing spark plug wire terminals. packing front wheel bearings. pressure testing the cooling system. rebuilding the master cylinder. removal & installation of brake shoes on self adjusting bendix brakes. replacing generator brushes. replacing ignition points. replacing the thermostat. servicing the automatic choke. servicing the radiator pressure cap. servicing the universal joint. spark plug service. testing generator output. testing headlight aim. testing the fuel pump. testing the thermostat. timing an engine. raybert productions, inc. easy rider. head. the monkees. raymond, john m. sweetheart roland. read, nicholas c. right from the start. read, nicholas cabell. bolivian boy. reade (walter) organization. operation cross eagles. reader's digest assn., inc. light upon the earth. realart pictures. the navy versus the night monsters. women of the prehistoric planet. realemon co. the story of lemon juice. reame productions, inc. the glass bottom boat. rebfilms, ltd. attack squadron. red-bill productions, inc. chartroose caboose. red lion film production. lisa. nine hours to rama. red lion productions, inc. lost command. valley of the dolls. red parrot film productions. new york . red parrot films, ltd. the ivory knife. red ram production. mission mars. red wing productions, inc. garry moore show. reddy kilowatt, inc. the constant miracle. redaelli, guido. the motion of heart potentials on the chest surface. rediffusion television, ltd. hippodrome. rediscovery productions. the hurdler. redwood productions, inc. it's about time. reed (roland) productions, inc. protection for people. to reach the dawn. reela educational films. to catch a meal, feeding in the sea. reela films. the common octopus. digestive system, octopus vulgaris. embryonic development, roundel skate. external anatomy, octopus vulgaris. the homely mollusk, octopus vulgaris. a most exceptional fish (the seahorse). the roundel skate. self-preservation, octopus vulgaris. strange partners. reese, ellen p. behavior theory in practice. imprinting. reeves (knox) advertising. flyaway hair. hand claps. regan productions, inc. flags are for flying. regency productions, inc. quelques pages de grands ecrivains. regent polytechnic institute, london. romeo and juliet. regina production. amazons of rome. reid, lynne. the l-shaped room. reider, frank. recollection. reif, f. irreversibility and fluctuations. reilly, robert t. the fighting prince of donegal. reinecker, herbert. brainwashed. reiner, carl. enter laughing. the thrill of it all. reiner, ivan. the green slime. reinert, rick. weather toones. reinits, rex. jazz boat. reiter, f. p. mr. friendly gate. reiter, frank p. mrs. big chair. reitknecht, jack. inventions for sale: the toothpaste brush. releasing corp. of independent producers. virgin sacrifice. rembrandt films. here's nudnik. munro. rembrandt films, inc. anatole. renown pictures corp., ltd. my son the vampire. rensselaer polytechnic institute, troy, n.y. conservation of linear and angular momentum. form and meaning. gas chromatography. how to use an optical reading theodolite for second order triangulation. introduction to spatial concepts. line and plane relationships. one dimensional motion. planes. points and lines. representation and design. revolutions. rotating reference frames. satellite orbits. still life with comments by the artist. symbol and purpose. three production systems: lot productions, line production, process industry. triangulation angles with the repeating type instrument. vectors. what is meaning? republic steel corp. the anatomy of free enterprise. building economic understanding: competing through research. building economic understanding: creating jobs through growth. building economic understanding--exploring foreign competition. building economic understanding: investing for future growth. building economic understanding: the keys to progress. building political leadership. the care and maintenance of stainless steel. deep drawing of stainless steel. everyday economic terms. finishing stainless steel in the shop. foreign trade--challenge of a changing world. forming and bending of stainless steel. heavenly days. induction stirred ladle vacuum degassing with carbon dioxidation. the need for economic education. the new world of stainless steel. not difficult, just different. productivity--key to progress. profits, capital equipment and economic growth. the shapers of stainless steel. stainless steel tailored to the job. stainless steel--the miracle metal. the system. what it takes. requins associes. world without sun. rescue breathing film associates. pole-top rescue breathing with closed chest heart massage. rescue breathing film association. heart attack. resko, john. reprieve. resnik, muriel. any wednesday. how sweet it is. revue-j & m productions. the jack benny program. revue productions. broadside. destry. the killers. see how they run. special agent . state trooper. the virginian. wagon train. revue productions, inc. buckskin. cimarron city. coronado . general electric theater. johnny staccato. laramie. leave it to beaver. mickey spillane's mike hammer. riverboat. s. a. . schlitz-lux playhouse. secret agent . stripe playhouse. suspicion. revue-ranch. arrest and trial. revue studios. the bob cummings show. cindy's fella. coronado . general electric theater. investigators. it's a man's world. johnny staccato. kraft mystery theatre. laramie. leave it to beaver. a look at monaco. the new bob cummings show. the raiders. shotgun slade. tales of wells fargo. thriller. the virginian. wagon train. reynard productions, inc. captain newman, m.d. not with my wife, you don't. sex and the single girl. reynolds (stuart) productions. the eye of the beholder. reynolds metals co. design for a city. form, design, and the city. to reach the dawn. reynolds-vetter production. battle beneath the earth. rhodes pictures, inc. clambake. riach, alastair. big on the outside. rialto international. too young, too immoral. riama film. and the wild, wild women. richards, robert l. winchester . richards, stephen h. rabies in wild life. richelieu productions, inc. bailey's of balboa. the cara williams show. richlin, maurice. inspector clouseau. richmond (ted) productions, inc. bachelor in paradise. company of cowards? it happened at the world's fair. riesen, austin h. primate growth and development: a gorilla's first year. rigby, ray. the hill. rigsby, howard. the last sunset. riley, james whitcomb. the old swimmin' hole. rimberg, john. this is the soviet union today. rinco film productions. helga. rio rancho estates, inc. your golden future in the land of enchantment. riopelle, angelina blanco de. el espanol en accion. riopelle, garry. see living adventure films. riskin, robert. pocketful of miracles. ritter, lloyd. minus . riverbank productions, inc. tue. afternoon. riviera productions. capture that capsule. ro-co productions, inc. when comedy was king. robar sales. tv commercials for chiropractic profession. robar sales co. the trial plan. robbins, harold. the carpetbaggers. nevada smith. where love has gone. roberts, ben. portrait in black. roberts, richard emery. the second time around. robertson, milton. the art of detection. point of view. robertson, peter. building economic understanding: competing through research. robin rae productions. the threat. robinson, bill. things making it: kinetics by francis stephens. robinson, claude. building political leadership. robinson, frank m. the power. robinson, henry morton. the cardinal. robinson (hubbell) productions, inc. th precinct. thriller. roby (del) film productions. cougar action. our wilderness elk. wild but true. roby (richard) associates, inc. the saga of malfunction junction. rochemont (heath de) corp. parlons francais. rochester gas & electric. city on the horizon. rochester gas & electric co. the rochester story of providing modern energy for a modern world, part i: an enlightened public. rochester gas & electric corp. rochester: a city of quality. rock, joe. krakatoa. rock, phillip. the extraordinary seaman. most dangerous man alive. rockford fire dept. fireman at your door. rockwell-standard corp. and away we go. rockwell-standard corp. transmission & axle division. fifty years of progress in mobility and speed. rodel studio. more money to spend. rodentia productions. complex behavior: chaining. rodgers, mary catherine. a touch in time. rodgers, richard. the sound of music. rodlor, inc. chuka. rodriguez, ettienne a. resurrection city. roemer-young associates. crocodile! orinoco jungle. rogge, bernhard. under ten flags. rogo productions. i deal in danger. rohauer, raymond. blood of a poet. blue of the night. un chien andalou. salome. sing bing sing. triumph des willens. roitfeld (jacques) productions. please, not now! rojankovsky, feodor. frog went a-courtin'. rol film co. the green tree. roman, lawrence. under the yum yum tree. romano film production. samson and the slave queen. rome, harold. fanny. romm (harry) productions, inc. hey, let's twist. two tickets to paris. romulus films, ltd. the l-shaped room. life at the top. the pumpkin eater. romulus production. oliver. term of trial. rona, inc. love with the proper stranger. roncom films-huggins productions. run for your life. roncom films, inc. kraft suspense theatre. roncom video films, inc. happy. tate. rondeau (charles r.) production. the threat. rondi, brunello. a place for lovers. ronne, finn. north of the circle. rook, david. run wild, run free. rooks, conrad. chappaqua. rorvic productions, inc. the texan. rose, alexander. who's got the action. rose, harry. whom shall we fear? rose, jack. it started in naples. rose-magwood productions, inc. iphansis. rosegger, gerhard. foreign trade--challenge of a changing world. rosen, al. mary had a little.... rosenberg, meta. breaking point. rosenthal (robert m.) productions, inc. i wonder why. ross, byard s. bid-it, the tv auction show. ross, frank. walk don't run. ross (frank) productions. one man's way. ross (frank) productions, ltd. mister moses. ross (frank)-t.f.t. productions. where it's at. ross, jesse. arthritis. post operative hip joint infections treated with p.h.f. energy. rossen enterprises, inc. the hustler. rosten, norman. small miracle. roth, arthur. the night fighters. roth, cy. attack squadron. nuremberg. roth, lois. maya. roth, philip. goodbye, columbus. roudabush, barbara. a good beginning. roundtable productions. breaking the delegation barrier. the hidden side of selling. how good is a good guy? i just work here. imagination at work. judging people. manager wanted. overcoming resistance to change. pattern for instructions. roundtable productions, inc. the bob knowlton story. a case of insubordination? the making of a decision. management, motivation and the new minority worker. something to work for. that's not my job. the way i see it. writing letters that get results. rouse, russell. pillow talk. rowe manufacturing. bachelor girls. barn dance. calendar girl. canal street blues. captive bird. chicks in waiting. cocktail party. cowgirl and bandit. cycle & surf. devil temptation. dixieland fantasy. dream girl. fashion model. fire dance. four french maids. gaslight a go-go. genie in the bottle. girl and sultan. girl in picture frame. go-go in the hay. green bikini. hermit's heaven. joe's bar. jungle madness. montmartre, les girls. peeping tom. red devil girl. roaring twenties. striptease. triple strip. voodoo. western go-go. rowles, burton j. a fisherman's notebook. roxbury productions, inc. the prize. sweet bird of youth. roxlom films, inc. judgment at nuremberg. roxy film, g.m.b.h. & co., k.g. brainwashed. roy (ross) inc. as we live and breathe. fifty years of progress in mobility and speed. roy export co. establishment. the chaplin revue. roy productions. birthright. royal academy of dramatic art, london. romeo and juliet. royal academy productions, ltd. romeo and juliet. royal film production. taboos of the world. royal films international. life at the top. nothing but the best. the pumpkin eater. royal films international, inc. the taming of the shrew. roylance, ward j. utah, the incredible land, part i: the colorado plateau. utah, the incredible land, part ii: the rocky mountains and great basin. ruch, robert m. natural childbirth. ruch, walter a. natural childbirth. rucker co. split second safety. ruesch, hans. the savage innocents. ruhe, david s. emergency airway: crisis and action. rumbaugh, duane m. primate growth and development: a gorilla's first year. runyard, godfrey. willie's second chance. runyard, mary. willie's second chance. rusinow, irving. teaching french with films: part i: listening and speaking. russell (fred) co. wagon trains in the th century. russell, jack golden. ocean's . russell, ray. mr. sardonicus. russell, robert. walk don't run. rusten film associates. reclaimed. rutgers university, new brunswick, n.j. eagleton institute of politics. the functions of congress. the president and congress. presidential leadership. the presidential office. what kind of government have we? what our founding fathers did not foresee. ryan, cornelius. the longest day. ryan, francis j. approach to tennis. backfield fundamentals. defensive line play. fiberglass vault. introduction to wrestling. offensive drills: basketball with vic bubas. offensive line play. spring crawl. track and field instruction series. weight training i. weight training ii. ryan, patrick. how i won the war. ryan films. track and field instruction series. ryan films, inc. approach to tennis. backfield fundamentals. defensive line play. fiberglass vault. introduction to wrestling. offensive drills: basketball with vic bubas. offensive line play. spring crawl. weight training i. weight training ii. s sac productions. award theatre. s & i films. alaska's wilderness wildlife. follow the frontier. skm productions. the illustrated man. s-l film productions. careers in art. soccer, let's play. the world outside. s-l productions. dawn of a new era: america enters the twentieth century. pantomime for the actor. s. w. p. productions. pyro. sabatini, rafael. the son of captain blood. sachiko productions, inc. my geisha. sachs, david. journey into a smaller world. sackheim, william. the art of love. sacks, stanley e. filmbit number one: how to center a title. sacred design associates, inc. reclaimed. sagan, francoise. goodbye again. sagan, walter j. adventures of sagan. sage western pictures, inc. a time for killing. sagittarius productions, inc. the candy man. mission mars. snow treasure. saint, phil. i saw aucas pray. saint, rachel. i saw aucas pray. st. marys hospital. meeting patient needs: ii--food. saint marys school of nursing. meeting patient needs: ii--food. st. paul science museum. discovery at hell creek. st. petersburg beach (fla.) chamber of commerce. the adventures of x- . st. pierre, paul. smith. st. regis films international, ltd. payment in blood. st. thomas, warren. the playpen. salamanca, j. r. lilith. wild in the country. salamander film productions. the wrong box. salamander film productions, ltd. deadfall. salasin, alfred m. the big happy bed. salem films, ltd. the spy who came in from the cold. salem productions, inc. hud. sales-training films, inc. know your driver's daily log. know your hours of service. sales-training films, inc. dept. of transportation. know your driver's daily log. salesian society, inc., new rochelle, n.y. the green tree. salesians of st. john bosco, new rochelle, n.y. the green tree. salgari, emilio. carthage in flames. the mystery of thug island. sandokan the great. salter, james. team, team, team. salzer, john. all about polymorphics. sam co. for texas. samuels, jerry. discovering composition in art. san carlos productions, inc. the secret invasion. san diego police dept. manhunt. san diego zoological society. primate growth and development: a gorilla's first year. san francisco local no. , international association of fire fighters. see international assn. of fire fighters. local , san francisco. san isidro production. a very special occasion, jack jones and vikki carr. sandler/wald documentary associates. china: feeding one quarter of the human race. china: the awakening giant. china: the industrial revolution. china: the old and the new. china: the social revolution. a village in china today. sandoz, mari. cheyenne autumn. sandstrom, flora. jessica. sanford, harry. apache uprising. waco. sangster, jimmy. the pirates of blood river. the siege of sidney street. sanson productions. the builders. santa clara productions. the premature burial. santa clara productions, inc. gunslinger. santa clara swim club. championship swimming: perfecting technique. championship swimming: preparing for competition. santa rosa productions. earth vs. the spider. santor film productions, ltd. deadlier than the male. saperstein (henry g.) enterprises. frankenstein conquers the world. saratoga productions, inc. the lost world. sargent, douglas a. growth failure and maternal deprivation. sarong, inc. sarong, inc., television commercials. sarra, inc. alberto-culver co. television commercials. classic cup ii. old gold cigarette commercials. old gold spin filters commercial. porcelain. royal vienna. sartre, jean paul. the condemned of altona. no exit. sasek, miroslav. this is venice. saticoy productions. targets. saturn productions, inc. the road hustlers. saudek (robert) associates. youth physical fitness. saudek (robert) associates, inc. profiles in courage. saum (anne) & associates. goodwill ambassadors. nothing but lookers. the sales building role. you've sold me, mrs. marlowe. saunders, jack. logo-mat. news logo-mat a-b-c. saunders (jack) productions. logo-mat. news logo-mat a-b-c. savage, mildred. parrish. saville (victor)-edward small production. loss of innocence. savings banks assn. of massachusetts. through the stranger's eyes. sawyer, inc. blueprint for profit. scaena productions. pompeii, death of a city. scandinavian airlines system. a script for scandinavia. scarus, inc. the brass bottle. fluffy. faces of dr. lao. schaefer, henry a. bees and honey. schaeffer, joseph. quelques pages de grands ecrivains francais. schary, dore. sunrise at campobello. schary productions. act one. schary productions, inc. sunrise at campobello. schattschneider, e. e. building political leadership. schenck (aubrey) enterprises, inc. impasse. kill a dragon. more dead than alive. schenck (joseph m.) enterprises. rage. schenck (joseph n.) enterprises, inc. journey to the center of the earth. the wackiest ship in the army. schenck-koch enterprises, inc. for those who think young. schenck-zabel production. ambush bay. schenker, norman p. cold-light endoscopy. schenley imports co. the dream life of fred ferment. schenley industries, inc. harper bourbon whiskey please. schering corp. bacterial infections of the foot. funguous infections of the foot. injection techniques for some common foot disorders. neurocutaneous disorders. neurocutaneous disorders, part . schering laboratories. the wacky tale of wilfred wickenbush. scheurle, lincoln. timpani techniques. scheyer, betty. scheyer's spectrum of light. spectrum of light. schiller, gerald. careers in art. pantomime for the actor. the world outside. schiller, gerald a. dawn of a new era: america enters the twentieth century. soccer, let's play. schindel, morton. blueberries for sal. caps for sale. the doughnuts. frog went a-courtin'. in a spring garden. in the forest. the lively art of picture books. magic michael. pancho. the snowy day. the sorcerer's apprentice. the squinch. this is israel. this is new york. this is venice. time of wonder. schisgal, murray. luv. the tiger makes out. schlitt, theodore j. gol-dee presents. schlitz (joseph) brewing co. bold new symbol. i like it. rodeo--old milwaukee beer. speedboat--old milwaukee beer. surfing--old milwaukee beer. toward the light. schlottmann, william. eddie, i want a yellow balloon. schluep, john. division, part & . fractional numbers, part & . primes. schneer (charles h.) production. i aim at the stars: the wernher von braun story. schoen, fred e. the campaign of vicksburg. scholastic films. professor pointer: organ teaching film lesson no. . school service dept., jam handy organization. see handy (jam) organization. school service dept. schoolman, ralph. signposts. schreiber, edward. casals conducts: . katie's lot. schreibman, paul. gigantis the fire monster. schroeder, john e. beyond a doubt. schroeder, lynn. nelya. schuenzel, rolf g. dresden, city without a face. schulberg productions, inc. wind across the everglades. schulman, samuel lawrence. staten island ferry. schulman (samuel lawrence) productions, inc. arctic safari. staten island ferry. schultz, harold. washington films: ethnic music and dance series. schuth, h. wayne. are poets people? schwartz, carole f. children's classic story series. schwartz, douglas neil. scuff. schwartz (marvin) productions, inc. hard contract. rifles. schwartz, sherwood. gilligan's island. schwartz-wallace productions. the world of andrew wyeth. schwerin, horace s. channel choice. schwerin research corp. channel choice. schwimmer, walter. championship bowling. sports special sweepstakes. schwimmer (walter)-cox broadcasting. championship bowling. schwimmer (walter) inc. bowling sweepstakes. championship bowling. grand prize racing. harness racing sweepstakes. it's racing time. let's go to the races. sciascia, leonardo. zwei sÄrge auf bestellung. science research associates, inc. inquiry development program, physical science problem films. teaching modern mathematics in the primary grades. using gp ii: graph & picture study skills kit. scientific american, inc. the input/output structure of the american economy. laser light. scientific film services, inc. a chance for change. scimitar films productions. hannibal brooks. scoton, ltd. a story of david. scott, sir walter. ivanhoe. screen classics, inc. ma barker's killer brood. screen gems, inc. the adventures of rin-tin-tin. alcoa theater. award theatre. casey jones. dan raven. dennis the menace. the donna reed show. empire. the farmer's daughter. father knows best. george sanders mystery theatre. the hathaways. hazel. jet jackson, the flying commando. johnny quest. jungle jim. manhunt. my sister eileen. naked city. ranch party. redigo. tales of the texas rangers. tallahassee . tightrope. two faces west. the wackiest ship in the army. wild bill hickok. screen gems, ltd. ivanhoe. screen magic, inc. winky dink and you. searle (g. d.) & co. aldosterone and its control in edema. for your information. searls, hank. countdown. the crowded sky. sebastian film productions. molested. sebastian films, ltd. the love clinic. secondari, john h. the pleasure seekers. secondari (john h.) productions, ltd. kitty hawk to paris: the heroic years. security pictures, inc. crack in the world. the thin red line. security pictures, ltd. the day of the triffids. seddon, jack. murder ahoy. sedelmaier, j. j. mrofnoc. sedelmaier, john josef. because, that's why. seeger, hal. the atom boom. the backwards box. the baffling bluffs of hugo a go go. bat patrol. batfink on the rocks. batfink, this is your life. beanstalk jack. the beep-bopper. big ears ernie. blankenstein. the bomber bird. bouncey bouncey batfink. bowl brummel. brain washday. bride and doom. brother goose. buster the ruster. the chocolate covered diamond. cinderobber. the copycat bat. crime college. crimes in rhymes. curly the cannonball. daniel boom. the devilish device. dig that crazy mountain. the dirty sinker. double double crossers. ebenezer the freezer. ego a-go-go. father time bomb. fatman strikes again. fleiderfink. gloves on the go go. gluey looie. go fly a bat. goldstinger. goldyunlocks and the three baers. goo goo a go go. greasy gus. the great escapo. gypsy james. hugo for mayor. hugo here, hugo there. hugo the crimefighter. hugo's hoke. the human pretzel. the indian taker. jerkules. judy jitsu. jumping jewelry. the kangarobot. karate's case. karate's day off. the kitchy koo kaper. the kooky chameleon. the living doll. mpftbrm. the mad movie maker. magneto the magnificent. manhole manny. mark of zero. martians meet their match. the mean green midget. mike the mimic. myron the magician. napoleon blown apart. nuts of the round table. old king cruel. out out darn spot. party marty. presto-chango-hugo. queenie bee. ringading brothers. robber hood. the rotten rainmaker. roz, the schnozz. sandman sam. the shady shadow. skinny minnie. slow down, speed up! the sonic boomer. spin the batfink. sporty morty. stupidman. the super trap. swami salami. the thief from baghdad. the time stopper. topsy turvy. tough macduff. the trojan horse thief. unhappy birthday. victor the predictor. watch my smoke. whip van winkle. the wishbone boner. yo yo a go go. the zap sap. seeger (hal) productions, inc. abercrombie the zombie. batnap. the bomb's rush. boo to you. boy meets ghoul. boy pest, with osh. camp gitchy gloomy. captain fligh. crumb bumming. crumby mummy. the dummy talks. dunkin' treasure. fatty karate. fearless fly meets the monsters. ferocious fly. fly hijack. the flying cup and saucer. fort fangenstein. fortune kooky. from riches to rags. from wrecks to riches. ghoul school. gogh van gogh. the goofy dr. goo fee. goon platoon. the hearse thief. hector the protector. hobo-hootenanny. horror scope. horrorbaloo. horse shoo fly. the house fly guest. invincible vs. invisible. kid stuff. lady deflylah. let's phase it. loot pursuit. medium undone. missing masters. monster mutiny. monster-sitter. monster vs. mobster. monsters for hire. monstrous escape. monstrous monster. a monstrous task. the moon goons. muggy doo or die. the mummy's thumb. napoleon bonefly. nuggets to you. palace malice. penny ante. a pie in the sky. pink pearl of persia. the pot thickens. private fly. robinson shoesole. safari harry. scullgaria forever. the short circuit case. si si fly. sickened honeymoon. sly fly. the sphinx jinx. the spider spiter. stage plight. suit yourself. there auto be a law. think shrink. throne for a loss. tired gun. trick or treatment. under waterloo. v for vampire. varoom service. violin violence. who do voodoo? witch crafty. you auto be in pictures. zelda the zombie. seesaw pictures. two for the seesaw. segal, stephen jay. walking through. seinfeld, jonas. dan raven. two faces west. selby-lake, inc. the many loves of dobie gillis. selected films, inc. + (exploring the kinsey reports). selling (bernard) enterprises. henry. selling, bernard benjamin. henry. selmer (h. & a.) inc. adventures in sharps and flats. selmur productions, inc. combat! garrison's gorillas. mickey. shindig. smashing time. seltzer (walter) productions, inc. number one. semenov, herman. fit to fly. semple, lorenzo, jr. the honeymoon machine. seneca. frankenstein meets the space monster. serling, rod. incident in an alley. serota, herman michael. ' : historical episodes of psychotherapy. seven arts. the count of monte cristo. what ever happened to baby jane? seven-arts-bryanston. a boy ten feet tall. seven arts-hammer film productions, ltd. the devil's bride. the lost continent. the vengeance of she. seven arts productions. the bible. by love possessed. dracula, prince of darkness. it. lolita. the night of the iguana. the plague of the zombies. rampage. rasputin, the mad monk. the reptile. seven days in may. she. sunday in new york. tamahine. two for the seesaw. seven arts productions, inc. the misfits. west side story. seven arts productions, ltd. the anniversary. assault on a queen. a challenge for robin hood. the devil's own. five million years to earth. frankenstein created woman. the frozen dead. gigot. a global affair. is paris burning? the mummy's shroud. the nanny. oh dad, poor dad, mamma's hung you in the closet and i'm feelin' so sad. one million years b.c. prehistoric women. this property is condemned. the viking queen. seven arts productions (u.k.) ltd. arrivederci, baby! the hill. the main attraction. of human bondage. promise her anything. pictures corp. blindfold. come september. lover come back. severin, jochen. the bridge. seward, florence a. gold for the caesars. sextant films, ltd. young cassidy. shaffer, peter. five finger exercise. shaftel, josef. the bliss of mrs. blossom. shaker heights, ohio. high school natural history club. journey into a smaller world. shakespeare, william. the taming of the shrew. shamley productions, inc. alfred hitchcock hour. alfred hitchcock presents. dark intruder. incident at a corner. psycho. suspicion. shana corp. heritage in black. shanin, ronald e. giants of the deep. the pulse of africa. the rivers of fire and ice. shanin (ronald e.) pty., ltd. giants of the deep. the pulse of africa. shapley, harlow. of stars and men--concerning man's place and performance in the universe. sharp, margery. the notorious landlady. shattuck, harold darlington. you become an astronaut. shaw, george bernard. the millionairess. my fair lady. shaw, irwin. in the french style. two weeks in another town. shaw, robert. situation hopeless, but not serious. shebal, leroy. this is my alaska. sheila productions, inc. take a giant step. sheklow, edna. promises! promises! shelco, inc. lightning; j- h- . sheldon, william d. developing comprehension. diagnosis, formal and informal. preparation for reading. word analysis, multiple approaches. sheldrake films, ltd. alfie. shelton, john s. erosion: leveling the land. shell oil co. elevated-temperature metallurgical phenomena. shell's wonderful world of golf. shell oil co. materials research group. elevated-temperature metallurgical phenomena. shelle productions, inc. naked city. shenson (walter) films, ltd. don't raise the bridge, lower the river. help! the mouse on the moon. is a dangerous age, cynthia. sherburne corp. killington at your service. shergari corp. for the love of mike. sherman, eric. charles lloyd--journey within. sherry, john. the last challenge. sherry tv, inc. dragnet. sherwin, david. if. shifs, harry. see frangor productions. show associates, inc. ski happy. show biz, inc. nashville rebel. your daily horoscope, january . shpetner productions, inc. two rode together. shulberg production, inc. see schulberg productions, inc. shulman, irving. cry tough. harlow. shute, nevil. on the beach. sib tower , inc. is there a doctor in the mouse? sib tower , inc. production. the unshrinkable jerry mouse. sib-tower production. the cat above and the mouse below. sidney (george) international pictures, inc. pepe. siegel (sol c.) pictures, inc. no way to treat a lady. siegel (sol c.) productions, inc. home from the hill. sierra club, san francisco. glen canyon. an island in time. no room for wilderness. the redwoods. redwoods--saved? sigma educational films. animals that live in the surf. the forest lookout. joss. la pinata. sigma productions, inc. hurry sundown. in harm's way. skidoo. sikorsky aircraft. birth of a helicopter. sillitoe, alan. counterpoint. silver burdett co. modern arithmetic through discovery. silver eagle production. willie's second chance. silvermine films. conservation, for the first time. silvermine films, inc. dimension of life. silvermine films production. down the road. silverstone films, inc. the millionaire. sim productions, inc. this is ireland. this is israel. this is new york. this is venice. simenon, georges. the passion of slow fire. simes, s.p.a. the motion of heart potentials on the chest surface. simmons, richard alan. the art of love. simon, neil. barefoot in the park. come blow your horn. the odd couple. simonin, albert. the counterfeiters of paris. sinatra enterprises. assault on a queen. francis albert sinatra does his thing. frank sinatra: a man and his music. a man and his music + ella + jobim. marriage on the rocks. the naked runner. sinclair, upton. the gnome-mobile. sinclair refining co. the big oil change. dealer to dealer. happy th anniversary to all of us. how to make sludge. name of the game. sinclair at the world's fair. the turned on men. two guys named eddie. you are a retailer. you are a team. you are important. singer, howard. wake me when its over. singer manufacturing co. the singer class button sewer featuring the new ever-lok stitch. singh, ranveer. the long duel. sino productions, inc. the angry red planet. sisler, harry h. nitric acid. skinner, cornelia otis. the pleasure of his company. slade, milan. pronunciation. slate, lane. team, team, team. sleepy hollow restorations, inc. colonial life on a dutch manor. slesar, henry. the eyes of annie jones. slevin, william. man to man. sloan (alfred p.) foundation, new york. the modern corporation. slobodkin, louis. magic michael. slobodkina, esphyr. caps for sale. sloman, robert. the young and the willing. slott, harry m. the young and the brave. small (edward) production. jack the giant killer. smallin, dale. willie's second chance. smart family foundation, chicago. children on the move. journey in health. who cares about jamie? smith (a. o.) harvestore products, inc. harvestore beef feeding systems. high moisture corn for dairy cattle. high moisture corn for hogs. reconstituted feeds. smith, arthur l. the cooper's craft. smith (bernard) films, ltd. alfred the great. smith (bernard) productions, inc. seven women. smith, betty. joy in the morning. smith, dodie. one hundred and one dalmatians. smith, frederick e. squadron. smith, george oliver. see film originals. smith, helen stanfield. see film originals. smith, j. martin. alagasco and the twins. smith, lela d. the million dollar customer. smith, shelley. the running man. smith, steven r. see s & i films. smith, wilbur a. dark of the sun. smith, winchell. three on a spree. smith, kline & french laboratories. conversations in medical ethics: abortion. conversations in medical ethics: prolonging life. essentials of the neurological examination. external cardiac massage. functional anatomy of the human kidney. life in your hands. marketing prescription drugs. mrs. reynolds needs a nurse. the need to work. the neurologic actions of phenothiazine compounds. a new chapter. the st day. psychiatric newsreel, issue no. . recognition of narcotic withdrawal symptoms in newborn infants. reinforcement therapy. resuscitation of the newborn. shock: recognition and management. the third eye. toymakers. vertigo: differential diagnosis. what happens next? code . smo-bro productions, inc. the summer brothers smothers show. smukler, charles. journey into a smaller world. snyder (bill) films. the dicot flower. hybridization of wheat by hand pollination. the monocot flower. snyder, edward carlton. color music films: opus , no. . color music: opus . improvisation no. . improvisation no. ; improvisation no. . improvisation no. . opus , improvization no. & opus , two paintings. opus no. & opus no. . opus , part : mozart symphony (revision); opus , part : beethoven symphony. snyder, malcolm m. safety at work. snyder, william d. american farming, yesterday and today. hybridization of wheat by hand pollination. sobel, stanford. adventures in sharps and flats. the happy history of harry hawthorn and harry, jr. life insurance--what it means and how it works. vitamins and your health. societe de productions cinephonic. the passion of slow fire. societe nouvelle des establissements gaumont. the brain. society for advancement of management. performance rating films, series. society for advancement of management, inc. the rating of time studies; office work operations. society for visual education, inc. learning about air. the story of milk. sofidoc productions. flemish seascape. sofitedip, s.a.r.l. the night. sol produzioni, s.p.a. un homme de trop. solar films productions, ltd. tarzan the magnificent. solar productions. the sand pebbles. solar productions, inc. nevada smith. solin, myron. a breath of air. la famille francaise brunel. the french family brunel. is smoking worth it? sonneborn, joseph m., jr. fun in balloonland. sonnia corp. five finger exercise. sonnis-swift productions co. under the yum yum tree. sound & scene, inc. rhythmic ball exercises. soundfilm. presenting the offer. soundfilm, inc. crisis in education. showing the property and obtaining the offer. south carolina educational television network. addition background. alcohol and drugs vs. safe driving. algorithms addition and subtraction of whole numbers. applying the number system of arithmetic. attitude and behavior of a good driver. buying and insuring your car. division, part & . driver's permit. driving as your job. driving in cities and towns. driving in the country. driving under adverse conditions. the eyes of the driver. factors and prime numbers, part & . figures on a plane. fractional numbers, part & . how the automobile runs. mathematical systems, part - . measurement. motor vehicle laws. multiplication is not vexation, part & . non-decimal numeration systems. non-metric geometry, part & . the number system of arithmetic, part - . numbers and numeration. numeration systems. physical fitness and traffic safety. pre-number concepts. primes. skids and skidding. sportsmanlike driving. subtraction, the inverse of addition. traffic, present and future needs. traffic safety, vehicle design and equipment. whole numbers and their properties, part & . without end to dare. southern arizona heart assn., inc. the heart is a pump. southern baptist convention. jot. southern baptist convention. foreign mission board. the waiting world. southern baptist convention. radio & television commission. chauncy the church mouse. jot. the southern baptist hour. southern baptist convention. stewardship commission. lifeline to the world. southern baptist convention. sunday school board. answering objections in witnessing, no. . answering objections in witnessing, no. . the church growth plan. concept of god. concept of life. concept of man. the double guilt. prophet from tekoa. reclaiming the saved. southern california edison co. coal slurry agitation studies. southern cross films, ltd. the wild, wild planet. southern icee corp. the wizard of ahhs. southern illinois university. see illinois. southern illinois university, carbondale. southern racing productions. atlanta stockcar. southland corp. -eleven stores; buy money orders. southwestern bell telephone co. the road makes the difference. saint louis: gateway to the west. sovereign productions, inc. the eye of the beholder. spading, robert l. mahnomen, harvest of the north. spalding (a. g.) & bros., inc. spalding gives you the professional edge. spalding, harry. woman hunt. spark, muriel. the prime of miss jean brodie. spartan productions. mr. lucky. peter gunn. spectra pictures. the lost world revisited. spectrum films. elysium. spectrum films, ltd. hide and seek. spectrum productions. the split. spelling, aaron. one foot in hell. spencer, elizabeth. light in the piazza. sperry rand corp. adult . american beauty. christmas telephone. clocks. clocks with knife tag. college. ethnic. graduate. history. man and woman. man in street. many faces. mrs. claus. mother's day. nickless neck. peach and brush. peach and brush with man. racing car. remington shaver; dermatologist report. senor wences. sperry rand corp. television commercials. spewack, bella. move over, darling. spewack, samuel. move over, darling. spigelgass, leonard. a majority of one. spiliotis, peter. the open locket. spinco division. see beckman instruments, inc. spinco division. spitfire productions, ltd. battle of britain. spoken arts, inc. a ticket to freedom. sportlite films. atlanta stockcar. sportsvision, inc. world's heavyweight championship fight, charles "sonny" liston; floyd patterson. spotlite news. indianapolis . springfield television broadcasting corp. april, northeast meteorite over massachusetts. spyri, johanna. a gift for heidi. squibb (e. r.) & sons. antepartum problems. home management of disability from arthritis. radioisotopes for medicine. squibb (e. r.) & sons, inc. lung scanning in pulmonary disease. a new concept in psychiatric management. nutritional therapy--some new perspectives. squier, emma lindsay. walt disney's wonderful world of color. stackpoole, henry de vere. the truth about spring. stadium films co. fundamentals of football. stagecoach productions. overland trail. stagg (amos alonzo) foundation, inc. one hundred years and forever. stahl, ben. blackbeard's ghost. stallings, gary. the story of milk. standard club of california productions, inc. the navy versus the night monsters. women of the prehistoric planet. standard fire insurance co. fireman at your door. standard oil co. of california. conquest of sludge. help. who killed roy brown? stanford (leland) junior university. lincoln's gold. stanford (leland) junior university. board of trustees. the winds of freedom. stanford (leland) junior university. news & publications service. the winds of freedom. stanford, sobel. trouble in paradise. stanmyre, r. william. at home with the robins. a robin family. stanton, thomas j. adaptations of insects. american heritage in stamps. the big green caterpillar. colors are useful. copper mining. the harvesters help provide our food. how electricity is produced. insect collecting. insect mounting and preserving. microscopic life in soil. sleepy heads. the wind at work. stanton films. adaptations of insects. american heritage in stamps. the big green caterpillar. the harvesters help provide our food. microscopic life in soil. sleepy heads. star informational films. agriculture, research, and you. the dynamics of animal agriculture. star kist foods, inc. star kist foods television commercials. starbecker. the final factor. starbecker, gene. the day the bicycles disappeared. stark, ray. arrivederci, baby! oh dad, poor dad, mamma's hung you in the closet and i'm feelin' so sad. this property is condemned. stark, richard. point blank. the split. stark films. hold high the torch. the world is one. stark films production. cream of the crop. olympic skates and skis. starkman, marvin. the american way. starline, inc. the big spread. starr commonwealth for boys. building better boys. starstan music corp. rome sweet home. stauffer, russel g. the reading team: the teacher, the child, the textbook. steeber, max. apache uprising. steeg productions, inc. paul taylor & company, an artist and his work. stein, joseph. enter laughing. stein, michael. wall of noise. steiner, florence. teaching french with films, part i: listening and speaking. stemmle, r. a. almost angels. stephens, paul e. art designs using cathode rays. stephens college, columbia, mo. pathways through nursery school. sterling, thomas. the honey pot. sterling drugs, inc. lehn & fink consumer products division. cleaning machine. lehn & fink consumer products division television commercials. sniff--revised. sterling drugs, inc. lehn & fink products. beacon wax, flamenco dance. sterling educational films. the lost world revisited. sterling movies. the challenge of six billion. the fashion picture spring to summer . sterling movies, inc. introduction, lessons thru --first semester; introduction, lessons thru --second semester. sterling television co., inc. diana and the golden apple. li'l daniel boom in the call of the wild goose. li'l daniel boom in trips the trapper. sparky's magic echo. stern (don) productions. trick and treat. trick & treat with the magic hands. stern, g. b. the ugly dachshund. stern, richard. twelve hours to kill. steve production. convict stage. fort courageous. war party. steven, s.a. battle of britain. the ipcress file. play dirty. stevens (george) productions, inc. the greatest story ever told. stevens (j. p.) & co., inc. the exciting world of stevens fabrics. stevens, leslie. the war lord. stevenson, robert louis. kidnapped. reading incentive film series. the wrong box. steward, michael. bye bye birdie. stewart, mary. the moon-spinners. stickney, mel. air racing. stirling, nora. eye of the hurricane. sto-rev co. mchale's navy. stoessel, antonia. the foundations of faith. magic corner no. . mr. krackerjacket no. . mr. krackerjacket no. . stoessel, fredric. the foundations of faith. magic corner no. . the magnificent idiot. mr. krackerjacket no. . mr. krackerjacket no. . stoianovich, christian. sans resistance. stoker, bram. dracula, prince of darkness. stoloff, victor. of love and desire. stone, andrew. the last voyage. ring of fire. the secret of my success. stone, andrew l. the password is courage. stone (andrew l.) inc. the last voyage. the password is courage. ring of fire. stone, david. presenting the offer. stone, irving. the agony and the ecstasy. stone, joe. the chapter on willard. stone, joseph. operation petticoat. stone, virginia. the last voyage. the password is courage. ring of fire. the secret of my success. stone-brandel center, chicago. the helping relationship. stoneback, william d. the pleasure is mutual: how to conduct effective picture book programs. stoney (george c.) associates. metropolis--creator or destroyer? one fine day. stoney (george c.) associates, inc. the fur lined foxhole. stoney associates. family life in india: ten of us. family life in japan: remember i'm me. stong, phil. walt disney's wonderful world of color. stong, philip. state fair. storer, douglas f. amazing but true. storer broadcasting co. a very special occasion. storer programs. divorce court. storer programs, inc. divorce court. the glenn yarbrough show. a very special occasion. a very special occasion: buddy greco, susan barrett. a very special occasion, jack jones and vikki carr. a very special occasion: jerry vale, joanie sommers. stormco. the fat black pussy cat. storytoons, inc. storytoon express. stran-steel corp., division of national steel corp. see national steel corp. stran-steel corp. division. stratton-porter, gene. freckles. stratton productions, inc. the big wave. the guide. strauss (henry) & co., inc. space project. strauss (henry) productions, inc. bell system sales development course. it's time to take stock. the managerial revolution. more than telling. more than words. + + . the question tree. small miracle. systems. strauss (henry) training corp. merry go round. streeter, edward. mr. hobbs takes a vacation. stringer, david. nearly a nasty accident. stroll-o-chair corp. stroll-o-chair in action. structural clay products research foundation, geneva, ill. an introduction to structural ceramics: the scr building panel. strum (bill) studios, inc. through the stranger's eyes. stuart-oliver, inc. man from blackhawk. studio eight, inc. doodledog. studio , . the rotten apple. sturgis-grant productions, inc. cardiac failure in infancy. cracking the code of life. dynamics of dental caries. functional anatomy of the aortic valve. functional anatomy of the mitral valve. modern obstetrics: normal delivery. a new concept in psychiatric management. new intra-uterine plastic contraceptive devices. nutritional therapy--some new perspectives. plaster casts and splints: preparation, application, removal. radioisotopes for medicine. resuscitation of the newborn. uterine cancer: diagnosis and management. styne, jule. funny girl. subafilms, ltd. ferry cross the mersey. help! yellow submarine. suchman, j. richard. inquiry development program, physical science problem films. suffolk-cummings productions, inc. can-can. sullivan, pat. felix the cat. sullivan productions. the glenn yarbrough show. sullivan, stauffer, colwell & bayles, inc. cleaning machine. lehn & fink consumer products division television commercials. sniff--revised. sultan, arne. boys' night out. promise her anything. three on a couch. sulzberger, marion b. acrodermatitis chronica atrophicans. coccidioidomycosis. congenital ichthyosiform erythroderma. creeping eruption. cutaneous vascular phenomenon associated with functioning. demodex folliculorum. dermatoses occurring mainly in japanese. dermatosis cenicienta. disseminated anergic leishmaniasis. distinctive exudative discoid and lichenoid chronic dermatosis. early cutaneous leishmaniasis. epizoonoses. familial circumscribed erythrokeratoderma. generalized keratoacanthoma. giant lichenification. gold leaf treatment of cutaneous ulcers. granulomatous dermo-hypodermitis with progressive atrophy. hydroa vacciniforme with reactive porphyrinuria, dwarfism, progressive feeble-mindedness, & central nervous system abnormalities. ichthyosis linearis circumflexa. keratodermia palmaris et plantaris. keratosis follicularis. late cutaneous leishmaniasis. lipoid proteinosis. lupus erythematosus. mal de meleda. malignant atrophying papulosis. metastasizing basal cell carcinoma. myelomatosis with cutaneous manifestations. north american blastomycosis treated with amphotericin b. onchocerciasis. pellagra and other avitaminoses in the bantu. peutz-jeghers' syndrome. pretibial myxoedema with acropachy. pustular psoriasis. rhinoscleroma. silica granuloma. subcorneal pustular dermatosis. surgical treatment of benign acanthosis nigricans. toxic anhidrosis. tuberculosis cutis luposa. turban tumor. urticaria pigmentosa. xeroderma pigmentosum. sulzberger, roberta z. acrodermatitis chronica atrophicans. coccidioidomycosis. congenital ichthyosiform erythroderma. creeping eruption. cutaneous vascular phenomenon associated with functioning. demodex folliculorum. dermatoses occurring mainly in japanese. dermatosis cenicienta. disseminated anergic leishmaniasis. early cutaneous leishmaniasis. epizoonoses. familial circumscribed erythrokeratoderma. generalized keratoacanthoma. giant lichenification. gold leaf treatment of cutaneous ulcers. granulomatous dermo-hypodermitis with progressive atrophy. hydroa vacciniforme with reactive porphyrinuria, dwarfism, progressive feeble-mindedness, & central nervous system abnormalities. ichthyosis linearis circumflexa. keratodermia palmaris et plantaris. keratosis follicularis. late cutaneous leishmaniasis. lipoid proteinosis. lupus erythematosus. mal de meleda. malignant atrohpying papulosis. myelomatosis with cutaneous manifestations. north american blastomycosis treated with amphotericin b. onchocerciasis. pellagra and other avitaminoses in the bantu. peutz-jeghers' syndrome. pretibial myxoedema with acropachy. pustular psoriasis. rhinoscleroma. silica granuloma. subcorneal pustular dermatosis. surgical treatment of benign acanthosis nigricans. tuberculosis cutis luposa. turban tumor. urticaria pigmentosa. xeroderma pigmentosum. summit film productions, ltd. the day they robbed the bank of england. ski country, u.s.a. traitor's gate. summit films. yoo hoo! i'm a bird. sumner, cid ricketts. tammy. tammy tell me true. sumuru films, ltd. the million eyes of sumuru. sun oil co. power for progress. super international pictures. the young, the evil and the savage. superior electric co. decorate with light. luxtrol light control. superior films, inc. i'll take sweden. surdy, ted. action of antibiotics on bacteria. aseptic transfer of bacterial cultures. bacterial extracellular enzymes. preparation of nutrient broth. preparation of smear of bacterial cells on microscope slide. sursum corp. the red skelton show. susann, jacqueline. valley of the dolls. susskind, david. all the way home. susskind's (david) production. requiem for a heavyweight. sutherland, john. community hospital. the modern corporation. music, the expressive language. personal financial planning. productivity: key to america's economic growth. the wise use of credit. sutherland (john) productions, inc. the concept of intensive coronary care. congestive heart failure and cardiogenic shock. electrocardiographic monitoring. electrocardiography and the arrhythmias. the heart: acute myocardial infarction. interpretation of arrhythmias and their treatment. lethal arrhythmias. lifeline on wheels. the patient not in acute distress--admission, care, and discharge. rhapsody of steel. the traitor within. warning arrhythmias. sutherland educational films, inc. catalysis. chemistry of water. community hospital. introduction to music reading. an introduction to reaction kinetics. the modern chemist. the modern corporation. music, the expressive language. nitric acid. oxidation-reduction. personal financial planning. productivity: key to america's economic growth. urbs mea. vibration of molecules. the wise use of credit. swain, dwight v. stark fear. swallow, ltd. pinocchio in outer space. swallow productions, ltd. the curse of the mummy's tomb. passport to china. swanton, harold. the hellions. swarthout, glendon. where the boys are. swerdlon, harry b. gigantis the fire monster. swift, allen. samson scrap. swift (david) productions. good neighbor sam. grindl. swift, jonathan. the worlds of gulliver. symmetry corp. behold, a child is born. syntex laboratories, inc. a new view of corticosteroid action in inflammatory dermatoses. system development corp. information sharing: the hidden challenge. systems for education, inc. electromagnets: electricity makes magnets. t t & d san francisco headquarters. the erma story. t & l productions. the danny thomas show. t-d enterprises, inc. war hunt. tdf productions, ltd. a place to stand. t.d.j. productions, inc. the subject was roses. tmi productions, inc. the world's richest horse race. tr production. boston: the freedom trail. t.t.p. corp. jam handy productions. see handy (jam) productions. taccardi, bruno. the motion of heart potentials on the chest surface. tadie cinema. cave dwellers of the old stone age. tafarella, peter. zippy, the jack rabbit. taft broadcasting co. problem exchange. taggart, gilbert. the theft of fire. tahiti films, ltd. the penthouse. take ten, inc. the action leader. just open the door. over the horizon. talbot-pennebaker production. man in the middle. talbot productions, inc. rampage. talbot-youngstein productions. young billy young. talent associates, ltd. he and she. run, buddy, run. 'way out. talent associates-paramount, ltd. all the way home. east side/west side. festival of performing arts. tam productions, inc. the brotherhood. tamarind lithography workshop, inc. the look of a lithographer. tamulonis, charles w. ye faithful. tan film, s.a. sword of the conqueror. tandem enterprises, inc. come blow your horn. divorce american style. never too late. tandem productions, inc. the night they raided minsky's. tani, hank. wild on the beach. tapco production. storytoon express. tarloff, frank. a guide for the married man. tashlin, frank. the bear that wasn't. tatham-laird & kudner, inc. butter nut coffee christmas club, . coca-cola co. television commercials. dining out pool. duncan foods co. television commercials. hidden thoughts. procter & gamble co. television commercials. sculptured canister. wall safe, $ . reward. tatham-laird, inc. boutique. butter-nut bnr- - coffee klatch. discovery. discovery--wake up. mr. clean attic commercial no. - . mr. clean baby commercial no. - . mr. clean bird cage commercial no. - . mr. clean bone digger commercial no. - . mr. clean boys room commercial no. - . mr. clean bubble popper commercial no. - . mr. clean floor commercial no. - . mr. clean foot prints commercial no. - . mr. clean golf ball commercial no. - . mr. clean grease spot commercial no. - . mr. clean janitor commercial no. - . mr. clean housewife's helper commercial no. - . mr. clean label commercial no. - . mr. clean light switch commercial no. - . mr. clean little boy jingle commercial no. - . mr. clean paint brush commercial no. - . mr. clean pencil marker commercial no. - . mr. clean satur-daddy commercial no. - . mr. clean save ¢ commercial no. - . mr. clean spilly willy commercial no. - r. mr. clean spring cleaning commercial no. - . rip-cord. tatira-hiller productions. bonnie and clyde. taylor, g. dekle. man returns to the sea. taylor, samuel. the pleasure of his company. taylor, samuel w. the absent-minded professor. son of flubber. taylor productions, inc. the v.i.p.s. taylor-roffman productions, ltd. the mask. teaching film custodians, inc. the nature of language and how it is learned. the organization of language. the sounds of language. words and their meanings. teaching films, inc. anterior thigh and femoral triangle. the anterolateral abdominal wall. axillary contents. axillary walls. duodenum, pancreas and biliary system. female pelvic viscera. gluteal region and hip joint. inguinal region. the knee joint. male perineum. moving with mathematics. muscles of mastication and the infratemporal fossa. muscles of the anterior forearm. neck. the palmar hand, part i. the palmar hand, part ii: intrinsic muscles. the pterygopalatine fossa. spinal cord and its relations. surgery of the senile cataract, intracapsular extraction with forceps, sliding and countertraction. surgery of the senile cataract, intracapsular extraction with forceps, tumbling and countertraction. thoracic mediastinum. technical service, inc. front line selling. tecisa. gunfighters of casa grande. the savage guns. tecisa, s.a. the ugly ones. teijin, ltd. teijin limited: past, present, and possible futures. tejas productions, inc. indian paint. tel-visual international. wheat is the nourishment for millions. tele features, inc. the case of the big ball game. the case of the big party. the case of the big pipe line. the case of the big race. the case of the boxing champ. the case of the construction caper. the case of the flying eye. the case of the golden statue. the case of the gun mixup. the case of the hermit of creepy hollow. the case of the mad cowboys. the case of the moon giant. the case of the mysterious weather. the case of the northwoods caper. the case of the opera singer. the case of the scheming cleaners. the case of the secret weapon. the case of the stolen pyramid. the case of the thinking cap. the case of the waterfront caper. the case of the wax museum. tele-films. as the sea rages. telemated motion pictures. david copperfield. mean, median, mode. the metric system. modern elementary mathematics series. probability. a tale of two cities. , leagues under the sea. wuthering heights. teleprompter corp. world's heavyweight championship fight: floyd patterson versus ingemar johansson. teleprompter corp. group communications division. world's heavyweight championship fight: floyd patterson versus ingemar johansson. televenture, inc. rhino safari. television associates, inc. land of pup. television enterprises corp. cyborg . destination inner space. television industries, inc. best of the bolshoi. television personalities, inc. dick tracy. mister magoo. two heels on wheels. television production services, inc. vacation playhouse. telfer, dariel. the caretakers. temple, robert l. gettysburg. terasaki, gwendolen. bridge to the sun. terhune, albert payson. lad: a dog. ternstedt division, general motors corp. see general motors corp. ternstedt division. terra-film. un homme de trop. terrytoons. the abominable mountaineers. adventure by the sea. aesop's fable, the tiger king. all teed off. the astronut in brother from outer space. the astronut in molecular mixup. the astronut in outer galaxy gazette. banana binge. baron von go-go. big bad bobcat. big game fishing. bugged by a bug. cat alarm. champion chump. clown jewels. commander great guy. the cowardly watchdog. crossing the delaware. daniel boone, jr. darn barn. deep sea doodle. deputy dawg. dr. ha ha. dr. rhinestone's theory. don't spill the beans. dreamnapping. dress reversal. dribble drabble. drum roll. duckwood in oil through the day. duckwood in short term sheriff. the famous ride. fancy plants. the first fast mail. first flight up. fleet's out. flight to the finish. foofle's picnic. freight fright. frozen sparklers. gadmouse the apprentice good fairy. gems from gemini. the general's little helpers. git that guitar. give me liberty. grand prix winner. hashimoto in cherry blossom festival. hashimoto in pearl crazy. hashimoto in spooki-yaki. haunted house cleaning. he-man seaman. hearts and glowers. the heat's off. hector heathcote in a bell for philadelphia. hector heathcote in the big cleanup. hector heathcote show. hide and go sidney. home life. honorable cat story. honorable family problem. honorable house cat. honorable paint in neck. house of hashimoto. it's for the birds. judo kudos. the kisser plant. klondike strike out. the leaky faucet. the littlest bully. loops and swoops. loyal royalty. luno in king rounder. luno in roc-a-bye sinbad. luno in the gold dust bandit. luno in the missing genie. luno in trouble in baghdad. meat, drink and be merry. messed up movie makers. mint men. the minute and / man. mr. winlucky. the misunderstood giant. the monster master. mount piney. the mysterious package. night life in tokyo. nobody's ghoul. peanut battle. the phantom skyscraper. pitiful penelope in search for misery. railroaded to fame. rain drain. really big act. the red swamp pox. the red tractor. riverboat mission. robots in toyland. the rock hound. the ruby eye of the monkey god. sappy new year. scientific sideshow. scuba duba do. send your elephant to camp. sidney in driven to extraction. sidney in sidney's white elephant. sidney in split-level treehouse. the sky's the limit. so sorry, pussycat. son of hashimoto. space pet. strange companion. the stretcher. stunt men. surprisin' exercisin'. tea house mouse. tea party. the third musketeer. thousand smile check-up. tin pan alley cat. to be or not to be. the toothless beaver. traffic trouble. trapeze pleeze. tree spree. tusk, tusk. twinkle, twinkle, little telestar. two ton baby sitter. the unsung hero. a voodoo spell. the wayward hat. weather magic. where there's smoke. which is witch? tevis, james h. walt disney's wonderful world of color. tevis, walter s. the hustler. texaco, inc. science in action. texas. university at austin. dept. physical training for men. swimming for a congenital quad amputee. texas film producers. common law wife. textron, inc. waterbury farrel foundry & machine co. see waterbury farrel foundry & machine co. thalia films, inc. casals conducts: . thalia-keethwyn prods. the ed wynn show. thayer, tiffany. fame is the name of the game. theme pictures, inc. file on the golden goose. the wicked dreams of paula schultz. theobald, barbara. addition background. algorithms addition and subtraction of whole numbers. multiplication is not vexation, part & . numbers and numeration. pre-number concepts. subtraction, the inverse of addition. theodora productions, inc. beach red. the naked prey. thifault, gerard. ay-bo-le. thiokol chemical corp. abm. polysulfide base industrial sealants. polysulfides for industry. thiokol chemical corp. wasatch division. abm. thom, robert. the legend of lylah clare. thomas, elton. the iron mask. thomas (tom) organization. listen, listen. thompson, donald. the magic island. thompson, francis. nous sommes jeunes. thompson (francis) inc. to be alive! whaler out of new bedford. thompson (j. walter) co. alberto-culver co. television commercials. the greatest show on water. oscar mayer & co. television commercials. thompson ramo wooldridge, inc. all about polymorphics. thompson-seton, ernest. the legend of lobo. thomson, procter. the anatomy of free enterprise. thonnon, marcel. see film safaris. thorn, ronald scott. stop me before i kill. upstairs and downstairs. thorne, oakleigh, ii. winter color. thorne films. bacterial sensitivity to radiation. bacterial transformation. a visit to the milwaukee county war memorial center. thorne films, inc. advanced perceptual training. the amebas. amphipod. arctic wildlife range. arrival of immigrants at ellis island ( - ). auditory responses of newborn infants. autumn color. bacteriophage growth. balances. barnacle. basic weaving. batiks. the battle of britain. beginning bookbinding: accordion. beginning bookbinding: side-stitched. beginning bookbinding: single signature. the beginning of the depression. beginning stitchery. biological techniques. black widow spider. the blitzkrieg. block printing. the boer war (contemporary recreations) brittle star. cattle wrangling ( ) centipede. chick embryo explantation. chitons. the ciliates i: paramecium, spirostomum, stentor. the ciliates ii: vorticella, halteria, stylonychia. cladoceran. clam. clam shrimp. clay modeling with mass. color bubble tubes. color of autumn. color of spring. color of summer. color of winter. the construction of the panama canal. copepod. crayfish. creating with felt-tip markers. creating with ink. creating with paper. creating with string and wire. culturing slime mold plasmodium. the death of franklin d. roosevelt. drawing with mass, part i-ii. dunkirk. the dust bowl. the early automobile. the early ford assembly line. earthworm. estrous cycle of the rat. experimental cancer research. extraction of nucleic acids: dna-rna. fabric collages. fairy shrimp. the fall of france. the flagellates i: euglena, chilomonas, peranema. the flagellates ii: termite symbionts. fluke. fold and dye paper designs. food coloring in water. the french underground: paris insurrection. frog heartbeat. frog skeletal muscle response. german-american bundists. the german surrender at stalingrad. hairy-gilled worm. hermit crab. the hindenburg disaster. hiroshima and nagasaki. histological techniques. hot wire technique with chicken embryo. hydra. inducing ovulation in frogs. inducing ovulation in mice. initial perceptual training. integrated motor-perceptual training. isopod. italian conquest of ethiopia. iwo jima: amphibious assault. japanese military expansion. the klondike gold rush. kwajalein: jungle warfare. land snail. leaf prints. leech. the liberation of nazi concentration camps. limpets. line and art. mckinley. magnolia. mass drawing with chalk. mass drawing with crayon. measuring oxygen consumption. measuring techniques. millipede. mite. modeling with sawdust. motor training. the munich conference. the musicwriter. mussel. nematode. neurospora techniques. the new deal: c.c.c. the new deal: t.v.a. the new deal: w.p.a. the normandy invasion: build up. the normandy invasion: d-day. octopus. the opening of the nuremberg trials. ostracod. painting with tempera. paper chromatography. paper flowers. pearl harbor. pendulums. planaria. pocket garden for germination studies. pollen tube growth. the potsdam conference. printing with printer's ink. printing with tempera. pueblo architecture. pulled burlap designs. regeneration in flatworms. resin casting and embedding. resists. the rise of the nazi party. rotifer. sand dollar. scorpion. sea anemone. sea cucumber. sheltered workshop. shore crab. a simple ocular micrometer. siphons. smear and squash techniques. soap films. sorting. the spanish-american war. spanish american war battle scenes (contemporary recreations). the spanish civil war. sponges. spring color. starfishes. sunflower star. tadpole shrimp. tapeworm. textured collages and assemblages. textured tempera painting. the theft of fire. this train. tick. tissue paper collages. tubifex worm. turtle heart neural control. u.s. industrial conversion to world war ii. the united nations conference at san francisco. urchin. v-e day. v-j day. a visit to ncar (national center for atmospheric research). a visit to the air force academy cadet chapel. a visit to the greek church. a visit to the guggenheim. a visit to the johnson buildings. wartime election: roosevelt vs. dewey. wartime relocation of japanese americans. weighing techniques. winter color. work vs. load in frog skeletal muscle. world war i: fire power. world war i: french entry into the war. world war i: german entry into the war. world war i: german u-boat warfare. world war i: the airplane. world war i: the versailles conference. world war i: trench warfare. world war i: u.s. entry into the war. world war i: u.s. industry. the yalta conference. thornhill, alan. voice of the hurricane. thorp, roderick. the detective. three crown productions, inc. hitler. three f productions. i spy. three pictures corp. support your local sheriff. three stories high co. schizo. thunderbird international pictures, inc. death curse of tartu. the devil's sisters. sting of death. thunderbird productions, inc. edge of eternity. thurston, jane. see esto pub. co. tiber productions. cbs playhouse. shadow game. tiger co. ride beyond vengeance. tiger production. wings of chance. tigertail productions, inc. the young lovers. tilp, peter. reading rr steam excursion. tilsley, frank. damn the defiant. tilton, roger. the shelter: psychological aspects of disaster nursing. tilton (roger) films, inc. the shelter: psychological aspects of disaster nursing. time, inc. animal war, animal peace. antarctica, because it's there. the child watchers. the dam builders. kennedy assassination. life in parched lands. questions of time. riddle of heredity. the sun watchers. survival in the sea. water, old problems, new approaches. the weather watchers. the winners. time-life broadcast. animal war, animal peace. the child watchers. the dam builders. life in parched lands. questions of time. riddle of heredity. the sun watchers. survival in the sea. water, old problems, new approaches. the weather watchers. the winners. times film corp. games of desire. highway pickup. timken roller bearing co. let 'er roll. quite naturally. tinker, edward larocque. the gaucho of corrientes. the gaucho of salta. the gaucho of the pampas. tinker foundation. the gaucho of corrientes. the gaucho of salta. the gaucho of the pampas. tishman realty & construction co., inc. skyscraper. titanic films. calamity join. titanus. the condemned of altona. family diary. the golden arrow. the leopard. sodom and gomorrah. titanus-ajace production. duel of the titans. titanus-metro. tiko and the shark. titanus-metro production. the four days of naples. titanus, s.p.a. duel of the titans. sword of the conqueror. the thief of baghdad. titanus-spectator production. the angel wore red. titus, eve. anatole and the piano. titus productions. cbs playhouse. the people next door. toby, mark. the courtship of eddie's father. todon of california, inc. the donna reed show. toei co. the green slime. toei motion picture co. production. magic boy. toei production. alakazam the great. tofanelli, arturo. commando. toho co., ltd. atragon. the big wave. frankenstein conquers the world. godzilla vs. the thing. king kong escapes. king kong vs. godzilla. the lost world of sinbad. toho film. none but the brave. tokyo eiga co. none but the brave. tolstoi, lev nikolaevich, graf. the white warrior. tolstoy, leo. see tolstoi, lev nikolaevich, graf. tomka productions. the don knotts show. toms, bernard. the strange affair. tonylyn productions, inc. mother goose a go-go. paradisio. top form horse care products. saddle up. top gun co. the deputy. topaz film corp. teenagers from outer space. topper (burt) productions. war is hell. torchlight productions. dr. crippen. toreto enterprises, inc. the loretta young show. torricelli, ugo. danze cromatiche. le farfalle. tors (ivan) enterprises, inc. around the world under the sea. birds do it. clarence, the cross-eyed lion. namu, the killer whale. zebra in the kitchen. tors (ivan) films, inc. daktari. the daring game. flipper. flipper's new adventure. gentle ben. gentle giant. hello down there. rhino. towers of london (films), ltd. code victim . towne, william c. public school activities for trainable mentally retarded children. trachtenberg, leo. don't push your luck! no juegue con su suerte. the smartest kid in town. straight talk on eye safety. trafco. see methodist church (united states) television, radio & film commission. tragethon, herbert n. gol-dee presents. trahey, jane. the trouble with angels. where angels go trouble follows. tra-nan corp. the phil silvers special. trans-american films. hallucination generation. it's a bikini world. macabro. mondo teeno. sadismo. trans-arabian pipe line co. kilometer . trans artists productions. the case of cousin outrageous. the case of the auto tycoons. the case of the bank robbery. the case of the big movie star. the case of the big party. the case of the big prison break. the case of the big squeeze. the case of the big trial. the case of the counterfeiters. the case of the diamond smugglers. the case of the fabulous diamond. the case of the frogmen. the case of the gasoline war. the case of the invisible robbers. the case of the iron shark. the case of the kidnapped amusement park. the case of the laughing gas victims. the case of the magic wand. the case of the minced spies. the case of the mind reader. the case of the missing masterpiece. the case of the missing partner. the case of the mysterious submarine. the case of the saggin' dragon. the case of the shoo shoo fly. the case of the spies return. the case of the t.v. director. the case of the trampolene performers. the case of the undercover agents. the case of the unmentionables. the case of the unthinkables. the case of the visiting patient. the return of the shoo shoo fly. trans artists productions, inc. the case of the abandoned movie sets. the case of the backwards clock. the case of the big ball game. the case of the big pipe line. the case of the big race. the case of the blinking planet. the case of the boxing champ. the case of the carnival capers. the case of the cat cave treasure. the case of the construction caper. the case of the creatures from down under. the case of the crime lab. the case of the embassy stake out. the case of the flying eye. the case of the flying saucer. the case of the fugitive at large. the case of the golden statue. the case of the great circus mystery. the case of the gun mixup. the case of the haunted house. the case of the hermit of creepy hollow. the case of the mad cowboys. the case of the mad painter. the case of the mad scientist. the case of the mail train robbery. the case of the masked raiders. the case of the moon giant. the case of the mysterious bottle. the case of the mysterious weather. the case of the nine lives. the case of the northwoods caper. the case of the opera singer. the case of the peace pipe. the case of the perfect alibi. the case of the professor's machine. the case of the rescue squad. the case of the robber rabbit. the case of the scheming cleaners. the case of the secret weapon. the case of the sniffer machine. the case of the stolen cheese. the case of the stolen pyramid. the case of the thinking cap. the case of the waterfront caper. the case of the wax museum. disguise the limit. monster from outer space. transcontinental films, inc. is paris burning? trans-continental films, s.a. three murderesses. transcription holdings, ltd. bardell vs. pickwick. a christmas carol. david and betsey trotwood. david and dora. david and dora married. david and his mother. david and mr. micawber. miss havisham. mr. jingle at dingley dell. mr. pickwick's dilemma. the old soldier. the runaways. sam weller and his father. uriah heep. trans-lux. felix the cat. nude in a white car. pat sullivan's felix the cat. trans-lux distributing corp. and the wild, wild women. the head. man in the moon. the savage eye. secrets of the nazi criminals. trans-lux pictures corp. the head. the passion of slow fire. trans-lux television. the mighty hercules. trans-lux television corp. the american civil war. mack and myer for hire. pat sullivan's felix the cat. transmission & axle division, rockwell-standard corp. see rockwell-standard corp. transmission & axle division. transmonde-fides production. prisoner of the volga. trans world airlines, inc. a personal message. trans world international, inc. aspen, colorado. chamonix. courcheval. grindelwald. mammoth mountain, california. mount cook/mount thredbo. st. moritz. tongariro national park. vail, colorado. val d'isere. transworld pictures s.a. production. lolita. travel ventures, inc. journey into flight. travers, pamela l. mary poppins. treasury of travels production. tapestry of thailand. trevor, elleston. the flight of the phoenix. trezza, anthony. the inferno. triangle publications, inc. hole-in-one golf classic. trianon productions. two are guilty. vice and virtue. triborough bridge & tunnel authority. roads to the future. trident films, inc. kid rodelo. trident productions. doctor, you've got to be kidding. trinian, john. any number can win. triple f productions. i spy. troy-schenck productions, ltd. psyche . tucson, ariz. flowing wells school district. opposites. tuff-kote co. love your home. tuff-kote co., inc. the a b c's of permanent patching. turell, saul j. hollywood: the golden years. turkus, burton. murder, inc. turman (lawrence) inc. the flim-flam man. pretty poison. turn of the century fights, inc. turn of the century fights. twain, mark, pseud. see clemens, samuel langhorne. tweed, george r. no man is an island. twelvetrees production. upgrade. twentieth century-fox corp. the lost continent. twentieth century-fox film corp. the abominable mountaineers. adventure by the sea. adventure in rhythm. aesop's fable, the tiger king. the agony and the ecstasy. air patrol. algonquin holiday. all hands on deck. all teed off. the anniversary. apache rifles. assignment egypt. assignment india. assignment japan. assignment mexico. assignment new zealand. assignment pakistan. assignment philippines. assignment singapore and malaya. assignment south pacific. assignment thailand. assignment turkey. the astronut in brother from outer space. the astronut in molecular mixup. the astronut in outer galaxy gazette. atomic lady. australian water sports. bachelor flat. back door to hell. banana binge. bandolero! baron von go-go. batman. battle at bloody beach. bedazzled. beloved infidel. bermuda moods. the bible. big bad bobcat. the big gamble. big game fishing. the big show. blood and steel. the blue max. blues for lovers. bobbikins. la bonne soupe. the boston strangler. the boy who swims like a fish. the broken land. bugged by a bug. the cabinet of caligari. call of the holy land. can-can. the canadians. caprice. the captain's table. cat alarm. the cavern. a challenge for robin hood. champion angler. champion chump. che. circle of deception. city of the world. cleopatra. cloportes. clown jewels. the comancheros. come spy with me. commander great guy. the condemned of altona. convict stage. the cowardly watchdog. crack in the mirror. crossing the delaware. curse of the fly. the curse of the living corpse. daniel boone, jr. darn barn. the day mars invaded earth. days of thrills and laughter. deadfall. dear brigitte. decline and fall of a bird watcher. deep sea doodle. desert attack. desire in the dust. the detective. the devil's bride. the devil's own. dew: distant early warning. do not disturb. dr. ha ha. dr. rhinestone's theory. a dog of flanders. don't spill the beans. down the road. dracula, prince of darkness. dreamnapping. dress reversal. dribble drabble. drum roll. duckwood in oil through the day. duckwood in short term sheriff. the earth dies screaming. ernest hemingway's adventures of a young man. exercise little bear. the eyes of annie jones. fairy tale land. the famous ride. fancy plants. fantastic voyage. fashions flowers and favorites. fate is the hunter. ferry to hong kong. the fiercest heart. the firebrand. the first fast mail. first flight up. five million years to earth. five weeks in a balloon. flame over india. flaming star. a flea in her ear. fleet's out. the flight of the phoenix. flight to the finish. the flim-flam man. foofle's picnic. for the love of mike. fort courageous. francis of assisi. frankenstein created woman. freckles. freight fright. friend of the family. from the terrace. frontier state. frozen sparklers. la fuga. gadmouse the apprentice good fairy. gems from gemini. the general's little helpers. gigot. git that guitar. give me liberty. the goddess of love. golfing with sam snead. goodbye charlie. grand prix winner. el greco. green gold. a guide for the married man. the guru. hand of death. harbor lights. hard contract. hashimoto in cherry blossom festival. hashimoto in pearl crazy. hashimoto in spooki-yaki. haunted house cleaning. he-man seaman. hearts and glowers. the heat's off. hector heathcote in a bell for philadelphia. hector heathcote in the big cleanup. hide and go sidney. high-powered rifle. high time. hills of assisi. holiday in ireland. hombre. home life. honorable cat story. honorable family problem. honorable house cat. honorable paint in neck. the horror of it all. the horror of party beach. house of hashimoto. house of the damned. how to marry a millionaire. how to steal a million. hush, hush, sweet charlotte. the hustler. i deal in danger. i like money. in like flint. the incident. the innocents. into the silent land. it happened in athens. it's for the birds. jibs and spinnakers. joanna. john goldfarb, please come home. journey to the center of the earth. judo kudos. killers and clowns. the kisser plant. klondike strike out. lady in cement. lady of the rapids. lassie's great adventure. the last shot you hear. the leaky faucet. legions of the nile. the leopard. let's make love. the lion. lisa. the little shepherd of kingdom come. the littlest bully. the long rope. the longest day. loops and swoops. the lost world. loyal royalty. luno in king rounder. luno in roc-a-bye sinbad. luno in the gold dust bandit. luno in the missing genie. luno in trouble in baghdad. madison avenue. the magus. maine, u.s.a. male companion. man in the middle. man without a gun. the many faces of yugoslavia. marilyn. marines, let's go! the marriage-go-round. masters of the congo jungle. meat, drink and be merry. mel allen's football highlights, . messed up movie makers. the millionairess. mint men. the minute and / man. mr. hobbs takes a vacation. mr. winlucky. misty. the misunderstood giant. modesty blaise. the monster master. morituri. moro witch doctor. mount piney. move over, darling. the mummy's shroud. murder, inc. the mysterious package. the nanny. navy angels. night life in tokyo. night train to paris. nine hours to rama. nobody's ghoul. north to alaska. of love and desire. the old soldier. one foot in hell. rifles. one million years b.c. our man flint. peanut battle. the phantom skyscraper. pirates of tortuga. pitiful penelope in search for misery. the plague of the zombies. planet of the apes. the pleasure seekers. police nurse. prehistoric women. pretty poison. the prime of miss jean brodie. primitive fighters. prudence and the pill. the purple hills. the quarterback. quebec sports pageant. the quiller memorandum. raiders from beneath the sea. railroaded to fame. rain drain. rangers of yellowstone. rapture. rasputin, the mad monk. really big act. the red swamp pox. the red tractor. the reptile. the return of mr. moto. return to peyton place. the reward. the right approach. rio conchos. riverboat mission. robots in toyland. the rock hound. romance of american shipping. the rookie. the ruby eye of the monkey god. st. valentine's day massacre. sampans to safety. san fan see. sanctuary. the sand pebbles. sappy new year. satan never sleeps. scientific sideshow. scuba duba do. the second time around. the secret life of an american wife. the secret of sao paulo. secret of the purple reef. send your elephant to camp. september storm. seven thieves. seven women from hell. shock treatment. sidney in driven to extraction. sidney in sidney's white elephant. sidney in split-level treehouse. the silent call. sink the bismarck! ski new horizons. the sky's the limit. smoky. sniper's ridge. snow white and the three stooges. so sorry, pussycat. sodom and gomorrah. son of hashimoto. sons and lovers. sound of arizona. the sound of music. south africa today. space attack. space pet. spaceflight ic- . spirit of the dance. sport fishing, family style. sports, wacky and wet. spotlight on tasmania. squad car. stagecoach. star. state fair. state . the story of ruth. the story on page one. the storybook wedding of princess sophia and prince juan carlos. strange companion. the stretcher. the stripper. stunt men. sunshine, song and senoritas. surf party. surprisin' exercisin'. the swedish look. the sweet ride. swingin' along. take her, she's mine. tea house mouse. tea party. tender is the night. the tennessee beat. tess of the storm country. the third musketeer. the third secret. the third voice. fighting men. the steps. years of fun. those magnificent men in their flying machines. thousand smile check-up. the spartans. three murderesses. thunder island. tiger in the tea. tin pan alley cat. to be or not to be. a toast to portugal. today's teens. the toothless beaver. tony rome. the touchables. traffic trouble. trapeze pleeze. the trapp family. trapped in tangiers. tree spree. tusk, tusk. twelve hours to kill. , eyes. twinkle, twinkle, little telestar. two for the road. the two little bears. two on a pass. two ton baby sitter. u.d.t.: underwater demolition team. the unsung hero. up from the beach. upstairs and downstairs. valley of the dolls. valley of the redwoods. the vengeance of she. the viking queen. vikings' playground. the visit. von ryan's express. a voodoo spell. voyage to the bottom of the sea. wake me when its over. walk tall. war party. way way out. weather magic. weekend at dunkirk. what a way to go! when comedy was king. where there's smoke. which is witch? wild in the country. wild on the beach. wild river. witchcraft. the wizard of baghdad. woman hunt. world of water. world's heavyweight championship fight: charles "sonny" liston v. cassius clay. the yellow canary. young guns of texas. young jesse james. the young swingers. your royal highness, princess margaret. zorba the greek. twentieth century-fox film productions, ltd. cleopatra. sons and lovers. twentieth century-fox productions, ltd. the canadians. fathom. guns at batasi. a high wind in jamaica. the prime of miss jean brodie. those magnificent men in their flying machines. twentieth century-fox television. bring forth my people. i deal in danger. twentieth century-fox television, inc. follow the sun. the many loves of dobie gillis. beacon street corp. beacon street. twin dolphins productions, inc. silent service. twin pines farm dairy. challenge of change. twincraft production. the sergeant was a lady. tycoon productions. the tycoon. tyler, poyntz. fitzwilly. u une production sahia film. dream of roses. upa pictures, inc. dick tracy. gay purr-ee. inside magoo. two heels on wheels. u.s.s. chemicals. from the bottom up. ulbrich, walter. as the sea rages. ullmann, herbert. desert dwellers: plants and animals. ultra films. friend of the family. two are guilty. vice and virtue. unarco industries, inc. spacetacular. the sturdi-bilt s-r installation at general electric appliance park, louisville, kentucky. the sturdi-bilt s-r installation at ibm systems manufacturing division, san jose, california. underwater society of america. fun 'n' fathoms. underwood, l. i. building economic understanding--exploring foreign competition. unger, william h. pin pointers, no. . unger productions, inc. cervantes. the desperate ones. mondo teeno. ungerer, tomi. reading incentive film series. uni-bet productions. tammy. unicorn productions, inc. mara of the wilderness. unidis. per una pugno di dollari. union film distribution. the painting. union film verleih. liebe wie die frau sie wuenscht. union general cinematographique. les biches. union oil co. of california. the montanan. union pacific railroad. company manners. united air lines, inc. discover america. discover hawaii. from here to there. goals and dreams. invitation to the east. invitation to the west. once upon a time there was. ski country, u.s.a. yoo hoo! i'm a bird. united aircraft corp. pratt & whitney aircraft. ground support on high. united aircraft corp. sikorsky aircraft division. see sikorsky aircraft, division of united aircraft corp. united appeal of montgomery & greene counties (ohio). the kids. united artists. deadly duo. elmer gantry. the music box kid. the unforgiven. unsafe and seine. united artists corp. the alamo. alice's restaurant. amazons of rome. ambush bay. the ant and the aardvark. the ant from uncle. the apartment. ape suzette. attack on the iron coast. le ball and chain gang. battle of britain. bear de guerre. beauty and the beast. the best man. beyond waikiki. the big risk. billie. birdman of alcatraz. blaze glory. boy and the pirates. boy, did i get a wrong number. boy who caught a crook. the bridge at remagen. bully for pink. buona sera, mrs. campbell. by love possessed. cage of evil. call me bwana. canadian can-can. the caretakers. carte blanched. cast a giant shadow. the chaplin revue. the charge of the light brigade. cherche le phantom. a child is waiting. the children's hour. chitty chitty bang bang. cirrhosis of the louvre. clambake. cock-a-doodle deux deux. come on in! the water's pink. congratulations! it's pink. counterplot. cry tough. danger route. the deadwood thunderball. the devil's brigade. dial p for pink. diary of a madman. dr. no. a dog's best friend. don't worry, we'll think of a title. duel at diablo. on the lam. electra. exodus. the explosive generation. extinct pink. the facts of life. ferry cross the mersey. file on the golden goose. the first time. five miles to midnight. flight from ashiya. flight that disappeared. follow that dream. for those who think young. the fortune cookie. four days in november. frankie and johnny. french freud. from russia with love. the fugitive kind. a funny thing happened on the way to the forum. g.i. pink. gallant hours. genie with the light pink fur. geronimo. the girl with green eyes. the glory guys. goldfinger. the good, the bad and the ugly. goodbye again. the great degaulle stone operation. the great escape. the greatest story ever told. the group. gun street. gunfighters of abilene. guns of the magnificent seven. the hallelujah trail. the hand is pinker than the eye. hang 'em high. hannibal brooks. happy anniversary. the happy thieves. a hard day's night. hawaii. help! un homme de trop. the honey pot. the hoodlum priest. hour of the gun. how i won the war. how to murder your wife. how to succeed in business without really trying. i could go on singing. icarus montgolfier wright. if it's tuesday, this must be belgium. i'll take sweden. impasse. in the heat of the night. in the pink. incident in an alley. inherit the wind. inspector clouseau. invitation to a gunfighter. irma la douce. it's a mad, mad, mad, mad world. jack the giant killer. jacqueline kennedy's asian journey. jessica. jet pink. johnny cool. judgment at nuremberg. khartoum. kid galahad. kill a dragon. ladybug, ladybug. la feet's defeat. the last days of pompeii. the last time i saw archie. le escape goat. le great dane robbery. lilies of the field. little beaux pink. live for life. lord love a duck. love is a ball. lucky pink. mclintock. macumba love. the magnificent seven. the manchurian candidate. masquerade. mighty ursus. the minotaur, the wild beast of crete. the miracle worker. les miserobots. the misfits. mister moses. more dead than alive. the mouse on the moon. my son, the hero. the naked edge. namu, the killer whale. napoleon blown apart. the night fighters. the night they raided minsky's. noose for a gunman. number one. odds against tomorrow. oklahoma territory. on the beach. one man's way. one, two, three. an ounce of pink. a pair of sneakers. paper lion. paris blues. the party. people of provence. per qualche dollaro in piu. pickled pink. pier havana. pierre and cottage cheese. pink-a-boo. the pink blueprint. pink in the clink. pink is a many splintered thing. pink of the litter. pink on the cob. pink outs. pink pajamas. the pink panther. pink panzer. pink paradise. pink pest control. the pink pill. pink, plunk, plink. pink punch. the pink tail fly. pink valiant. pinkadilly circus. pinkcome tax. pinkfinger. pinknic. pinto pink. the pique poquette of paris. plastered in paris. pocketful of miracles. popi. prefabricated pink. prehistoric pink. pressure point. the private navy of sgt. o'farrell. psychedelic pink. the pusher. put-put-pink. the rabbit trap. a rage to live. reaux reaux reaux your boat. reel pink. return from the ashes. return of the seven. the road to hong kong. rock-a-bye pinky. the russians are coming, the russians are coming. sacre blue cross. the sailor from gibraltar. saintly sinners. salt and pepper. the satan bug. season of passion. the secret invasion. secret of deep harbor. the secret of santa vittoria. sergeants . the th dawn. shark hunt. shocking pink. the shooting of caribou lou. a shot in the dark. sicque, sicque, sicque. sinful davey. sink pink. squadron. sky-blue pink. smile pretty, say pink. something wild. stolen hours. studs lonigan. submarine x- . subway in the sky. super pink. support your local sheriff. sword of the conqueror. take a giant step. taras bulba. teenage millionaire. that's no lady, that's notre dame. third of a man. the thomas crown affair. a thousand clowns. three came to kill. three on a spree. thunderball. tijuana toads. tom jones. topkapi. toulouse la trick. tower of london. town without pity. toys in the attic. the train. transylvania mania. twice told tales. a twist of sand. two for the seesaw. the ugly ones. the valiant. the vampire and the ballerina. vice raid. vitamin pink. viva maria. war hunt. we give pink stamps. west side story. what did you do in the war, daddy? what's new pussycat? when the clock strikes. where it's at. the wicked dreams of paula schultz. woman of straw. the world of henry orient. x- . yellow submarine. you have to run fast. you only live twice. young billy young. the young doctors. the young savages. yours, mine and ours. united artists corp., ltd. the great van robbery. united artists pictures corp. beach red. the way west. united artists television. east side/west side. hollywood and the stars. united artists television, inc. hey landlord. it's about time. the mothers-in-law. my mother, the car. the outer limits. the patty duke show. rat patrol. the story of a basketball coach. the story of a carrier pilot. the story of a champion. the story of a congressman. the story of a country doctor. the story of a cowboy. the story of a fireman. the story of a folksinger. the story of a football pro. the story of a foreign correspondent. the story of a gambler. the story of a harness racer. the story of a marine sergeant. the story of a newspaperman. the story of a patroness. the story of a policeman. the story of a press agent. the story of a racing driver. the story of a songwriter. the story of a student. the story of a writer. the story of a year. the story of an actress. the story of debbie. the story of the elizabeth. united carbon co. diamond in the rough. united foundation. it happens every day. united foundation of metropolitan detroit. leave it to me. the people you meet. united fruit co. treasure of the tropics. united fund, inc. of dayton (ohio) area. the kids. united givers fund of richmond, henrico & chesterfield, va. double entry. united-greenfield corp. precision taps and tapping. threading time, the story of die heads and taps. united-greenfield corp. greenfield tap & die division. precision taps and tapping. united hospital fund of new york. aides in daily living. helping hands: aides and physical therapy. united lutheran church in america. davey and goliath. united national pictures, inc. i sailed to tahiti with an all girl crew. united pictures corp. cyborg . destination inner space. dimension . united producers organization. black pit of doctor m. the farmer's other daughter. how to succeed with girls. spree. united presbyterian church in the u.s.a. the chair. united press international. four days in november. united press international, inc. the assassination of president kennedy. u.s. air force. breaking the language barrier. construction of a demonstration of prestressed concrete pavement. u.s. army. engineer corps. construction of a demonstration of prestressed concrete pavement. u.s. atomic energy commission. division of biology & medicine. lung scanning in pulmonary disease. united states borax & chemical corp. death valley days. u.s. bureau of old-age & survivors insurance. before the day. u.s. dept. of agriculture. forest service. the cultured christmas tree. the forest lookout. john muir's high sierra. u.s. dept. of commerce. hurricane. u.s. dept. of health, education & welfare. to speak with friends. u.s. dept. of justice. bureau of prisons. design for correction. u.s. dept. of state. circarama u.s.a. citizen diplomacy. u.s. forest service. see u.s. dept. of agriculture. forest service. united states golf assn. world amateur team championships. the open, gary player at bellerive. the open: nicklaus and the record at baltusrol. the open: ouimet and boros at brookline. the open: the comeback of ken venturi. the open: trevino's four rounds in the 's. the rules of golf: hazards. the rules of golf: the putting green. nd women's world amateur team championship for espirito santo trophy and th world amateur team championship for eisenhower trophy. the u.s. open: orville moody at champions. the u.s. open: triumph and tragedy, casper & palmer at olympic. united states information agency. a time to play. united states men's curling assn. this is curling. u.s. military academy, west point. west point athletes. u.s. national academy of sciences. see national academy of sciences of the united states of america. u.s. national aeronautics and space administration. tiros: experimental weather satellite. u.s. national science foundation. liquid helium, the superfluid. u.s. national science foundation. division of scientific personnel & education. summer institutes program. teaching mathematical concepts to deaf children, using a non-verbal approach. u.s. navy. islands of the sea. u.s. navy flight demonstration team. navy angels. united states olympic assn., inc. hold high the torch. united states olympic committee. cream of the crop. olympic skates and skis. the world is one. united states pictures, inc. battle of the bulge. united states productions, inc. the american vision. the bramble bush. merrill's marauders. the rise and fall of legs diamond. united states rubber co. o'er the ramparts we watched. u.s. royal safety . united states steel corp. according to webster. the craneman. fence building, the modern way. from the bottom up. hot rolling of steel sheets. minus . modern trends in swine production. the movable bridge. a progress report on a proposed concept design of the - / ton cargo carrier. rhapsody of steel. a transfer concept for freight containers. uss steel sheets. unisphere: biggest world on earth. united states steel corp. american bridge division. the movable bridge. united states steel corp. universal atlas cement division. through man's imagination. united states steel international, ltd. a bridge for the yaque. united way agencies. eye of the hurricane. united world films, inc. argentina: the port city and the pampa. the brothers: life on a greek island. discovering rhythm. japan: sheenya of the city. kim visits the netherlands. morocco: chaoui faces his future. peru: filiberto of the high valley. tadpole tale, a fantasy. the tiny astronaut. a very special day. universal atlas cement division of united states steel corp. see united states steel corp. universal atlas cement division. universal-cherokee production. a man could get killed. universal city studios. universal pictures. see universal pictures. universal city studios, inc. it takes a thief. the virginian. universal city studios, inc. universal television. see universal television. universal film editing service. electronics in the wonderful tomorrow. universal film exchange, inc. ballyhooey. bats in the belfry. billion dollar boner. eggnapper. fish hooked. fowled up falcon. freeloading feline. heap big heart. how to stuff a woodpecker. hunger strife. kiddie league. the lion city. mouse trapped. ozark lark. pacific paradise. pistol packin' woodpecker. poop deck pirate. romp in a swamp. rough and tumbleweed. southern fried hospitality. space mouse. treasures of istanbul. witty kitty. woodpecker in the moon. universal films. the birds. universal-forsythe productions. the john forsythe show. universal-international. ageless artistry. all that oriental jazz. back street. bahamas holiday. ballyhooey. bats in the belfry. bear and the bees. billion dollar boner. the bird who came to dinner. the brides of dracula. brooklyn goes to mexico. busman's holiday. cape fear. caramba. careless caretaker. case of the red-eyed ruby. chartroose caboose. clash and carry. college confidential. come september. coming out party. corny concerto. crowin' pains. the curse of the werewolf. the day the earth caught fire. dinosaurus! doc's last stand. eggnapper. fish and chips. fish hooked. flower drum song. d man. four fast guns. fowled-up birthday. fowled up falcon. fragrant harbor. franken-stymied. freeloading feline. freud. gabby's diner. a gathering of eagles. golden peninsula. the grass is greener. heap big heart. hell bent for leather. hi! colorado. home sweet homewrecker. honorable myrtle. how to stuff a woodpecker. hunger strife. hyde and sneak. kiddie league. king kong vs. godzilla. the last sunset. the leech woman. the lion city. little woody riding hood. lonely are the brave. lover come back. mabuhay. majestic island. midnight lace. mississippi slow boat. mother's little helper. mouse trapped. the mummy. mystery submarine. night creatures. no man is an island. operation petticoat. ozark lark. pacific paradise. papoose on the loose. phantom of the horse opera. the phantom of the opera. the pharaoh's woman. phoney express. pillow talk. pink sand, blue water. pistol packin' woodpecker. poop deck pirate. portrait in black. the private lives of adam & eve. punchy pooch. restless islands. robin hoody woody. rock-a-bye gator. rocket racket. romanoff and juliet. romp in a swamp. room and bored. rough and tumbleweed. st. moritz blitz. sapphire. the secret ways. the sergeant was a lady. seven ways from sundown. the shadow of the cat. sidetracked. six black horses. the snow queen. southern fried hospitality. space mouse. spartacus. stagecoach to dancers' rock. sufferin' cats. sword of lancelot. tammy tell me true. that touch of mink. tin can concert. to kill a mockingbird. too soon to love. tragic magic. the traitors. treasures of istanbul. treasures of the deep. tricky trout. valley of the mekong. virgin island, u.s.a. voo-doo boo-boo. wings of chance. witty kitty. woodpecker in the moon. woody's kook out. universal international films, inc. the killers. tammy and the doctor. universal pictures. angel in my pocket. the birds. the boy cried murder. coogan's bluff. counterpoint. deadlier than the male. fahrenheit . gunfight in abilene. the hell with heroes. hellfighters. johnny tiger. king kong escapes. a lovely way to die. nobody's perfect. perils of pauline. the reluctant astronaut. ride to hangman's tree. thoroughly modern millie. torn curtain. valley of mystery. the war wagon. the young warriors. universal pictures co., inc. ageless artistry. agent for h.a.r.m. all that oriental jazz. and now miguel. andy. the appaloosa. arabesque. the art of love. back street. bahamas holiday. beau geste. bedtime story. the birds. blindfold. the brass bottle. brooklyn goes to mexico. bullet for a badman. bus riley's back in town. calling dr. woodpecker. captain newman, m.d. caramba. careless caretaker. case of the cold storage yegg. the chalk garden. charlie's mother-in-law. college confidential. come september. coming out party. corny concerto. coy decoy. crowin' pains. dark intruder. down jamaica way. father goose. fish and chips. flower drum song. fluffy. for love or money. forty pounds of trouble. fowled-up birthday. fragrant harbor. freud. gambit. a gathering of eagles. the ghost and mr. chicken. golden peninsula. goose in the rough. goose is wild. greedy gabby gator. gunpoint. he rides tall. hell bent for leather. hi! colorado. hi-seas hi-jacker. honorable myrtle. hyde and sneak. i saw what you did. i'd rather be rich. if a man answers. incident at phantom hill. the ipcress file. the irish in me. island of the blue dolphins. the killers. the kiss of the vampire. kitten with a whip. the last sunset. the leech woman. let's kill uncle. the lion city. the list of adrian messenger. little woody riding hood. the lively set. lonely are the brave. love and kisses. lover come back. mabuhay. mchale's navy. mchale's navy joins the air force. mackerel moocher. madame x. majestic island. a man could get killed. man's favorite sport? marnie. midnight lace. mirage. moment to moment. mother's little helper. munster go home. mystery submarine. nearly a nasty accident. night creatures. the night walker. nightmare. ole rex. out of 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of istanbul. treasures of the deep. the truth about spring. the ugly american. universal international newsreel. universal newsreel. universal pictures newsreel. valley of the mekong. a very special favor. voo-doo boo-boo. the war lord. wild seed. wild, wild winter. wings of chance. the world of abbott and costello. the young and the willing. universal pictures, inc. the great impostor. universal pictures, ltd. a countess from hong kong. secret ceremony. universal-public arts productions. the outsider. universal railway devices co. two ways to safety. universal shipping co., inc. wheat is the nourishment for millions. universal tv. broadside. convoy. the virginian. wagon train. universal tv-j & m productions. the jack benny program. universal television. bob hope presents the chrysler theatre. the borgia stick. the doomsday flight. dragnet . dragnet . fame is the name of the game. how i spent my summer vacation. the jean arthur show. laredo. mr. terrific. the road west. the virginian. winchester . wings of fire. university council on education for public responsibility. metropolis--creator or destroyer? university films. advanced algebra. the coffee break. university of southern california, los angeles. division of cinema. a child's introduction to the cosmos. university of southern california, los angeles. institute for special musical studies. the heifetz master class. univision corp. the elements of the draftsmanship of revocable trust documents. uni-world productions. big three golf. upjohn (william john) associates, inc. an instrument of the people. upjohn co. cold-light endoscopy. come climb a mountain. lillehei on stagnant shock. renal hypertension, bilateral nephrectomy, kidney transplantation. the technique of intra-articular and peri-articular injection. visceral organ transplants. uplinger-verna sports, inc. a day at the derby. jogging. uris, leon. exodus. urishin, j. t. sod sisters. ustinov, peter. romanoff and juliet. utah. university. fluorosis in cattle. utah. university. utah agricultural experiment station. fluorosis in cattle. v vpi films, inc. the day before tomorrow. vpi-industrial productions, inc. your date with light. vailland, roger. where the hot wind blows. vale film productions, ltd. only two can play. valland, rose. the train. valley forge films production. virgin island, u.s.a. vanadas productions, inc. cain's hundred. van atta, winfred. shock treatment. van bernard productions, inc. clown alley. hippodrome. the red skelton hour. showtime. spotlight. van bernard/wintergood productions. the jonathan winters show. vance, luis h. hours. vanderbilt university, nashville. institute on communism & constitutional democracy. the nature of communism. van derbur, marilyn. goals and dreams. vanguard productions, inc. girl of the night. lad: a dog. the world of abbott and costello. van nuys, laura bower. the one and only, genuine, original family band. van sant, dugdale & co., inc. nestle co. television commercials. vantors 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questions. on the swings. on the tray. one punch. opera. operation cold pack. photographer. pinball machine. poppit can. prohibition. real countess. relaxation. roaring twenties. romeo and juliet. sea hunt. spacemen. speeding ticket. stereoptican. sunshine. tattoo. telephone. this is your mug. toasting. twist and shimmy. variety. vaudeville. visit to germany. weather vane. western. west side tennis club. approach to tennis. west virginia. state road commission. the appraisal review process. westchester library system of new york state. see new york (state) westchester library system. western artists corp. washoe. western electric co., inc. land of white alice. western illinois university. see illinois. western illinois university, macomb. western pennsylvania school for blind children, pittsburgh. only for a moment. western psychiatric institute & clinic. see pittsburgh. university. western psychiatric institute & clinic. westheimer, david. von ryan's express. westinghouse appliance sales & service co. the best meals of our lives. westinghouse appliance sales & service co. laundry division. compare washing action. washing action comparison. westinghouse broadcasting co., inc. adventures in number & space. the american civil war. intertel. westinghouse electric corp. compare, demonstrate to sell. compare washing action. design of experiments. a dishwasher clean-in. it's your move. teaching english literacy to pre-school indian children at san felipe indian reservation. teaching verbalization by contingency management. warm 'n thaw oven. washing action comparison. westinghouse vs. sears, a value comparison. westinghouse electric corp. laundry division. the washer with two agitators. westinghouse electric corp. training & development dept. design of experiments. westinghouse learning corp. the black community looks at industry. confronting the supervisor. the jamaica project: using individually managed instruction. a look in the mirror. westinghouse learning corp. commercial & industrial division. the black community looks at industry. confronting the supervisor. a look in the mirror. westlake, donald e. the busy body. weston woods studios, inc. alexander and the car with a missing headlight. blueberries for sal. caps for sale. the doughnuts. frog went a-courtin'. in a spring garden. in the forest. the lively art of picture books. magic michael. pancho. the snowy day. the sorcerer's apprentice. time of wonder. westwater, j. w. motion pictures in chemical engineering research. westworld artists productions, inc. the wonderland of oz. wexler films. biochemistry and molecular structure. cancer in children. cancer of the stomach. electrochemical cells. weyerhaeuser timber co. tomorrow's trees. wharton international production. the brothers: life on a greek island. kim visits the netherlands. wheatley, dennis. the devil's bride. the lost continent. wheel productions, ltd. bunny lake is missing. wheeler, harvey. fail-safe. whirlpool corp. how many meals to the moon? it's magic. project kenmore quality, a pedigree of perfection. whispering co. whispering smith. white, alan. the long day's dying. white, grace miller. tess of the storm country. white, jon manchip. mystery submarine. white, lionel. the money trap. white, robb. up periscope. white, t. h. the sword in the stone. white, theodore. the mountain road. white, theodore h. the making of the president, . whitehead, don. the fbi story. whiteman, leon e. one way wahine. whitman (stuart) inc. cimarron strip. whitman, walt. face to face--walt whitman: a hundred years hence. whitney, arthur o. pompeii, death of a city. whitten-appleton productions, inc. learning to set type. whittingham, jack. thunderball. whittington, harry. black gold. desire in the dust. wholesome film center, inc. laughing till it hurt. wibberley, leonard. the mouse on the moon. wick, charles. snow white and the three stooges. widmer, f. r. building economic understanding: creating jobs through growth. wiegand (edwin l.) co. decision: electric. wier, ester. walt disney's wonderful world of color. wiggin, kate douglas. summer magic. wilbert productions, inc. rescue . wilcher, jack. back to school. the interview. robert hall commercials. wilcox (fred m.) enterprises, inc. i passed for white. wilde, oscar. salome. wilder, robert. sol madrid. wilder, thornton. mary martin: hello dolly 'round the world. wilderness survival seminars. prepare for the storm. wilding-butler division, wilding, inc. see wilding, inc. wilding-butler division. wilding, inc. advertising ' . the automobile engine. baby time. behind the seams. the biggest bridge in action. the care and maintenance of stainless steel. courtesy, your best seller. deep drawing of stainless steel. finishing stainless steel in the shop. forming and bending of stainless steel. grand opening. the heart of the car. heavenly days. i'm not too proud anymore. induction stirred ladle vacuum degassing with carbon dioxidation. let's go, mets. light! the light touch. make me useful. a message to no one. mister in between. more heart. the name of the game is fun. the new world of stainless steel. not difficult, just different. of policy and practice. opportunities. quite naturally. the search for equity. selling tactics, inside and out. the shapers of stainless steel. special men in a special market. stainless steel tailored to the job. stainless steel--the miracle metal. the successful losers. the system. to your health. tomorrow's trees. toward the light. two ways to safety. unicom. the use and care of twist drills. the welcome wagon. the welcome wagon sponsor. what it takes. wilding, inc. wilding-butler division. horizon. why braceros? wildwood international, ltd. downhill racer. wilk, max. don't raise the bridge, lower the river. twinkle and shine. wilkinson, g. k. monkeys, go home! willard (frank) productions. where's the safety catch. willard, harriet b. willard-dempsey heavyweight championship fight; boxing match at toledo, ohio, july , . willard, jess. jess willard-jack dempsey heavyweight championship boxing match. willard-dempsey heavyweight championship fight; boxing match at toledo, ohio, july , . willard, mrs. jess. see willard, harriet b. willard pictures. ski america. willard pictures, inc. the green light. william castle pictures. frightened girls. williams, cara. the cara williams show. williams, charles. the third voice. williams, hugh. the grass is greener. williams, les. sod sisters. williams, lloyd michael. jabberwock. line of apogee. opus no. . rapunzel. two images for a computer piece (with an interlude). ursula. wipes. williams, margaret. the grass is greener. williams, mary g. applying the number system of arithmetic. factors and prime numbers, part & . figures on a plane. mathematical systems, part - . measurement. non-decimal numeration systems. non-metric geometry, part & . the number system of arithmetic, part - . numeration systems. whole numbers and their properties, part & . williams, payne. without end to dare. williams, tennessee. the fugitive kind. the night of the iguana. period of adjustment. the roman spring of mrs. stone. suddenly, last summer. summer and smoke. this property is condemned. williams, wirt. ada. williamson, e. stanley. the constant witness. the great challenge. how to witness. let's have a party. my will be done. road to en-dor. take a giant step. what direction? what first? what's important? what's left? willing, martha kent. beyond conception. willis-wardenburg films. pretty soon runs out. willoughby, barrett. spawn of the north. willow corp. peer gynt. willow tree productions, inc. goodbye, columbus. willson, meredith. the music man. willuc enterprises, inc. styling the wig. wilrich productions, inc. empire. redigo. wilson, erie. walt disney's wonderful world of color. wilson, sloan. a summer place. winchester & mam. samar. winchester film productions, ltd. the amorous adventures of moll flanders. winchester-western division of olin. see olin. winchester-western division. window glen production co. restless gun. windows, gordon eugene. action at the brickyard. windrose-du-mont-time. questions of time. windsor productions, inc. voyage to the bottom of the sea. windward film productions, ltd. before winter comes. wine advisory board. see california. wine advisory board. winer, elihu. trout madness. wing productions, inc. the fifth freedom. key to a future. winik films. blue ribbon champions. bred winners. duck fever. here comes rusty. ski boom. sports in action. symphony in motion. winter sports italian style. winik films corp. belmont park: a new era. best in show. bronco kids. the dixie golf circle on the dixieland trail. fun in the sun. ladders up. mighty mites. on the bounce. race with the wind. speed on ice. the winning strain. winning styles. winik films production. west point athletes. winkast film productions, inc. kaleidoscope. winner, michael. you must be joking. winner (michael) ltd. hannibal brooks. winston (helen) productions, ltd. hand in hand. winter, kahn, nielsen, ross & buckwalter, inc. changes in our times. your opportunity. winter, kahn, nielsen, ross & buckwalter, inc. visual marketing services division. changes in our times. wintle (julian)-leslie parkyn production. burn, witch, burn. circus of horrors. payroll. play it cool. wintle (julian)-leslie parkwyn production. chance meeting. wirtschafter, bud. i'm here now. wirtz (willem) associates. nursing today: some changes within the past several years. wisconsin. university. regents. electrical conversion of arrhythmias. percutaneous catheter for heparin therapy. peritoneal dialysis. relief of airway obstruction. wisconsin. university. university extension. electrical conversion of arrhythmias. percutaneous catheter for heparin therapy. peritoneal dialysis. pretty soon runs out. relief of airway obstruction. wise (robert) productions. the sand pebbles. star. west side story. witherell, william, jr. red carpet treatment. witherell, william r. it's up to you. witherell, william r., jr. check ride. front line selling. get after the aftermarket dough, boys. headstart on tomorrow. hidden danger. life savers of the highway. nuclear power for michigan's future. pathways to progress. skin maintenance. underground harvest. warranty protection at osc. your hidden strength. your link with the road. wittman, mal. the snowy day. wolff, harold f. eye spy. wolford, nelson. a time for killing. wolford, shirley. a time for killing. wolper (david) productions. the grizzly bear: a case study in field research. wolper, david l. the making of the president, . wolper (david l.) productions. americans on everest. and away we go. biography of a rookie. dr. leakey and the dawn of man. hollywood: the fabulous era. hollywood: the golden years. miss goodall and the wild chimpanzees. project: man in space. wolper, inc. the race for space. wolper pictures, ltd. the bridge at remagen. the devil's brigade. if it's tuesday, this must be belgium. wolper productions. alaska. amazon. america's wonderlands: the national parks. grizzly! the hidden world. the hidden world: a study of insects. hollywood: the great stars. the lonely dorymen: portugal's men of the sea. the world of jacques yves cousteau. wolper productions, inc. alaska, settling a new frontier. d-day. dr. leakey and the dawn of man. four days in november. hollywood and the stars. the making of the president, . miss goodall and the wild chimpanzees. the story of a basketball coach. the story of a boxer. the story of a carrier pilot. the story of a champion. the story of a congressman. the story of a country doctor. the story of a cowboy. the story of a dancer. the story of a fireman. the story of a folksinger. the story of a football pro. the story of a foreign correspondent. the story of a gambler. the story of a harness racer. the story of a hunter. the story of a jazz musician. the story of a jockey. the story of a marine sergeant. the story of a matador. the story of a newspaperman. the story of a patroness. the story of a policeman. the story of a press agent. the story of a prisoner. the story of a racing driver. the story of a singer. the story of a songwriter. the story of a student. the story of a test pilot. the story of a wrestler. the story of a writer. the story of a year. the story of an actress. the story of an american beauty. the story of an artist. the story of an intern. the story of debbie. the story of the elizabeth. the voyage of the brigantine yankee. winged world. yankee sails across europe. wolper-sterling productions. hollywood: the golden years. wolper-sterling productions, inc. biography of a rookie. project: man in space. the rafer johnson story. wolpert, stanley. nine hours to rama. woman's life insurance co. of america, inc. the quest. women's auxiliary of the columbus dental society. see columbus (ohio) dental society. women's auxiliary. wood (francis carter) inc. the call of the claybird. skeet well! tips on trap. wood, margaret. teaching french with films, part i: listening and speaking. wood, sumner, jr. locomotion of cancer cells in vivo compared with normal cells. wood (walter) production. escape from berlin. woodbridge, paul c. ground support on high. woodfall film presentations, ltd. the charge of the light brigade. the sailor from gibraltar. woodfall film productions, ltd. the girl with green eyes. inadmissible evidence. look back in anger. tom jones. woodpecker productions, ltd. cash on demand. woods (thomas f.) production. angel baby. woolner bros. pictures, inc. the human duplicators. woolrich, cornell. the boy cried murder. world enterprises, inc. the world of suzie wong. world entertainment. blood beast from outer space. world entertainment corp. i sailed to tahiti with an all girl crew. world film services, ltd. secret ceremony. world outdoors, inc. hawaii--big game country. world television programming, inc. alcoa presents one step beyond. world wide diffusion-les films gibe, s.a. the oldest profession. world wide productions, inc. how to steal a million. worldfilm, ltd. the world of suzie wong. worth, marvin. boys' night out. promise her anything. three on a couch. wouk, herman. youngblood hawke. wrather corp. lassie. lassie's great adventure. wrather organization. lassie. wren, percival christopher. beau geste. wright (bradley) films. anyone can. wright, harold bell. the shepherd of the hills. wright, norm. the traitor within. wright (norman) productions, inc. the transplanted mind. wrigley (william) jr. co. debbie deer. eddy elephant. franky fox. hildy hippo. jeffrey giraffe. karol kangaroo. lawrence lion. sally seal. sammy sloth. wrigley zoo--bobby bear. wrigley zoo--buster beaver. wrigley zoo--clara camel. wrigley zoo--melvin monkey. wrigley zoo television commercials. wycliffe bible translators, inc. footage of auca indian village. wylde films. . wyndham, john. children of the damned. the day of the triffids. village of the damned. wyss, johann. swiss family robinson. x xanadu productions, inc. the high chaparral. xerox corp. developing a position. discussion techniques. how to think big with the new xerox . if you hear the explosion, the danger has passed. industrial hygiene--science of survival. problems in productive discussion. a third dimension. what's the difference? you and office safety. y y. p. artists, inc. girl fever. yale university. acid base reaction in electrolysis of water. ammonia fountain. atomic structure and the periodic table. the bomb calorimeter. catalytic decomposition of hydrogen peroxide. catalytic decomposition of potassium chlorate. chemical reactions. condensation of oxygen from air. correlations within the periodic table melting points. crooke's tubes. cryogenic pump. decomposition of mercuric oxide. determination of the triple point of water. diffusion pump: mercury vapor. diffusion pump: oil vapor. distillation from liquid air. dr. black's observations on heat. e/m demonstration. electronegativity. fast reaction-mercury and silver nitrate. geiger counter. handling gases. handling liquids. handling solids. how to make a washbottle. hydrogen fountain. hydrogen generator and the marsh test for arsenic. in case of fire. ion pump. ion removal by metathesis. isomerism. laboratory burners. le chatelier's principle. mass spectrometer. mechanical pumps: fore pumps. mechanical pumps: molecular pumps. melting points--determination and correlation. metals and non-metals. millikan's oil drop experiment. patterns of scientific investigation. phase demonstration. phosphorus smoke rings. properties of mixtures and compounds. proton motions in ice. quantitative transfer. reaction of sodium peroxide and water. separation through electrolysis of water. single pan balance. slow reaction-iron and oxygen. solubility product. solution, evaporation, and crystallization. solutions of alkali metals in liquid ammonia. static electricity, induction. sulfur, its physical states and properties. teaching teen-agers about alcohol. using a filter. using a pipette. using the air dampened balance. vapor pressure. very fast reaction-ammonium dictromate volcano. water aspirator. yale university. athletic assn. backfield fundamentals. base running. yasin (al) productions, inc. the last moment. yasueda, william t. san jose state vs. santa clara youth village and athens athletic club on may , . yensid, retlaw. lt. robin crusoe, u. s. n. yeoman films. sword of sherwood forest. yeshiva university, new york. living biology. the microscopic plants. the pond. york, andrew. danger route. york pictures corp. the disorderly orderly. it's only money. the ladies man. who's minding the store? young (brigham) university, provo, utah. and should we die. are you the one? the craneman. the faces of m.i.a. for the strength of the hills. he shall direct thy paths. how do i love thee? johnny lingo. the little red hen. losers weepers. marriage: what kind for you? mirror, mirror. never a bride. pioneers in petticoats. the search for truth. that which was lost. the three witnesses. your life, your future. walk in their shoes. when thou art converted. worthy to stand. young (brigham) university, provo, utah. motion picture dept. are you the one? the faces of m.i.a. for the strength of the hills. he shall direct thy paths. johnny lingo. mirror, mirror. never a bride. pioneers in petticoats. sweet discovery, the story of the sugarbeet. that which was lost. the three witnesses. walk in their shoes. worthy to stand. young, clarence upson. gunfight in abilene. young, collier. ironside. young, lloyd. the quest. saint of devil's island. young (lloyd) & associates, inc. saint of devil's island. young, lloyd e. dialogue brotherhood. young, rosemary. forward march. young america. children of the wagon train. young america production. the compass. the earth's changing surface. electricity works for us. electromagnets. exchanging greetings and introductions. the explorations of prince henry. fort ticonderoga. preparing a class report. solids, liquids, and gases. things expand when heated. using visuals in your speech. we get food from plants and animals. young americans. the young americans. young & rubicam, inc. adult . american beauty. christmas telephone. clocks. clocks with knife tag. college. ethnic. graduate. history. man and woman. man in street. many faces. mrs. claus. mother's day. nickless neck. peach and brush. peach and brush with man. racing car. remington shaver; dermatologist report. sarong, inc., television commercials. senor wences. sperry rand corp. television commercials. young men's & young women's mutual improvement associations of the church of jesus christ of latter-day saints. see church of jesus christ of latter-day saints. young men's & young women's mutual improvement associations. youngson (robert) productions, inc. days of thrills and laughter. the further perils of laurel and hardy. laurel and hardy's laughing 's. years of fun. when comedy was king. youngstown sheet & tube co. letter to youngstown. search. yugoslav tourist information bureau. yugoslav boy: story of frane. yugoslavia. secretariat for culture & education. education builds a nation. z z.r.b. productions, inc. valley of the dragons. zampi (mario) production. five golden hours. zanuck (darryl f.) productions, inc. the big gamble. the chapman report. crack in the mirror. the longest day. sanctuary. zapruder, abraham. kennedy assassination. zavin productions. playoff. zebra films. the big risk. zenith cinematografica. the sweet body of deborah. zenith pictures, inc. cage of evil. jack the giant killer. zens, will. capture that capsule. ziebart process corp. permanent protection. zimbalist co., inc. young dillinger. zimbalist-krasne productions. drums of africa. zimmerman, vernon. the college. ziv television programs, inc. cisco kid. mr. district attorney. ziv united artists, inc. the story of a boxer. the story of a dancer. the story of a hunter. the story of a jazz musician. the story of a jockey. the story of a matador. the story of a prisoner. the story of a singer. the story of a test pilot. the story of a wrestler. the story of an american beauty. the story of an artist. the story of an intern. zodiac productions, ltd. the frightened city. zouary, maurice h. kiddie camera--kids eye views of the news. zounds, archibald, jr. goliath and the dragon. zugsmith, albert. the incredible sex revolution. zugsmith (albert) productions, inc. dondi. platinum high school. zurbano films. son of a gunfighter. zweig, stefan. brainwashed. u. s. government printing office: o- - note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustration. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h.zip) the moving picture girls at oak farm or queer happenings while taking rural plays by laura lee hope author of "the moving picture girls," "the moving picture girls snowbound," "the outdoor girls of deepdale," "the bobbsey twins," etc. illustrated [illustration: a bull came rushing through the corn. _moving picture girls at oak farm_.--_page_ .] the world syndicate publishing co. cleveland new york made in u. s. a. copyright, , by grosset & dunlap press of the commercial bookbinding co. cleveland contents chapter page i filming a smash ii a missing dog iii on to the farm iv a queer proposal v sandy's story vi the butting bull vii the play of the hose viii in the old barn ix the rescue x the barn dance xi the runaway mowing machine xii the man with the limp xiii on guard xiv an upset xv the lonely cabin xvi the man and the umbrella xvii in the woods xviii going to school xix filming the bees xx that man xxi a chase xxii caught xxiii the money box xxiv explanations xxv the fire film the moving picture girls at oak farm chapter i filming a smash "all aboard for oak farm!" "are we all here; nobody missing?" "what a relief to get out of the hot city, with summer coming on!" "yes, i'm so glad we can go!" these were only a few of the expressions that came from a motley assemblage of persons as they stood in a train shed in hoboken, one june morning. motley indeed was the gathering, and more than one traveler paused to give a second look at the little group. perhaps a brief list of them may not be out of place. there were four pretty girls, two of the innocent type that can so easily forget their own good looks; two not so ingenuous, fully aware that they had certain charms, and anxious that they be given full credit for them. then there was a man, with rather long black hair, upon which perched, rather than fitted, a tall silk hat that had lost its first sheen. if ever "actor" was written in a man's make-up it was in the case of this personage. beside him stood, attired much the same, but in garments that fitted him better, another who was obviously of the theater, as were the two girls who were so aware of their own good looks. add to this two or three young men, at least two of whom seemed to hover near the two girls who were innocently unaware of their beauty; a bustling gentleman who seemed nervous lest some of the party get lost, a motherly-looking woman, with two children who were here, there and everywhere; another man who looked as though all the milk and cream in the world had turned sour, and finally one on whose round german face there was a gladsome smile, which seemed perpetual--and you have the main characters. no, there was one other--a genial man who seemed to be constantly trying to solve some puzzle, and taking pleasure in it. and these personages were waiting for a train. that was evident. you might have puzzled over their occupation and destination, as many other travelers did, and the problem would not have been solved, perhaps, until you had a glimpse of the markings on their trunks. but when you noted the words: "comet film company," you understood. "oh, won't it be just delightful, ruth!" exclaimed one of the younger girls. "it certainly will, alice. i'm just crazy to get out where i can gather new-laid eggs and know they are fresh!" "little housekeeper!" exclaimed the man standing beside the one who looked as though he dreamed of nothing else but "hamlet." "well, daddy dear, won't it be just fine to have fresh eggs?" demanded the one addressed as ruth. "if alice thinks it's easy to get them in the city----" "now ruth devere, you know i was only chaffing!" exclaimed alice. "but i don't believe you'll get much chance to gather eggs, ruth." "why not?" "those two youngsters will claim that as one of their daily--chores--i believe they're called on a farm," and with laughing brown eyes she motioned to the boy and girl who, at that moment, were playing tag around the motherly-looking woman. "oh, yes, i suppose tommy and nellie will be after them," agreed ruth. "but i can go with them." "and jump off the beam in the barn down into the hay! won't that be fun!" cried alice. "i haven't done that--not in years, when we went once to grandfather's farm. oh, for a good jump into the fragrant hay!" "why, alice, you wouldn't do that; would you?" asked ruth, as she straightened her sailor. "she may--and you may all have to!" spoke the man who seemed in charge of this odd theatrical company. "how is that, mr. pertell?" asked ruth. "well, you know we're going to make moving pictures of all sorts of rural scenes that will fit in the plays, and jumping into a haymow may be one of them," he laughed. "i refuse to do any such foolishness as that!" broke in the tragic actor. "i have demeaned myself enough already in this farce and travesty of acting, and to jump into a haymow--ye gods! never!" and he seemed to shudder. "oh, i guess you'll do it, mr. bunn, or give up your place to someone who will," said mr. frank pertell, the manager, calmly. the tragic actor sighed, and said nothing. "huh! yes! jumping around in barns! some of us will break our arms or legs, that's certain!" exclaimed the man who looked as though all the world were sad. "i know some accident will happen to us yet." "oh, cheer up, mr. sneed. the worst is yet to come, sir knight of the doleful countenance!" exclaimed a fresh-faced young man who carried under his arm a small box, from which projected a handle and a small tube. the initiated would have known it at once as a camera for taking moving pictures. "it will be jolly out there at oak farm, i'm sure." "that's right, russ! don't let mr. sneed get gloomy on such a fine day!" whispered alice devere. "but when is our train coming?" "it will be made up soon," russ dalwood answered. "perhaps it is ready now. i'll go and inquire." the two girls, before spoken of as being too well aware of their own good looks, were talking together at one side of the big concrete platform beneath the train shed. as they strolled about and talked, one of them, from time to time, applied a chamois to her already well-powdered nose, and took occasional glimpses of herself in the tiny mirror imbedded in the top of the box that contained her "beautifier." occasionally the two would glance at alice and ruth, and make remarks. "train will soon be ready for us," announced russ dalwood, coming back to join the rest of the theatrical troupe which, instead of presenting plays in a theater, posed for them before the clicking eye of the camera, the films later to be shown to thousands in the chain of moving picture playhouses which took the comet company's service. "we can go aboard in five minutes!" russ added. "that's good," sighed ruth. "there's is nothing so tiresome as waiting. which track will it be on, russ?" "number thirteen!" "what! great scott! track thirteen! i'm not going!" cried pepper sneed, who had come to be known as the "grouch" of the company. "not going! why not, i'd like to know?" demanded mr. pertell. "why--track thirteen--that's unlucky, you know. something is sure to happen!" "well, as we have to get to beatonville, where oak farm is located, and as this is the only road that goes there, i'm afraid we'll have to take that train, whether it's on track thirteen or not," declared mr. pertell. "unless," he added with gentle sarcasm, "you can get the company to switch it to another track." mr. sneed did not answer, but later paul ardite, who was one of the younger members of the company, saw the actor tieing a knot in his watch chain, and tossing a penny into a rubbish heap. "what in the world are you doing that for?" demanded paul. "trying to break the hoodoo!" exclaimed mr. sneed. "to start out to do new film work on track thirteen! whew! that's terrible!" but paul only laughed. "now, is everyone here?" asked mr. pertell a little later, when a railroad man, through a megaphone, announced the make-up of the train. "it seems so," remarked mr. devere, who spoke in a hoarse and husky whisper, difficult to understand. in fact, as you will learn later, it was this affliction that had caused him to be acting for moving pictures instead of in the legitimate drama. mr. pertell took a rapid survey of his little company, and then went off to make sure that the trunks containing the various costumes had been properly checked. "funny thing about beatonville," remarked russ to ruth. "why so?" she asked. "oh, every time i inquired of the brakeman, or starter, where the train for that place left from, they'd laugh. i thought there must be some joke, and i asked about it." "was there?" "well, not much of one. it seems that beatonville is about the last place in jersey that anyone ever heads for. i guess it must consist of the depot and one house--the one where the agent lives. there is only one train a day and the place is so lonesome, the starter said, that the engineer hates to stop there." "oh, well, we aren't going there for pleasure--we're going to work," put in ruth. "besides, oak farm isn't exactly in beatonville; is it, russ?" "no, a few miles out, i believe. well, it will be a rest for us after the rush of the city, anyhow." "all aboard!" called a brakeman, and the comet film company, bag and baggage, started for the train that was to take them to new scenes of activity. "why do you carry your camera, russ?" asked ruth, when she and her sister were seated near the young man, on whom devolved the duty of "filming," or taking, the various scenes of the plays it was planned to produce. "oh, i didn't know but what i might see something to 'shoot' it at," he answered, with a laugh. "you know mr. pertell sometimes sends films to the moving picture weekly newspaper--scenes of current events. i might catch one for him on the way." "i see. have you ever been to oak farm, russ?" "yes, i went up there when mr. pertell looked it over to see if it would do for our new rural dramas." "what sort of a place is it?" asked alice. "very nice--for a farm." "isn't there something queer about it?" asked ruth. "i mean wasn't there some sort of a mystery connected with sandy apgar, the young farmer who works it? you know we met him in new york," she added to alice. "yes, i remember." "mystery?" spoke russ, musingly. "well, i believe there is something wrong about the place--not exactly a mystery, though. maybe it's some sort of trouble. well, here we go!" the train had started out into the "wilds of jersey," as wellington bunn, the tragic actor, put it. it was about forty miles to beatonville, the trip occupying nearly two hours, for the train was not a fast one. the members of the company conversed on various topics in regard to some of the projected plays. the train had stopped at a small station, and was gathering speed when there suddenly came such an application of the air brakes as to cause several persons in the aisle to fall. others slid from their seats, or were thrown against the backs of the seats in front of them. "what is it?" "what's the matter?" "an accident--let's get out!" before anyone could do anything, though, there was a terrific smash, and amid the wild tooting of a whistle could be heard the crashing and splintering of wood. then the train came to a stop with a jerk that further scattered the frightened passengers. "a smash-up!" "a collision!" "oh, let's get out of here!" no one could tell who was saying these things. they were shouted over and over again. russ dalwood picked himself up from the floor of the car. a glance told him that no member of the company had been more than jarred or shaken, for their car was intact, and no windows were broken. he helped alice back to her seat, from which she had slid. ruth had risen to her feet. russ caught up his camera and made for the door. "oh, where are you going?" cried alice, nervously clutching her leather purse. "is any one hurt?" "i don't know--i'm going to see," answered russ. "and i'm going to film this smash. i may be able to get some good pictures for our newspaper service, mr. pertell," he added, as he hurried out. chapter ii a missing dog after the first crash, the sudden stop, and the terrified cries, a silence followed that was almost as startling and nerve-racking as the accident had been. then benumbed senses gradually came back to their owners, and the passengers began to take stock of themselves and their surroundings. "is anybody hurt?" demanded mr. pertell, as he surveyed the interior of the car. "we seem to be all right," replied mr. devere, hoarsely, as he noted where his two daughters were standing together, their arms about each other. "py gracious, dot vos a smash, all right!" exclaimed carl switzer, the comedian of the company. "i pelief me dot i haf busted----" "not your leg--don't say you have broken your leg!" cried mrs. maguire, as she clasped her two grandchildren in her arms. nellie, the little girl, was crying, from having bumped her nose against the back of a seat. "no, t'ank my lucky stars i haf not broken my leg. it iss only my shoe-lace!" exclaimed mr. switzer, triumphantly, as he held it up, dangling. "luck!" grunted mr. sneed in gloomy tones. "is there any such thing as good luck? i knew something would happen when we started out on track thirteen. this company is doomed--i can see that." "well, then, please keep it to yourself," requested mr. pertell, sharply. "you are getting on the nerves of the ladies, sneed!" for miss pearl pennington, and her friend miss laura dixon--the two rather flashily-pretty girls mentioned before--were crying hysterically. "it doesn't seem to be a very bad smash," went on mr. pertell. "suppose we go out and see what caused it? i hope none of our baggage has been damaged." "oh, let's go out and see russ taking moving pictures of the wreck!" proposed alice, as she brushed off her blue suit. "are you sure you're all right?" asked ruth, anxiously. "oh, certainly! not hurt at all. just jolted up a bit. come on. you too, daddy!" indeed the whole theatrical company, as well as the other passengers, made for the doors of the car. and while they are going out to see the extent of the damage i will take just a moment to make my new readers somewhat better acquainted with the characters of this story. to begin with the moving picture girls themselves, they were ruth and alice devere, aged seventeen and fifteen respectively, the daughters of hosmer devere, formerly a well known actor. as told in the first volume, "the moving picture girls; or, first appearances in photo dramas," mr. devere's voice had suddenly given out, when he was rehearsing for a part in a new play. this came particularly hard, as he had been without an engagement for some time, and finances were low. the devere family lived in the fenmore apartment on one of the west sixtieth streets of new york city. they were, in fact, about to be dispossessed for non-payment of rent when mr. devere experienced a return of an old throat affection, making it impossible for him to speak his lines. he was replaced in the character, and matters looked black indeed. across the hall from the devere family lived russ dalwood, a moving picture operator, with his widowed mother and brother, billy. russ learned of the distress of his neighbors, and suggested that as mr. devere could act he might get a place with a moving picture company that produced picture dramas. in this work he would not need to speak very much. at first mr. devere would not hear of it, as he was an actor of some reputation in the "legitimate." but finally he yielded and became a member of the comet film company. how his two daughters joined the company, through a mere accident, and how they made fame for themselves, you will find set down in the book; also how they aided russ greatly when it seemed as if a valuable patent he had perfected, for an attachment to a moving picture camera, was in danger of being stolen. toward the close of that story you may learn how mr. pertell became acquainted with a young farmer named sandy apgar, who was working a large farm for his aged father, near beatonville, in new jersey. it happened that mr. pertell was contemplating the filming of a number of rural plays, and he made arrangements with mr. apgar to use the farm as a background for the scenes. the company would also live and board at the farmhouse, which was a large, old-fashioned home. the players were on their way there when the accident occurred. to go a little more into detail about the two girls, and the others, i might say that ruth was tall, with deep blue eyes and light hair. she was rather inclined to be romantic, too, as might be suspected. alice was just the opposite--plump, jolly, always laughing or joking, and with a wealth of brown hair, and eyes like hazel nuts. she was very like her dead mother, while ruth was more like her father in character. mr. pertell was the manager and owner of the comet film company, and i have already mentioned the principal players. ruth and alice were the newest members. miss pennington and miss dixon were from the vaudeville stage, and you could see this without being told. they were a bit jealous of the devere girls. mrs. maguire, who was billed as "cora ashleigh," was generally played in "old woman parts." and she played them well. her two grandchildren, tommy and nellie, occasionally had small parts in the plays. mr. switzer was the comedian, and, opposite to him, was pepper sneed, the "grouch." wellington bunn seemed always to have a grievance because he had not made a success in shakespeare. pop snooks was the "old reliable" property man of the company, and what he could not manufacture in the way of "props" at short notice was hardly worth mentioning. the company of moving picture players and the other train passengers found a scene of desolation awaiting them as they alighted. but it was not as bad as might have been expected, and no one had been killed. in fact, no one was hurt, save the fireman and engineer of the passenger train, and they only slightly. what had happened was this: a freight train, on a siding, had overrun a switch, and one of the cars encroached on the main line tracks. the passenger engine had "side-swiped" it, as the railroad term has it. that is, the engine had struck a glancing blow, and had been derailed. the baggage car, directly behind the engine, had been smashed, but a quick survey on the part of mr. pertell showed that the company's baggage had not been damaged. the wreck was bad enough, however, and meant a delay until the track was cleared. the members of the company, and the other passengers, gathered about, looking on while the railroad men held a consultation as to what was best to be done. "look, there's russ, taking pictures!" exclaimed ruth, pointing to him. the young operator had gone to the baggage car and obtained the tripod of his camera. this he had set up in an advantageous position, and was industriously grinding away at the handle, taking pictures of the wreck on the moving strip of celluloid. "this will be all right for our newspaper service!" he called to mr. pertell. "that's right! good work, russ! but this will mean a delay in getting to oak farm." however, there was no help for it. one of the trainmen went to the nearest station to telephone for the wrecking crew. fortunately it was not necessary to bring one out from hoboken, since at dover, a station some miles down the line, such an equipment was kept. and a little later the wrecking crew was on the scene. "i'll get some fine pictures now!" exulted russ. "i'm glad i'm here, though i wouldn't want a railroad collision to happen every day. we might not get off so lucky next time." "luck! don't mention luck!" grumbled mr. sneed. "the idea of starting out on track thirteen! i told you something would happen." "den you vas not disappointmented alretty yet!" laughed mr. switzer. the work of getting the engine back on the track was comparatively easy, and it was found that the train could proceed, since the running gear of the baggage car was intact. the train was almost ready to go on again, when a woman, flashily dressed, and wearing many diamonds, came bustling up from the parlor car. "is my dog safe?" she inquired of the baggageman. "is he hurt?" "no'm, he's all right; or he was a little while ago," the man answered. "he was tied in the corner, just where you told me to put him. i guess he's there yet. his end of the car wasn't hit. but he howled a lot." "poor rex! let me see him." the lady went to the open door of the baggage car, and looked in. "why, he's gone!" she cried. "my dog--my darling dog--is gone!" "can't be!" exclaimed the trainman. "he was tied right there a minute ago." he jumped into the shattered car and looked about. "is he there?" cried the woman. "no, ma'am, he's gone," was the answer. "but i don't see how it could be." "did he break loose?" the lady asked, with much eagerness. "no, the strap is gone, and he couldn't possibly untie the knot i put in it. someone has taken him, ma'am." "then this company is responsible, and i shall sue it!" the lady cried, bristling with what might be righteous anger. "my dog was a valuable one. rex iii has taken prize after prize, and i was on my way with him to a dog show now. oh, rex! who could have taken you?" and she seemed genuinely distressed. "what kind of a dog was he?" asked alice, for she loved animals. "a collie--a most beautiful collie. he had a pink bow on, and here it is! oh, how i loved him! we were inseparable! and now he is gone!" and tears filled the lady's eyes. chapter iii on to the farm despite the excitement and hard work caused by the wreck, many of the trainmen had time to look for the missing dog. this was after the conductor had been appealed to by mrs. delamont, the owner of the prize animal. and it appeared, from the deferential attitude of the conductor, that mrs. delamont was a person of some importance. her husband was one of the directors of the railroad, and she was much interested in prize dogs. but a careful search failed to disclose the missing rex iii. an examination of the car revealed nothing, and the baggage man was sure he had tied such a knot in the dog's leash that the animal could not have worked it loose. "besides," said mrs. delamont, "rex would not leave me. someone must have taken him." "that's what i think," agreed the baggageman. and this was very possible, as many strangers had been attracted to the scene of the wreck. mrs. delamont offered a reward of a hundred dollars for the return of her prize dog, and this spurred a number of volunteer searchers to work. they scurried about the fields near the scene of the accident, but in spite of enticing calls and whistles no rex answered. "i'm afraid he is gone," said alice, who had taken quite a liking to mrs. delamont, in spite of the lady's rather "loud" dress and manners. "oh, i must find him!" exclaimed mrs. delamont. "i shall have to advertise," she went on. "this is not the first time he has been taken. he is such a fine-looking dog that many are attracted to him. and he is so friendly! oh, rex, where are you?" but rex iii was not to be found, and the trainmen could no longer delay. a last search was made in the surrounding fields, and then the passengers went back to their cars. a substitute engineer and fireman had come with the wrecking crew. mrs. delamont made many inquiries as to whether anyone had seen her dog being led away, but no one had, and lamenting over her loss, and dwelling on the fine qualities and value of her pet, she resumed her seat in the parlor car. "well, i sure did get some fine pictures," remarked russ, as he came back to the others of the film company. "it will be something for our newspaper service, all right." "we'll send them back to new york from the next station," said mr. pertell, "and wire that they're on the way. they can develop and print them there." in the first book of this series i have described the mechanical part of moving pictures, how they are made and prepared for projection on the screen. to briefly sum it up, i might say that the pictures, or negatives, are taken on a continuous strip of celluloid film in a specially prepared camera, which takes views at the rate of sixteen per second. then, after this long strip of negative is developed, a positive, as it is called, is made, and this is run through the projecting machine in the theatre. thus, by means of powerful lenses, and intense lights, the miniature pictures, less than an inch in width, are enlarged to life size. in order to make sure that the passengers should reach their destinations the train that had been in the wreck was stopped at the next important station. there a new baggage car was put on, and another engine. russ took advantage of the delay to send back, by express, the film he had made of the collision, at the same time telegraphing the manager of the film studio to expect the reel. the journey to beatonville was then taken up again, and proceeded without further accident. the train was somewhat delayed, and when it drew up at the small station ruth, alice and the others looked out eagerly to see what sort of place it was. "it isn't as bad as you said, russ!" exclaimed ruth. "i see two houses, anyhow." "not many more, though," he answered, with a laugh. beatonville was a typical country railroad town, and quite a crowd of depot loungers gathered around as the theatrical company alighted. as the train went on its way again alice caught a glimpse of mrs. delamont at one of the windows in the parlor car. the owner of the missing rex iii waved her hand in friendly farewell to the girl. "i wish i could find her dog," thought alice. "it's too bad to have a pet and lose him." "i don't like dogs!" exclaimed ruth. "i'm always afraid they'll bite me." alice laughed at her sister's nervousness. "there's sandy!" exclaimed russ, pointing to a young farmer who was holding the heads of two horses attached to a large "carryall." "come on!" called mr. pertell to his players. "i expect you're all hungry, on account of the delay. have you anything to eat out at your place?" he called to sandy. "yep. ma's been bakin' an' cookin' for th' last week!" was the comforting answer. "we're all ready for you. i'm going to take you over in this rig, and i've got another wagon for your trunks and stuff. have a good journey?" "good! bah! a smash-up!" growled mr. sneed. "but we might have expected it--starting out on track thirteen." "yah! but ve are all right now, alretty yet!" laughed mr. switzer. ruth, alice and the others looked about them with interest. it was a typical country landscape--a little valley nestling amid the green hills. "oh, i know i'm going to like it here," murmured ruth. "it is so restful!" "restful! yes! i should say it was!" exclaimed pearl pennington, as she bent a stick of chewing gum, preparatory to enjoying it. "i know what i'll do, all right!" "what, dear?" asked her friend laura dixon, with lazy interest. "what'll you do?" "i'll be going back to little old new york in about a week. this place has got on my nerves already. ugh! isn't it quiet!" it certainly was, after the departure of the train. there was none of the various noises of new york. even the horses seemed ready to go to sleep as they stood lazily at the shafts or poles of the vehicles they drew. "come on!" cried sandy, hospitably. "it's quite a little drive out to our farm, and i know your folks must be tired and hungry." "hungry! that's no name for it!" voiced miss dixon. "have you any lobsters, mr. apgar?" "lobsters? no'm. they don't raise none of them birds out here. but we got chicken." "oh, listen to him, pearl!" exclaimed miss dixon. "he thinks a lobster is a bird." "don't mind them," said paul ardite to sandy, in a low voice. "it hasn't been many years that they could afford lobster. chicken for mine, every time." "well, they do say ma cooks th' best chicken around here," spoke sandy, proudly. "she done it in southern style this time." "say no more!" exclaimed mr. devere. "sandy, you are a gentleman and a scholar. how long will it take us to get to your farm?" "about half an hour." "that's twenty-nine minutes too long, since you have mentioned chicken in southern style. but do your best." seated in the comfortable carryall, the members of the moving picture company began their trip to oak farm. the way lay along a pleasant country road, and in the distance could be seen the cool, green hills. it was early june, and, all about, the farmers were doing their work. the air was sweet with the scent of flowers and the green woods, for the road led past several forest patches where the wind swept pleasantly through the swaying trees. "oh, it is just lovely here!" sighed ruth, as she removed her hat and let the gentle wind blow about her hair. "i know i shall love it. and, daddy dear, maybe it will do your voice good." "perhaps it will, daughter," he agreed. "however, since we are doing so well in moving pictures, i have not the desire i had at first to get back to the boards. i am becoming content in this line." "i'm glad," said alice, "for i like it very much. oh, it is lovely here, ruth!" "just fine, i call it!" exclaimed russ. "the air is so clear. i'm sure we'll get fine pictures here." "i know we'll die of loneliness," grumbled miss pennington. "i wish we hadn't come, laura." "so do i, but there's no help for it now," replied miss dixon. rumbling behind the carryall was the farm wagon containing the trunks, and in less than the half-hour stipulated by sandy, oak farm was reached. ruth, alice and their father fell in love with the place at first sight. mr. pertell and russ had seen it before, and most of the others admired it. there was a big, old-fashioned farmhouse, setting back from the road, and fronted by a wide stretch of green lawn. the house was white, with green shutters, and was well kept. back of it were barns and other farm buildings, some of which were rather dilapidated. "welcome to oak farm!" cried sandy. "there's pa felix and ma nance lookin' for ye! here they are, ma!" he called. "all ready for your chicken." "bring 'em right in!" the mother invited, cordially. ruth and alice liked the farmer's wife at once. there was a stoop to her shoulders that told of many weary days of work, and she looked worn and tired, but there was a bright welcome in her eyes as she greeted the visitors. "pa felix," as sandy called his father, was rather old and feeble. "come right in and make yourselves to home," urged mrs. apgar. "your rooms is all ready for ye!" "where is the bell-boy?" asked miss pennington, with uptilted head and powdered nose. "i want him to take my valise to my room at once. and i shall want a bath before dinner." "isn't she horrid, to try to put on such airs here?" said alice to ruth, nodding in the direction of the vaudeville actress. "yes. she only does it to make trouble." sandy and his father were talking together in low tones in one corner of the big parlor. "you didn't get any word; did you?" asked the old man. "no, pa. there wasn't no letter." "then we won't git th' money." "it don't look so." "and we'll have to lose th' place?" "i--i'm afraid so," replied sandy. "gosh! that--that's hard, in my old age," said the elderly farmer, softly. "i hoped your ma and i'd be able to end our days here. but i guess it ain't to be. however, this company will help us pay some of the claims. we'll do the best we can, sandy." "that's what we will!" alice wondered what secret trouble could be worrying the farmer and his son. mrs. apgar, too, had an anxious look on her face, but she tried to make her visitors feel at home. chapter iv a queer proposal oak farm was a most delightful place. ruth and alice agreed to this even before the first meal was served. they stood at the window of their room--a large one with two beds--and gazed across the green meadows, off to the greener woodland and then to the distant hills which girt the valley holding oak farm in its clasp. the hills were purple now with the coming of night--a deep purple like the depth of a woodland violet--and their tops were shrouded in mist. at the foot of the hills ran a little river, and now it looked like some ribbon of silver, twining in and out amid the green carpet of the fields. "oh, isn't it beautiful--just beautiful!" sighed ruth. "do you mean the odor of that fried chicken?" asked alice, with a frank laugh, as she let down her hair, preparatory to putting it up again, in the general process of "dressing." "it is delightful; but i would hardly call it 'beautiful.'" "oh, you know what i mean!" returned ruth, not turning from the window which gave a view of the distant hills. "i'm speaking of the scenery." "oh, yes, i suppose it is beautiful," agreed alice, who, truth to tell, was not gifted with a very strong æsthetic sense. "but i suppose mr. pertell came here because it was so practical for the rural dramas." "beauty counts in them, too," said ruth, softly. "oh, just look at the purple light on those hills, alice!" "can't, my dear. i've dropped a hairpin and i can't see it in the dark. gracious, i never thought! we won't have any electric lights here, and no gas. i wonder if we'll have to go back to candle days." "they weren't so bad," observed ruth. "i think it must have been fine in the colonial days, to have the candles all aglow, and----" "candle fiddlesticks!" exclaimed alice, who could be very outspoken at times. "give me an incandescent light, every time. it's getting dark here. i wonder what system of illumination they have?" "kerosene lamps," replied ruth. "there's one on the mantel. i'll light it." "do, that's a dear. i've dropped another hairpin, and i need every one." there was silence in the bedroom of the old-fashioned country house for a space. ruth lighted the lamp, and drew down the window shades. the girls freshened themselves up after their journey, and prepared to descend to the dining room. from the kitchen came more delicious odors as mrs. apgar and her helper finished preparing the evening meal. scattered about, in other apartments of the big farmhouse, were the other members of the film theatrical company. mr. devere had been given a room near his daughters', and they could hear him talking in his husky voice to mr. pertell, who was across the hall. "when are they going to begin taking the pictures?" asked ruth, as she helped alice hook up a waist that fastened in the back. "oh, not for some days yet, i fancy," was the answer. "mr. pertell will have to look around, and pick out the best backgrounds for the different scenes. i wonder what sort of parts i'll get? something funny, i hope; like tumbling into the river and being rescued." "alice! you wouldn't want anything like that!" cried ruth, much shocked. "wouldn't i, though! just give me a chance. i can swim, you know!" "yes, i know, but tumbling into the river--with your clothes on--it might be dangerous!" "oh, well, if we're in the moving picture business we will have to learn to take chances. i read in the paper the other day how a couple leaped from the brooklyn bridge with a parachute--a man and woman." "yes, i know; but we're not going to do anything like _that_! papa wouldn't let us." "no, i suppose not," and alice sighed as though she really wanted to indulge in some such daring "stunt" as a bridge leap. "i know one part you're going to have, ruth," went on alice, as she surveyed herself in the glass. "what is it?" asked ruth, eagerly. "shall i like it?" "i think you will, dear. it's laid in an old mill--there is one on oak farm, i believe. you're to be imprisoned in it, and your lover rides up--probably on one of those silly milk-white steeds i object to--and rescues you--breaks down the door in fact--and gets you just as you are about to be bound on the mill wheel." "really, alice?" cried ruth, clasping her hands in delight, for she dearly loved a romantic rôle. "really and truly--truly rural, i call it." "how did you hear of it?" "oh, i overheard daddy and mr. pertell talking about it. mr. pertell asked daddy if he'd object to your taking a part like that." "and what did dad say?" "oh, he agreed to it, as long as you weren't in danger. but i want something funny. i believe i'm to be a sort of 'cut-up' country maid, in some of the plays. i'm to upset the milk pails, tie a tin can to the calf's tail, hide under the sofa, when your country 'beaus' come to see you, and all that." "oh, alice!" "that's all right--i just love parts like that. none of the love business for me!" "i should say not--you're entirely too young!" exclaimed ruth, with sudden dignity. "pooh! you're not so old! oh, there goes the supper bell. come on! i'm starved!" the entire theatrical troupe gathered about the table, and a merry party it was. that mrs. apgar was a good cook was one of the first matters voted on, and there was not a dissenting voice. it was well that there was plenty of chicken, for nearly everyone had more than the first helping. "ach! but i'm glad that i came here!" announced mr. switzer, as he passed his plate for more. "ven i get so old dot i can vork no more, i am coming here!" and he leaned back with a contented sigh. even pepper sneed smiled graciously, and for once seemed to have no fault to find, and no dire prediction to make. "the meal is very good," he said to pop snooks, the property man. "glad you think so--even if we did come out on track thirteen," was the reply. "i think that accident was the best thing that could happen. it delayed us so we all had fine appetites." after supper the members of the company went on the broad veranda, to sit in the dusk of the evening and listen to the call of the night insects. "we'll all have a day or so of rest," mr. pertell said. "that is, you folks will, while i lay out my plans and decide what we are to make first. russ, i'll want you, the first thing in the morning, to take a walk around the farm with me, and we'll decide on which are the best backgrounds." "oh, may i come!" cried alice, before ruth could restrain her. "why, yes, i guess so," answered the manager, slowly. "only we'll probably do a deal of walking." "i don't tire easily," alice replied. "oh, by the way, mr. apgar," said mr. pertell after a pause, turning to the farmer, "i am planning one play that has a barn-burning incident in it. have you some old barn on the premises i could set fire to." "good land!" exclaimed the farmer, starting from his chair. "set fire to a barn! why th' idea! th' sheriff will git after you, sure pop. that's arson, man!" "oh, no, not the way i'd do it," laughed the manager. "i'd be willing to pay you for the barn, so no one would lose anything. haven't you some such building on the place--one that isn't of much use?" "wa'al, i reckon there might be," was the slow answer, as if the farmer could not understand the strange proposition. "but as fer settin' fire to it; wa'al, i reckon you'll have to git permission of th' mortgagee. you see we're in trouble about this place. sandy, maybe you'd better tell him," and he turned to his son. chapter v sandy's story for a moment or two mr. pertell seemed rather embarrassed. he feared he had forced some unpleasant secret from the farmer, and he did not want to hurt his feelings. then, too, he remembered that sandy had hinted at some trouble at the farm. this was probably it, and it had to do with money. "perhaps you would rather not talk about it," suggested the manager, after a pause. he and sandy were at one end of the porch now, the others having gone in. felix apgar, preferring to let his son do the talking, had risen from his chair, and was going slowly down the gravel walk to close the gate lest some stray cow wander in from the highway and eat his wife's favorite flowers. "oh, i reckon i might jest as well tell you," spoke sandy, slowly. "it's bound to come out sooner or later, and then everybody in beatonville will hear of our trouble." "then it is trouble?" asked mr. pertell. "that's what it is." "if i could do anything to help," suggested the manager, "i would be glad to." "no, i don't reckon you could, unless you wanted to invest quite a sum of money in this farm," returned the young man. "well, i'm afraid i'm hardly ready to do that," declared mr. pertell. "farming isn't in my line, and i've got about all my spare funds invested in the moving picture business. but if a loan would help you----" "that's th' trouble!" interrupted sandy. "we've got too much of a loan now, and we can't pay it off. th' place is 'mortgaged up to th' handle,' as they say out this way. that's why pa couldn't give you permission to burn a barn. "we have an old shack, that's almost toppling over, and it would be better burned and out of th' way. but i guess squire blasdell would object if you sot fire to it. the squire pretty near owns our place with this mortgage; or, rather with th' mortgages of folks he represents. he's a lawyer," he added simply. "but maybe if you paid him what he thought the barn was wuth he'd let you fire it." "then i'll have to talk to him," went on mr. pertell. "i need a barn-burning in one scene. it will be very effective, i think." "gosh! but you movin' picture fellers certainly do things," commented sandy. "you hire yachts to make believe take a trip to europe, and now you're wantin' to burn a barn! i never heard tell th' like of such doin's." "oh, that's nothing to what some of them do," remarked the manager. "why, some of my competitors have bought old steamboats, taken them out in mid-ocean, and set fire to them, just to get a rescue picture." "get out!" cried sandy, clearly incredulous. "that's a fact," declared mr. pertell. "and, more than once, some of them have bought old locomotives and coaches, and set them going toward each other on the same track, to make a railroad collision." "do you mean it?" cried sandy. "i certainly do. why, one manager actually burned up a whole mining town just to get a good picture. he destroyed more than twenty shacks. of course they weren't very elaborate ones, but he got a fine effect." "wa'al, then i reckon burnin' one barn isn't so wonderful," observed sandy. "no, indeed. and i'll see squire blasdell the first thing in the morning to get my plans ready for this. but i'm sorry to hear of your trouble, sandy, i sure am. what caused it; did the crops fail?" "no, we've always had pretty good crops, or we wouldn't stay here," answered the young farmer. "but i don't reckon we'll be able to stay here much longer. it will be hard for pa and ma, too. they don't want to leave--it will break 'em all up. they've lived here all their lives, and they counted on dyin' and bein' buried here. but i reckon they won't now." "why not? are you about to be put off the farm?" "we will be, by fall, unless i can raise four thousand dollars--and i can't do that, nohow," said sandy, sadly. "that's too bad," spoke the manager, sympathetically. "how did it all come about? that is, if you don't mind telling me." "oh, no. i don't mind," answered the young farmer, in rather hopeless tones. "you see father had a brother--uncle isaac he was, and he was quite a business man, in a way. he used to farm it, but he gave that up, and went into other schemes. i never knew rightly what they were, but he used to make money--at least he must have got it somehow, for he didn't work. "well, one time, several years ago, he came to pa and borrowed quite a sum--more than five thousand dollars i've heard pa say it was. he and ma had inherited most of it only a short time before from pa's granduncle nathan and they decided to keep it ready to pay off th' mortgage, but 'fore pa could do that uncle isaac come and borrowed it." "but why did your uncle need to borrow money when he had so much of his own?" asked mr. pertell, curiously. "wa'al, there was some business deal on. i never understood th' right of it, and i don't believe pa did, either. all i know is that uncle isaac got pa's money. i believe he wanted to go into some scheme--uncle isaac did--and didn't have quite enough cash. he promised to pay pa back in a few weeks, and give him big interest for the use of the money. "pa set quite a store by uncle isaac, and so he let him have th' money that ought to have gone to pay off th' mortgage. and then things went wrong. uncle isaac died before he could pay pa back th' money, and from then on things went from bad to worse, until now we're goin' to lose th' farm." "but my dear man!" exclaimed mr. pertell, "if your uncle owed your father money, and your father had a note, or any paper to prove his claim, he could collect from your uncle's estate." "that's th' trouble," said sandy. "there wasn't no estate." "but he must have left something! what became of the money he got from your father?" "nobody knew. you see poor uncle isaac went crazy before he died, and was put in th' asylum. in fact, that's where he died. he was clean out of his mind." "but did you try to find what he had done with the money? i should have thought you could do that." "we did try, and even got a lawyer to try," replied sandy. "but it was no use. uncle isaac would only laugh at us. poor fellow, he meant all right, but his head give way. he wouldn't have cheated pa for the world. it was jest an accident--that's all." "you see he was near our threshing machine one day when there was an accident. somethin' broke and uncle isaac was hit on th' head. not hard enough to kill him, but it made him forget things, and he died that way." "but couldn't you tell from the papers he left where he had invested the money--his own, as well as your father's?" "that's th' odd part of it. we couldn't find a scrap of paper, nor a dollar, among his things. you see uncle isaac was queer, even before he went crazy. he didn't believe in banks, and he used to hide his papers and money in all sorts of out-of-the-way places. he lived all alone--an old bachelor." "did you search for his things?" asked mr. pertell, who was much impressed by sandy's story. "oh, yes! we searched all over!" exclaimed sandy. "but we couldn't find a thing. it's too bad, for uncle isaac never would have done it for th' world, if he had been in his right mind." "no, i suppose not," agreed mr. pertell. "have you any papers to show that your father let him have the money?" "oh, yes, we've got a note. but it's no good. uncle isaac is dead, and he didn't leave nothin'. we've searched all over, and couldn't find a thing. no, i reckon th' only thing to do is to lose the farm. but it will come hard on pa and ma--it surely will." mr. pertell said nothing. there was little he could say to make the sad lot of the apgar family any easier. the manager wished he could provide the money himself, but, as he had said, he had invested all his surplus cash in the moving picture business. the taking of the rural dramas was going to cost considerable, too, and there would be the added expense of burning the barn. mr. pertell was paying a fair price for the use of the farm, and for the board and lodging of his company. this would, in a measure, help the apgars, but it would not be anywhere near enough to save the place. "well, it certainly is too bad," agreed the manager. "when i see squire blasdell to ask permission to burn the barn, i'll see if he won't wait a bit about foreclosing. then perhaps we can think up some other plan--or we may even help you find the money," he added, hopefully. "there ain't much chance of that," returned sandy. "we've hunted high and low for that money, or for any papers to tell where it might be. as for squire blasdell, he's harder than flint. he wouldn't wait a day after th' money was due. no, we've got to lose the farm." truly there seemed no way out, but mr. pertell was not one to give up easily. he made up his mind that when he got the chance he would see some of his friends in new york. he might be able to induce one of them to provide the money, and take up the mortgage, holding it until it could be paid off gradually. but he said nothing of this now, for he did not want to raise false hopes. "well, i reckon i'll turn in," announced sandy, after a bit. "i'm not used to staying up late. is everything all right?" "oh, yes, indeed--very nice," replied the manager. "i'm going to start in planning to-morrow." sandy arose to go in, and, as he did so he peered out toward the road. the moon had risen and it was quite light. mr. pertell saw a dark figure slouching along the highway. "that you, 'bige?" called sandy, evidently thinking he saw some neighbor. but the man in the road did not answer. instead he broke into a run, as though frightened. "that's queer!" exclaimed sandy. "i'm going to see who that is." "i'm with you!" declared the manager, and they hurried down the gravel path. chapter vi the butting bull speeding to the front gate the theatrical man and the young farmer darted down the moonlit road. it was a straight highway, and the white dust added to the effect of the moon, that was now well over the trees. but, to the surprise of the two men, no figure was in sight. as they reached the highway it was deserted, though it had been but a few seconds since sandy had seen and called to the man in the road. "he--he's gone!" gasped sandy. "so he is. must have slipped to one side," agreed the manager. "do you want to get him? who was he?" "that's jest what i don't know. first i thought he was 'bige tapper, who lives down th' road a piece. but 'bige would have answered." "but this fellow didn't, so he couldn't have been your friend," spoke mr. pertell. "and why should he have run when you hailed him?" "that's what i can't understand," replied sandy. "it's sort of suspicious; ain't it?" "it surely is. come on, let's have a look." together they went down the road in the direction taken by the mysterious stranger. but, though they looked on both sides, and peered amid the bushes, they saw no one. they called out, demanding to know who had gone past the house; but of course, in case the man was a suspicious character, they could hardly have expected an answer. their shouts, though, brought out paul, who had not yet gone to bed, and he joined in the search. "who do you think he was?" the moving picture actor asked of sandy, when they had given up the attempt to find the man. "oh, he might be some tramp. there's been chicken thieves around lately, and maybe he was lookin' for a chance to sneak into our hen-house." "well, i guess you've scared him off, at any rate," said the manager. "there's an idea for a film," said paul, with a laugh. "we can have a chicken-stealing. the thief gets caught in a bear trap, and can't get loose--farmer comes out with gun--chase over the fields and all that." "good!" cried mr. pertell. "we'll try something of that sort. i'm glad you mentioned it." "gosh!" exclaimed sandy, admiringly. "you fellers would make a picture out of anything, i guess." "that's what we would!" laughed mr. pertell. they came back from the unsuccessful man hunt, and soon quiet settled down over oak farm. "i only wish i could help them," mused mr. pertell as he retired. yet he was destined to help them, and in a most surprising manner. yielding to the wish of sandy, paul and the manager said nothing the next morning of the chase after the man. "it might only worry pa and ma," said the kind-hearted but simple-minded young farmer. "and they've got troubles enough as it is." "they certainly have," agreed mr. pertell. "nothing was disturbed last night, though; was there?" "no, all th' hens seem to be around. i can't imagine who that fellow was. he must have had a guilty conscience, or he wouldn't have run when i hailed him," sandy said. the day was given over, on the part of the manager and russ, to selecting the most favorable spots for the taking of scenes in the rural dramas. a good background, and places where the lighting effects would be proper for exposing the films, were essentials. some scenes were to be laid in the village proper, and when the moving picture manager and his photographer went about, making notes of likely spots, they were watched curiously by the village loungers. mr. pertell paid a visit to squire blasdell in reference to getting permission to burn the old barn on the apgar place. "well, you can do it if you pay me my price," said the crabbed man, who was a local judge and lawyer, acting for several clients. the price was sufficiently high, mr. pertell thought, but he had no choice. "that's a valuable barn!" said the squire. "it's only fit for kindling wood," protested the manager. "and that's what i propose to use it for." "well, it's a sin to burn down a building like that," went on the squire. "but this is a queer world, anyhow. and i want my money in advance." he was so unpleasant about the matter that, after arranging for the destruction of the barn, mr. pertell left without carrying out his half-formed resolution of asking for more time for the payment of the apgar mortgage. "i'd better try to find some other way of helping them," thought the manager. "if i said they were in hard circumstances the squire might get suspicious and foreclose at once. then i would have to take my company away, and i couldn't get the rural dramas. no, i'll wait a while. but i would like to help sandy and his folks." during the two days that mr. pertell and russ were mapping out the locations of the various scenes for the plays, the others of the company were becoming familiar with oak farm, and the delightfully quaint house where they were to remain all summer. there were many little nooks where one could spend a quiet hour with a book, and there was good fishing in the stream that, in times past, had furnished power for the old grist mill. the mill was now in ruins, but it was very picturesque, and mr. pertell planned to make it the scene of several little plays. three days after the arrival at oak farm, matters were in readiness for filming the first play. it was a simple little drama, concerning a country girl and boy, and alice and paul ardite were the chief characters. this was something of a blow to miss laura dixon, who had counted on being with paul in the play. miss dixon rather liked paul, but since the advent of alice he had become more and more interested in the latter. "i don't care!" exclaimed miss dixon, as she flounced into the room she shared with miss pennington. "i'm not going to stay with this company any more, with those two amateurs taking all the best parts." "it is a shame," agreed miss pennington. "i just can't bear that ruth devere, with her blue eyes. she can use them very effectively, too." "indeed she can! what do you say if we look for another engagement? i just hate the country." "so do i, with all the bugs and things. but, really, i can't go. i got mr. pertell to give me an advance on my salary, and i can't leave him now. besides, other places aren't so easy to get. look here," and she held out a copy of a dramatic paper which contained an unusual number of "cards" of performers who were "at liberty." that is, they had no work, but were anxious for some. "summer is a bad time for quitting a sure place," went on miss pennington. "we'll just have to stick, laura." "i suppose so. but i can't bear those two girls!" "neither can i!" but alice and ruth concerned themselves very little with their jealous rivals, though they were aware of the feeling against them. alice and paul acquitted themselves well in the little play. there was only one difficulty--mr. bunn, as usual. he and mr. sneed had been cast as farm hands to fill in the background of the play. when the former shakespearean player learned that he was to wear overalls and carry a hoe over his shoulder, he rebelled. "what! i play that character?" he cried. "a clod--a country bumpkin? never! i will go back to new york first!" "very well; go!" exclaimed mr. pertell, who occasionally became exasperated over the actor's objections. "only don't come back looking for an engagement with this company." wellington bunn, striking a tragic attitude, was silent a moment. then he said, very quietly: "where is that hoe?" with mr. sneed it was different. he did not so much care what character he played, but he was always "looking for trouble." even in the simple character of a country farmer he was apprehensive. "i don't know how to use a hoe," he protested. "i'm sure to do the wrong thing with it. i know something will happen!" "how can something happen?" asked mr. pertell. "all you have to do is to stand in a row of corn, and dig up the dirt with the hoe. you're only in the scene about two minutes. surely you can hill corn!" "i never did it." "i'll show you," offered sandy, good-naturedly. "say!" cried russ, "why not put sandy in the picture, too?" "good idea!" exclaimed mr. pertell. "sandy, get a hoe!" "what! me in movin' pictures? why, i never acted in my life." "so much the better. you'll be all the more natural!" said the manager. "get in the focus, sandy!" and the young farmer did. the scene seemed to be going very well, and paul and alice in the rôle of country sweethearts made an effective picture in the green cornfield. in the background mr. bunn, mr. sneed and sandy were industriously hoeing corn. suddenly the "grouchy" actor dropped his hoe, and pulling up one foot so that he could hold it in his hands, he cried out: "there! i knew something would happen! i cut my foot with that old hoe!" "cut that out, russ!" called the manager, sharply. "we don't want that in the scene." "i stopped the camera," answered the operator. an examination disclosed the fact that mr. sneed was not hurt at all. his shoe had not even been cut by the hoe, which had slipped off a stone because of his clumsiness. "go on with the play," ordered mr. pertell. "and let's have no more nonsense." paul and alice resumed their places. they assumed as nearly as possible the pose they had when the break occurred. russ began to turn the handle of the camera. sandy had to be excused for a time to look after some farm work. later, when the pictures would be developed and printed, enough of the film could be cut out so that the audience, looking at the screen, would know nothing of what had occurred. there are many trick pictures made, and many times little accidents occur in filming a play. but by the judicious use of the knife, and the fitting together of the severed film, all pictures not wanted are eliminated. in the case of trick pictures, or when some accident scene is shown, the camera takes views up to a certain point with real persons posing before it. then the mechanism is stopped, "dummies" are substituted for real personages, and the taking of the film goes on. so the little "break" caused by mr. sneed could be covered up. "but i knew something would happen," he said. "that hoodoo of coming out on track thirteen is still after us," and he limped along the row of corn. the scene was almost over, when a movement was observed amid the waving stalks, back of where paul and alice were posing. "who's that!" cried mr. pertell, sharply, from his place beside russ at the camera. "keep back, whoever you are. don't get into the picture--you'll spoil it." an instant later there was a bellow, as of a score of automobile horns, and an immense black bull came rushing through the corn, heading directly for paul and alice. "oh!" screamed alice, as paul caught her in his arms. chapter vii the play of the hose "russ! daddy! somebody save alice!" cried ruth, from her place near the young moving picture operator. "can't someone do something?" "get a pitchfork!" "go at him with those hoes!" "throw stones at him!" this was some of the advice from the others of the moving picture company, as they stood grouped back of the camera, where they had been watching the filming of the last scene in the little drama. meanwhile, of course, russ had stopped the camera, for he did not want to include the bull in the picture, no provision having been made for the creature by the author who furnished the "scenario," or "screed." the animal had "butted into" the scene in a most uncalled-for manner, and now was butting its massive head against the frail green stalks of corn, knocking them aside, pawing the dirt and shaking its head at the frightened players. for a moment, after their first outcries, the players were silent. alice, who had shown just the least inclination to faint, now stood upright again, and with a vivid blush, released herself from paul's arms. "i--i'm all right now," she said, softly, straightening out her shirtwaist. "you won't be if that bull comes for us," he answered. "here, get behind me. i'll see if i can scare him off." "oh, no! don't!" she begged. "that might make him worse. see, he is quiet now." and indeed the animal had not moved much beyond the spot where he had broken through the rows of corn to interrupt the moving pictures. "something's got to be done," said mr. pertell, in a quiet voice. "i think it will be best if none of you moves. keep your places, and i'll see if i can't slide out back of russ, and get help--or at least a weapon to drive the bull away. a fence rail would do. russ, stand still. you make a good screen for me now, and the bull can't see me. he may make a jump if he sees any of us moving. such creatures often do, i understand." it seemed the best plan to follow, but there was no need of trying it, for at that instant sandy apgar, who had returned, and who had heard the cries, came bursting in on the scene. for a moment, at seeing this new figure, and supposing, perhaps, that it was a more active enemy than the others, the bull made as if to leap forward, with lowered horns. but, fortunately, the young farmer had an effective weapon in a pitchfork. its sharp tines sandy held toward the bull, pricking the creature slightly. this was too much for the beast, and with a bellow of pain, instead of rage, as before, he turned, and with drooping tail crashed his way through the corn, as he had come. "pesky gritter!" exclaimed mr. switzer, in his strong german accent. "he nearly gafe me heart disease. feel how he thumps inside my west," he appealed to mr. sneed. "ha! what do i care about your heart!" exclaimed the "grouch," inconsiderately. "my foot will be lame for a week where i hit it. this is getting worse and worse--i suppose you'll be turning wild tigers and lions loose on us next!" he cried in a highly aggrieved tone to mr. pertell. "this wasn't my fault," said the manager. "i did not invite the bull here." "no, i guess nobody did," laughed sandy. "but i hope he didn't hurt any of you." "no, he only scared us," said ruth, who had gone to the side of her sister. "i can't understand how he got out," went on the young farmer. "he's kept in a field with a strong fence, and th' gate is always locked. th' hired man knows better than to let him out, too." "it might be a good idea to see that he is put back in his enclosure," suggested mr. devere. "i'm sure we'll all feel safer if we know he isn't roaming about the place when we pose for more pictures." "indeed we will," agreed mr. pertell. "i can see you all looking around nervously, instead of paying attention to the play, if that bull isn't locked up." "i'll attend to it right away," promised sandy. "he's dangerous enough, but he's afraid of this pitchfork. i can always manage him with that. i'll go see how he got out. i don't understand it." "i'll go with you," volunteered russ. "we'll have to make the last bit of this scene over," he went on, to mr. pertell. "yes, i suppose so," agreed the manager. "and they'll want a little time to get over the scare so they can pose properly," went on russ, nodding at alice and paul, who, as well as the others who filled in the background of the picture, were somewhat disturbed. "yes, it will be just as well to take a breathing space," said mr. pertell. "but don't run into danger, russ. we've got lots of plays yet to film." "i won't," laughed the young operator, and as he went off after sandy, ruth gazed after him with rather anxious eyes. "i knew something like this would happen!" exclaimed mr. sneed, gloomily. "that track thirteen----" "say, if you don't drop that you can look for another place!" cried the manager, sharply. "everything that happens you blame on that silly superstition." "and things aren't done happening yet, either," went on the "grouchy" actor, but he took care not to let the manager hear him. "to what low estate have i fallen!" soliloquized wellington bunn, wiping his heated brow. he was wearing a slouch hat, instead of his beloved silk one, and was attired in shabby garments, as befitted his character of a farmhand. "the idea of a man who has played the immortal shakespearean characters falling so low as to consort with wild bulls. ah, it is pitiful--pitiful!" he murmured. "you didn't consort mit dat bull very much!" put in mr. switzer, with a cheerful laugh. "i saw you trying to git behint a corn stalk, to consort mit 'im alretty yet!" "certainly, i did not wish to be trampled on," replied mr. bunn, with dignity--that is, with as much dignity as he could muster under the circumstances. "oh, to what low estate have i fallen! a mere country bumpkin--i, who once played hamlet!" the others were recovering their spirits, now that the danger was over. sandy and russ followed the trail of the bull through the corn, and soon they had him before the gate of his own enclosure. "that gate is open!" exclaimed the young farmer. "i don't see how it happened. there is something wrong here." the bull was driven in, and then an examination disclosed the fact that the lock of the gate had been broken; by a stone, evidently, for a shattered rock lay on the ground nearby. "this is strange," murmured sandy. "someone has done this on purpose, i don't like it--after what happened the other night." "what was that?" asked russ. "why, mr. pertell and i saw a suspicious-looking man out in the road, and we chased him," and he told of the circumstance. "and you think he broke this lock to let the bull out?" asked the moving picture operator. "well, he might have, but i can't think what his object would be, unless he wanted to spoil some of your moving pictures. have you got any enemies?" russ thought of simp wolley and bud briskett, who had tried to get his invention, as told in the preceding volume, "the moving picture girls," but they were in jail, as far as he knew. clearly there was some mystery here, but it was not to be solved at once. the gate was made as secure as possible, and sandy said he would get a new lock that day. "i reckon you folks don't want old nero buttin' in on you again," he said to russ. "indeed we don't!" answered the young operator. he was puzzled over sandy's suggestion as to whether or not some enemy had loosed the dangerous animal. a little later the end of the interrupted scene was filmed again, and then the actors and actresses were at liberty for the rest of the day. "i declare, laura!" exclaimed miss pennington, "i'm so nervous about that bull that i don't want any more farm plays." "me, either," returned her chum. "but really, the summer is a bad time to change. i think we'll have to stay with mr. pertell; but i can't bear this company since those devere girls came in." "nor can i. they give themselves such airs!" which was manifestly unfair to ruth and alice, but neither miss pennington nor miss dixon was over-burdened with fairness. at first russ had an idea of speaking to mr. devere about sandy's theory concerning who might have let loose the bull; but, on second thoughts, he decided not to. the actor had not been so well of late, his voice troubling him considerably, though he managed to go through his parts with credit. "i'd tell ruth or alice," reflected russ, "only i don't like to bother them. they helped me save my patent, and they know how to do things in an emergency. but i guess i'll wait." for the next day mr. pertell had planned a little drama which gave mr. bunn a chance to appear in his favorite roles--some shakespearean characters. the plot, or at least the first part of it, had to do with mr. bunn coming up to the farmhouse in a frock coat, and his favorite tall hat. he was to assume the character of a theatrical man, who, after obtaining board at a country home, fell in love with the daughter of the house through teaching her some roles from shakespeare's plays, several characters of which mr. bunn himself was to assume. all was ready for the first part of the play, and russ began filming the initial scene, where the actor comes up the gravel walk leading to the apgar farmhouse. mr. bunn had given his silk hat an extra brushing, and it glistened bravely in the sun. to make the scene contain a little more life, mr. pertell had stationed mr. switzer at one of the front flower beds, with a garden hose to spray the blooms. up the walk came the actor, grave and dignified. russ was grinding away at the handle of the moving picture camera. suddenly a dog wormed his way in under the hedge from the road, and, probably meaning no mischief, ran for mr. switzer, barking joyously, and leaping about. "hi dere! look out, you! don't you nip my legs!" cried the german. he sprang to one side, and, naturally, forgot all about the spurting hose he held. in an instant the stream was directed full at mr. bunn, deluging him with water, which descended in a shower on his precious silk hat, the drops falling from the brim copiously. "here! what--what do you mean? you--you----" began the shakespearean actor, and then his words were muffled, for the stream from the hose struck him full in the mouth! chapter viii in the old barn "quick, russ! get that!" cried mr. pertell, with a laugh. "don't miss a single motion." "do you mean it?" cried the astonished operator. he had ceased, for a moment, to grind on the handle, for he supposed the scene was spoiled. "surely i mean it!" cried the manager. "i'll change this and make a comic film of it. go on, switzer. soak him some more! use that hose for all its worth!" "vot! you means dot i vet him all ofer?" "certainly i do. wet him well!" "i--i protest! i shall not permit----" began wellington bunn, but again he was silenced by the volume of water in his mouth. he waved his arms about wildly. he took off his silk hat, probably intending to protect it, but mr. switzer had now fully entered into the spirit of the affair, and sent a stream into the hat, filling it as he would a pail. "oh, this is awful! this is terrible! i must protest----" swish! went the water into his mouth again, and his protest was silenced. "go on!" encouraged mr. pertell. "this is great! this will make a fine comic film. soak him thoroughly, switzer." "oh, yah! sure, i soak him goot!" "and you, mr. bunn! don't get so far over. you'll get out of range of the camera. can you film him, russ?" "surely. i'm getting every bit of it." "that's right! we need every move. a little more life in it, mr. bunn! act as though you didn't like to be soaked!" "like it! of course i don't like it!" cried the actor. "i--hate it! and my hat--my silk hat----" again the relentless stream of water stopped him. "i'll buy you a new hat!" promised mr. pertell, choking with laughter. "this is worth it! lively, mr. bunn! jump around a little. switzer, don't miss him, but don't wet the camera. and that dog! get him in it, too!" "vot! maybe he bites my legs yet already!" objected the german. "i likes not dot beast! und my legs----" "oh, i'll get a doctor if he bites you!" promised the manager. "see him get into the action! this will be a great picture. i'll have to get a story that it will fit in." but at last even the enthusiastic manager was satisfied with the water scene, and he allowed the almost exhausted mr. bunn a rest. "look at me--look at me!" groaned the actor, as he gazed down at his suit, which dripped water at every point. "wait now; don't go away!" objected mr. pertell. "i want to get you in another scene now. come around to the barn." "what! film me in this water-soaked suit!" protested mr. bunn. "certainly. i am going to make a whole reel of you." "but my hat! look at my hat! ruined! utterly ruined!" "all the better. i want you in the character of a broken-down actor now, and you wouldn't look the part with a new and shiny tile. put a couple of dents in it, mr. bunn!" "oh, you are heartless! heartless!" cried the actor, as he completed the demolition of his cherished headpiece. "isn't it killing, ruth?" asked alice, who had come out with her sister to see the fun. "funny, yes. but i feel rather sorry for mr. bunn." "oh, he's getting paid for it. and it's so warm to-day that i almost wish mr. switzer would turn the hose on me!" "alice devere!" "well, i do! it is very warm. it must be terrible in the city. come on out to the barn, and let's see what the next act will be." the next scene, which mr. pertell had thought of on the spur of the moment, required mr. bunn to fall into the horse trough, and the actor, after strenuously objecting, finally yielded. he fell into the big hollowed-out log that served to hold the water for the farm animals, making a mighty splash as the camera clicked. then came other scenes that, later, would be added to and made into a short reel of "comics." horse-play though it was, the manager knew that it would at least round out a program, and cause roars of delight from the children, who must be catered to as well as the grown-ups. "well, i think that will do for the time being," said mr. pertell at length. "you may go and get dry, mr. bunn, and, later, we will film the original play, where you come to the farmhouse and do the shakespearean scenes." "that will be a relief from this buffoonery," remarked the actor. "but how am i to do it in--this?" and he held out the silk hat, now much the worse for what it had gone through. "oh, i'll supply a new hat. trot along and get dried out. i guess you'll have to have your suit pressed. possibly there is a tailor in the village." mr. bunn went off by himself, rather sulkily. mr. switzer was in high good humor at the fun he had had with the hose. "good joke!" laughed paul. then he made his way to the side of alice, and made an engagement to walk to the village with her that evening. "this is the barn i intend to burn in one of our big rural plays," said mr. pertell to mr. devere, who, with his daughters, had strolled out to the ancient structure. "what sort of a scene will it be a part of?" asked the actor. "a rescue. one of the young ladies--or possibly two of them--will be saved from the burning barn. the play is not completed yet, but i have that much of it worked out. let us look at the interior and see how it is suited to our needs." as the little party entered they heard, off in one corner, a noise as though someone was running across the sagging floor, which contained many loose boards. "who is there?" called mr. pertell, suddenly, while ruth and alice drew back, close to the side of their father. there was no answer. "i'm sure i heard someone," said mr. pertell. "so did i," agreed alice. "perhaps it was a cow or a horse." "no, the old barn is not in use," returned the manager. "i think we had better tell sandy----" "what is it you want to tell me?" asked the young farmer himself, as he appeared in the doorway. "we heard someone in the barn," explained the manager. "we were looking at it, to get ready for our moving picture play, and we evidently surprised someone. does anyone stay here?" "no, and i've told the hired men to keep out, for i thought maybe they might disturb something, and spoil it for you." "and no animals are in here; are they?" asked mr. devere. "no, not a one," replied sandy. "but i heard someone!" declared mr. pertell. "hark! there is the sound again!" he cried, and they all heard a noise as of a heavy body falling. chapter ix the rescue "over this way!" cried mr. pertell, making a leap toward a distant corner of the barn, which was in deep shadow. "the noise was over there." "i think it was there," exclaimed sandy, pointing toward the opposite corner. "come, girls, i think you had better go out," suggested mr. devere to his daughters. "there may be trouble." "i'd like to see it," said alice, with a laugh. "oh, how can you?" exclaimed ruth. "come away, dear!" "well, i suppose i've got to," and alice actually sighed. her "bump of curiosity" was very well developed. following each his own belief as to where the noise had come from, mr. pertell went to one corner, and sandy to the other. mr. devere took his daughters outside, and bade them go on toward the house. "but where are you going, daddy?" asked alice, as he turned back. "they may need help," he replied. "oh, i wish we could go!" pleaded alice. "at least let us stay here and watch!" "well, not too near," conceded her father. but it seemed that the search for the cause of the mysterious noise was to be fruitless. neither mr. pertell nor sandy could find any person or creature, though they looked thoroughly. there were many nooks and crannies in the old structure, for in its day it had been the main barn on the farm. but it had fallen into decay and others had been built. there were harness rooms, oat and feed bins, a small room where the former owner had done his "tinkering and odd jobs," and many other places where someone might have hidden. but no one could be found. no farm animal had made the noise, that was evident, for sandy could account for all the larger stock on the place, and it must have been a body of considerable size the fall of which had startled them. "could it have been bats flying about?" asked mr. devere. "no bat was heavy enough to make that racket," said sandy, "though there are bats in here. i don't know what it could have been." "a tramp, perhaps," suggested mr. pertell. "it might have been," admitted the young farmer, as he thought of the smashed lock on the bull's enclosure. "we sometimes have them fellers to bother us; but not so much in summer. they're afraid of bein' put to work." the three men made a more thorough search of the barn, but could find nothing that looked suspicious. "whoever it was must either be here yet, in hiding, or else they got away while we were looking around," said mr. pertell. "unless you believe in ghosts, sandy." "nope. not a ghost do i believe in. and i hope this won't spoil the barn for you folks to get your pictures from." "oh, no, it takes more than a noise to scare a theatrical troupe," laughed the manager. "well, we'll have to give it up, i suppose." there seemed to be nothing else to do, and the party returned to the house, the girls joining them on the way back. "after all, it might have been some loose board, or plank, falling down. the place is nigh tumblin' t' pieces," declared sandy. "but i'll keep a watch around. i don't want any tramps on this place." "i might use one in a moving picture," said mr. pertell, musingly. what he could not use in a moving picture film was small indeed. "i believe that would make a good scene," he went on. "a tramp comes to beg at the farmhouse. he is told that he must saw a lot of wood, or do something like that. then, let me see--yes, i'll have him eat first, and then refuse to saw the wood. he thinks the lady of the house is home alone. but he makes a mistake, for she proves to be one who has taken physical culture lessons, and she is a match for the tramp. she stands over him until he saws all the wood. "that ought to go. i'll cast mrs. maguire for the strenuous lady, and mr. sneed can be the tramp. he has a sour enough face. that's what i'll do!" "i can just imagine mr. sneed in that rôle," said alice to ruth, with a laugh. "he won't like that a bit!" "i suppose not. still, we have to do many things in this moving picture business that we don't like." "i like every bit of it!" alice declared. "i think it's all fun!" "i wish i had your happy way of looking at things!" sighed ruth. "it is a great help in getting through life." "why don't you practice it?" alice asked. "it's easy, once you start. there are so many funny things in this world." "and so many sad ones!" "bosh!" laughed alice. "excuse my slang, sister mine, but you ought to read fewer of those romantic stories, and more joke books. oh, there goes paul, and with a fish pole, too. i'm going with him!" "he hasn't asked you!" "what of it? i know he'll be glad to have me. oh, here comes laura dixon after him. i'm going to get there first. paul! paul!" alice called, "can't i go fishing, too?" "of course!" he cried, his face lighting up with pleasure. "come along. i've got an extra line and hooks in my pocket, and we can cut a pole along the stream. come along." he did not see miss dixon, who was behind him, but she saw alice and heard what was said. for a minute she paused, and then, with a rather vindictive look on her face, turned back. "alice!" called ruth, "i'm not sure father would want you to go. it is getting near supper time." "oh, you tell him i just had to go, ruth dear!" mr. devere, with sandy and mr. pertell, had gone on ahead. ruth shrugged her shoulders. there was little she could do with alice, once the younger girl had set her mind on anything. and, really, there was no harm in going fishing with paul. the favorite spot was not far from the farmhouse, and within view of it. "it's fine of you to come!" said paul, as he walked along over the meadow with the laughing, brown-eyed girl. "i'm sure we'll have good luck." "i'm never very lucky at fishing," said alice. "but i'll watch you." "no, you've got to fish, too. i'll cut you a light pole." "and will you bait my hook--i don't like to do that." "surely i will." they walked on, chatting of many things, and as they reached the fishing hole--a deep eddy on the overhanging bank of which they could sit--they saw russ dalwood, with his camera, going along the opposite bank. "what are you doing?" called paul. "oh, just getting some odd scenes here and there of farm work. mr. pertell wants to work them into some of the plays. there are some men spraying a potato patch over in the next field, to get rid of the bugs. i'm going to make a scene of that." "all right. good luck!" called alice, pleasantly. "and, if you like, you can take a fishing scene. paul and i are going to catch some for supper." "all right, i'll film you on the way back," laughed russ. it was a pleasant summer afternoon, and the bank where alice and paul took their places was bathed in the golden light of the setting sun. "the fish ought to bite well to-day," observed paul, when he had "rigged up" an outfit for alice. "why is to-day better than any other day?" she asked. "because the wind is right. 'when the wind's in the west, the fish bite best,' is an old saying. sandy reminded me of it when i started out to-day." they tossed in their hooks, and then waited. the water a little way below the eddy flowed over white stones, flecked here and there with green moss. the stream made a pleasant sound, and formed an accompaniment to the songs of the birds which flitted in and out of the willow trees that lined the stream. at the foot of the bank, on which sat the two fishers, ran the deep eddy, silent, and whirling about in a circular motion, caused by the impact of the brook against the shore, the waters being forced back on themselves. it was a quiet, and rather still pool, and was reputed to contain many fine, large fish. "i--i think i have a nibble," whispered alice. "be careful--don't jerk up too soon," warned paul. "yes, there is one after your bait. see your cork float bob up and down." "does that show he's sampling it?" "something of that sort, yes. now, pull in!" alice was a bit slow about it, for she had not fished much. paul, fearing the fish would get away, reached over toward her, and took hold of the pole himself. as he did so he felt the part of the shelving bank on which they were sitting give away. "look out! throw yourself back!" he cried to alice. but it was too late, and the next instant they both found themselves sliding down in a little avalanche of earth and stones--into the deep eddy. "hold your breath!" alice heard paul cry as a last direction, and she obeyed. the next instant she felt herself in the water, and it closed over her head. alice could swim, and, after the plunge into the stream, she did not lose her head. she knew she would come up in a second, even though hampered by her clothes. her only fear was lest she be entangled in the fish-line. and in another second she knew this was the case. she could feel her feet bound together. but her hands were free, and she had seen expert swimmers make their way through the water with their feet purposely bound. she struck out with her hands, and found herself rising. her lungs seemed ready to burst for want of air, for she had not had time to take a full breath. then her head shot up out of water, and she could breathe. she shook her head to get the water from her eyes, and saw paul striking out toward her. "i'll get you!" he cried, and then he uttered an exclamation of horror, for a log of wood, coming down stream, struck alice on the head, and all grew black before her. she felt herself sinking again, and tried to strike out to keep her head above the water, but it seemed impossible. then she felt herself grasped in a strong arm, and she realized that paul had come to her rescue. at the same moment she dimly heard, in her returning consciousness, a voice crying something from the opposite shore. chapter x the barn dance alice fought back with all her strength the inclination to faint, and forced her brain to compel her body to do its work. she did her best to aid paul in the rescue, but he was having a hard struggle. for alice was rather heavy, and her feet, entangled as they were with the fish line, were of no aid. then, too, the blow on her head had not been a light one, though it developed later that her heavy hair had prevented the log from bruising her. "i have you! don't worry! i'll save you!" she could hear paul murmuring in her ear. then her head cleared, and she was able to recognize the voice and make out the words of someone on the opposite bank, toward which paul was swimming with his burden. for the voice was the voice of russ dalwood, and his words sounded strangely enough under the circumstances. "that's it! come right over here!" the young moving picture operator called. "i'm getting a dandy film! that's it, paul, a little more to the left! that's the finest rescue scene i ever got! it's great acting!" "why--why you--you don't mean to say you're _filming_ us!" cried paul, for he was now in shallow water and could stand upright, holding alice in his arms. "of course i'm filming you!" exclaimed russ. "do you think i'd let an act like this get past me? not much!" and he continued to grind away at the crank of his machine, which he had hastily set up on the edge of the stream, where he commanded a good view of those in the water. "but this isn't acting!" said paul, ready to laugh, now that the danger was over. "this is _real!_ alice fell in, and i went in after her. it's the real thing!" "great scott!" cried russ. "i thought you were rehearsing for some play, and as i came along i thought i might as well get the scene, even if it was only a rehearsal. for i had plenty of film left, and sometimes the rehearsal comes out better than the real thing. and so it was an accident?" "of course it was," answered paul. "but as long as you've got it on the film i suppose there's no help for it." "it's a fine scene, all right," went on russ, "and mr. pertell can work it into some of his plays." he ceased operating the camera now, as paul and alice were too close. "are you much hurt?" asked the young rescuer, anxiously, as he looked for a grassy spot whereon to place his burden. "no--no," returned alice, "i was more frightened than hurt. will you please cut that line?" she asked, pointing to the tangle of the fish cord around her feet. in an instant paul had out his knife, and cut the string. "well, you two are pretty wet," said russ. "how did it happen?" "the bank gave way with us," explained paul. "it's too bad, alice. that dress is spoiled, i'm afraid," he added, ruefully. "it doesn't matter," she answered. she could laugh now, but she could not repress a shudder as she looked back at the deep water of the eddy. they were on the other side of the stream now. "it was an old one, paul," alice went on, "and i can save it to do some more water-scenes with. for probably, after mr. pertell hears that russ has the basis for a drama with someone in it being saved from drowning, he'll want the rest, and we may have to do some more swimming." "i wouldn't mind in the least," he said; "but next time i hope, for your own sake, you don't get entangled in a fish line." "that was pretty risky," said russ. "but you two had better be getting back to the farmhouse now, and into some dry things." "indeed, yes," agreed alice. "i'm sure i must look like a fright. papa will be so worried, and ruth, too. i wish i could slip in the back way so they wouldn't see me until i had time to change." "i'll manage it," spoke russ. "i'll go on ahead, and if any of our folks are in the back i'll bring them around to the front and hold them there while you slip in. i guess, paul, you don't care to be seen in that rig; do you?" "i should say not! that water was certainly wet!" he had taken off his coat and was wringing it out, while alice managed to get some of the water from the lower part of her skirts. "then you aren't going to swim back?" asked russ. "i should say not!" exclaimed paul, with energy. "isn't there a bridge somewhere around here, where we can cross?" "about half a mile down," answered russ, "i came that way." "are you sure you're all right, and able to walk, alice?" paul inquired, anxiously. "if not, i could go for a carriage. that is, if you will wait." "of course i can walk," she answered, promptly, as she tried to arrange her hair in some sort of order. "don't worry about that," said paul, quickly. "it looks nicer that way." "as if i would believe that!" she challenged. "well, if we're going, let's go. don't forget, russ, what you promised about getting us in the rear entrance. i wouldn't have miss pennington and miss dixon see me this way for anything--i'd never hear the last of it!" "does your head hurt?" asked paul, coming closer to examine the spot where the floating log had hit alice. "just a little," she admitted. "it's lucky, though, that my hair is so thick." they set off, paul and alice following russ, who went on ahead with his moving picture camera. "i certainly have a fine film," he said, "but i don't believe i would have taken it if i had known it was the real thing in the way of a rescue. i'd have jumped in and given a hand myself." "it was very good of you, paul," murmured alice, but when he looked into her eyes she turned her own gaze away. "i--i wouldn't have missed the opportunity of saving you for--for anything," he said, softly. on the way to the farmhouse, over the bridge and along the country road, a few passing farmers turned to gaze curiously at the two dripping figures, and one grizzled man, seeing the camera russ carried, and knowing moving picture actors were at oak farm, said, loudly enough to be heard: "wa'al, by hickory! some folks is purtty hard put t' airn a livin' now-a-days! jumpin' in th' water t' have pictures made of 'em. g'lang there!" and he drove on with his bony horse and ricketty wagon. "you see, he thought the same thing that i did," laughed russ. the young moving picture operator was able to draw around to the front of the farmhouse those of the theatrical company who were near the rear, and he managed to keep them there until paul and alice had a chance to slip in the side door, and get to their rooms unnoticed. ruth, however, saw alice, just as she entered the apartment they shared. "oh, my dear girl--you're all wet!" ruth exclaimed. "you generally get that way when you fall into the water," remarked alice, calmly. then she told of the accident. "oh, what a narrow escape!" breathed ruth, sinking into a chair. "you quite frighten me!" "you need not be frightened--now--it's all over," and alice was quite cool about it. nothing worse than a slight headache followed her experience in the brook, but as much fuss was made over her, and as many kind inquiries made, after the story became known, as though she had been seriously injured. mr. pertell, after duly saying how sorry he was at the occurrence, expressed his satisfaction over the fact that russ had made a film of the happening, and at once set to work to devise a plot and play in which it would fit. as alice had guessed, he had to have other water scenes, and some in which a boat figured, and paul and alice were called on again to go through some "stunts," on the mill stream. thus a pretty little play was made out of what had been an accident. and, more often than once is that really done in the moving picture world. rather quiet days followed at oak farm. a number of rural plays were acted and filmed, and word came back from new york, where the first films had been sent for development and printing, that the reels were most successful. the one where mr. bunn was wet with the hose was particularly good, so said mr. pertell's agent. "but i'll never go through such a thing again," declared the shakespearean actor. the affairs of the apgar family did not improve with time. squire blasdell paid several visits to the farm, and one day, seeing sandy looking particularly gloomy, ruth asked him what the trouble was. "the squire is gettin' ready to sell off the farm," he replied. "he's goin' t' foreclose that mortgage. i've tried all the ways i know to raise that four thousand dollars; but i can't!" "i wish we could help," said ruth, sympathetically, as she thought of the days of their own poverty, when everything seemed so black. "i don't reckon anyone can help us," said sandy. "if only we could find uncle isaac's money, and get what belongs to us, we'd be all right; but i guess we can't." preparations were under way for a barn dance, which was to be part of a scene in one of the farm plays mr. pertell had planned. in order to make it as natural as possible a number of the country folk living near oak farm had been asked to take part. young and old were invited, and all were delighted to come and "have their pictures took." thus the original theatrical company would be much augmented on this occasion. the affair was to take place in the old barn, which, later, would be burned in the great drama. and this barn was selected as the dance was to take place at night. for this good illumination would be needed, and special magnesium lamps were sent out from new york, to be lighted inside the barn. in order to run no chances of burning one of the good farm buildings the old one, which now practically belonged to mr. pertell, was taken. "that barn dance will be fun," said alice to ruth, the evening on which it was to take place. "there's going to be a country fiddler. come on out and let's look at the decorations. sandy has hung up long strings of unshelled ears of corn. it looks just like a real country barn now, for he's moved some of his machinery into it, and there's going to be a real cow there!" "mercy, i'm not going to take part, then!" cried ruth, nervously. "i'm afraid of cows." "silly! this one will be tied. and you've got one of the principal parts. you're to dance with the young son of the rich farmer, and fall in love with him, and i'm to be the jealous one, and all that sort of thing, you know." "yes, i know. haven't i been studying my part for the last week? but i know i'll never do that virginia reel right. since we learned the new dances i've forgotten all the old ones." the two sisters went out to the old structure, but it seemed deserted. they looked in and saw how well sandy had arranged it to make an effective picture for the camera. "come on," invited alice, humming a tune. ruth advanced toward her sister, to take a dancing position, when a noise startled the girls. it was the same sort of noise they had heard before, when their father, mr. pertell and sandy had made an unsuccessful attempt to learn the cause of it. "what's that?" gasped ruth. "i--i don't know," whispered alice. but she did know--it was that same strange sound, as of a heavy body falling. and this time there was a groan--the girls were sure of this. without another word they ran out of the barn, hand in hand toward the farmhouse, intending to give an alarm. and, as they got outside, they saw, running off in the dusk, across the fields, a man who limped as he sped onward. chapter xi the runaway mowing machine "look!" gasped ruth. "it was that man--hiding in the barn! who can he be?" asked alice, pausing a moment. "don't stop! come on!" commanded ruth, in fear. "but we ought to see who it is," insisted the younger girl. "or at least watch where he goes. sandy ought to know." "well, we'll go tell him; but don't stand and watch that man. he might do you some harm." "how could he--away off there; and he's running away, besides," spoke alice. "i think i would know him again. i had one glimpse of his face, as he turned. it was a mean, cruel-looking face, too." "it wasn't one of those men who tried to get russ's patent; was it?" asked ruth. "no, neither one of them was lame. and they are both locked up, i think. this is some other man. there, he's gone--at least i can't see him any more." either a depression in the field over which he was running, or some hollow between hummocks, now hid the man from view. then, too, night was falling, and the shadows were dusky. "we had better go and give the alarm," said ruth, pulling gently on her sister's arm, to urge her forward. together they hastened to the house, where, pantingly, they told what they had seen and heard. "some tramp, likely," said sandy, as catching up a club he ran toward the barn. russ, paul, and some of the other male members of the theatrical company followed. alice wanted to go also, but ruth would not let her. nothing came of the search, however, though it was carried far afield. the men came back soon. "some tramp, sure," reaffirmed sandy. "this part of th' country is getting too thick with 'em. something will have to be done. but i don't see where he could have hidden himself. you say the noise was just like the one you heard before?" "the same," answered alice, "and it sounded in the same place--just as if someone had fallen, and then came a groan." "maybe the man did fall and hurt himself," suggested ruth. "and that, likely, was what made him limp." "well, i wish he'd limp away from here and stay away," complained sandy. "i can't see, though, how he managed to hide himself in the barn. there's something strange about that place." there was, but even sandy had no suspicion of how very strange the matter was connected with the old structure. "oh dear!" exclaimed ruth, when the chase for the man was over, "i'll be afraid to go to that barn dance now." "nonsense!" said alice. "we'll all be there--and so will russ," she added with a sly laugh. "as if that made any difference!" answered ruth, quickly. "oh, it _might_," and alice seemed very innocent, but there was laughter in her eyes. in spite of the fact that there were many men and boys at the barn dance, ruth could not help looking around nervously now and then during the course of the little play, several scenes of which took place in the old building. but there was no further alarm, and no unbidden guests were discerned in the bright glare of the powerful lights. the scenes went off very well, especially the dancing ones, but the "city folks," as the farmer lads and lassies spoke of the members of the theatrical company, were at rather a disadvantage when it came to doing some of the old-fashioned dances. they had not practiced them in years, particularly miss dixon and miss pennington. "the idea of doing the old waltz and two-step," complained miss pennington. "it's like running a race." "indeed it is, my dear," agreed her chum. "why can't he let us do the boston dip, at least; or the one-step glide. i hate the continuous waltz." "so do i. let's try it, when you and i dance together." "we will!" but mr. pertell, who was overseeing the carrying out of the barn dance, at once cried sharply: "hold on there with that camera, russ! that won't do, miss pennington--miss dixon. we don't want the new dances here. not that there is anything the matter with them," he hastened to add, as he saw the defiant looks on the faces of the two former vaudeville players; "but this is supposed to be an old-fashioned country dance, of the style of about twenty-five years ago, and it would look queer in the films to see the dip and one-step introduced. "now do that part over, and keep on with the virginia reel. go ahead, russ. and everybody get a little more life into this thing. be lively! hop about more! shout and sing if you want to--it won't hurt the film. go ahead, fiddler!" once more the violin wailed out its tune, and the play went on. "i wonder what i'll have to do next?" complained wellington bunn. "this is getting worse and worse. i've had to dance with a big country girl, and every time i take a step she comes down on my foot. i'll be lame for a week." "it's awful--this moving picture work," agreed mr. sneed, who seemed never to get over his "grouch." then he went on: "it's dangerous, too. suppose this barn should catch fire? what would happen to us?" "ve vould get out quick-like, alretty!" said carl switzer, as there came a lull in the dance. "isn't dot der answer?" "i wasn't asking a riddle," grunted mr. sneed. "but something will happen; you mark my words." "yah, i hope it happens dat ve haf chicken for dinner on sunday!" laughed the german, who always seemed good-natured. some other scenes for the play, in which the background of the barn was needed, were made, and then work was over for the evening. some of the young persons from neighboring farms asked to be allowed to stay and dance more, and this was allowed. ruth and alice, with russ and paul, also remained and had a jolly good time, making friends with some of the country girls and boys. "i've got something new for you, miss alice," said the moving picture manager a day or so later, coming up to ruth and her sister as they sat on the farmhouse porch. mr. pertell had some typewritten pages in his hand, and this generally meant that he was getting ready for a new play. "what is it this time?" asked alice. "have i got to fall overboard out of any more boats?" for that had been one of her recent "stunts." "no, there's no water-stuff in this," answered the manager with a smile. "but can you drive horses?" "mercy, no!" cried alice. "oh, i don't mean city horses. i mean these gentle country ones about the farm." "oh, i've driven the team sandy uses to take the milk to the dairy," confessed alice. "i could manage them, i suppose." "those are the ones i mean," went on the manager. "in this play you are supposed to be a country girl. your father falls ill and can't cut the hay. it has to be cut and sold to pay a pressing debt, and no hired men can be had in a hurry. so you hitch up the horses to the mower and drive them to cut the grass. it's only for a little while. think you can do it?" "well, i never drove a mowing machine; but i can try. i don't know about hitching up the horses, though." "better practice a little with sandy, then," the manager advised. "he'll show you how." he gave alice some written instructions, and then went over ruth's part in the play. alice, resolving to learn how to hitch up a team, went out to find sandy. it was much easier than she had expected to find it, to attach the slow and patient horses to the mowing machine, and the young farmer took her for a turn with it about the barn yard, so she would be familiar with its operation. "i think i can do it," said alice, and two days later, the rehearsals were ended and all was in readiness for making the film of the new rural play. alice took her place on the seat of the machine, and began to guide the horses around the edge of the hay field. the mower has a long knife extending out from one side, and as the machine is driven along the wheels work the mechanism that sends this knife--or, rather a series of knives--vibrating back and forth inside a sort of toothed guard, thus cutting the hay or grain. "all ready, now," called mr. pertell to russ, who was at the camera. "go 'long!" cried alice to the horses, and the animals began their slow walk. for a time all went well, and then a dog, coming from no one knew where, ran at the heels of the horses, barking and worrying them. in an instant one of the steeds leaped forward in fright and the other caught the alarm. "hold them in, alice!" cried russ. but it was too late, and the horses started to run away, dragging with them the frightened girl on the seat of the mowing machine. chapter xii the man with the limp for a moment those watching the making of the moving picture stood as if paralyzed. the horses, frightened out of their usual calmness by the barking dog, were rushing madly down the field, the mowing machine clicking viciously. "hold them in! hold them in! pull on the lines!" cried sandy, who was the first to spring to action. he set off on a run toward the horses. russ, too, leaping aside from his camera, started off to the rescue, and the others followed. mr. devere was not in this play, and had remained at the farmhouse. ruth, however, not being required in this particular scene, though she would come in the film later, had strolled down the meadow toward a little stream, to gather some flowers. it was in her direction that the frightened horses were running, and as ruth heard the shouts, and caught the sound made by the clicking machine, she looked up. then she saw her sister's danger, and without a thought of her own stepped directly in the path of the oncoming animals, waving up and down, frantically, a bunch of flowers she had gathered. "don't do that! jump to one side!" cried sandy, who was now nearer the mowing machine. "look out, miss devere!" "but i want to stop the horses!" ruth cried. "i must save alice!" "you can't do it that way! they'll run you down, or if they don't the knives will cut you! jump to one side--i'll try and catch them!" ruth had the good sense to obey. she did not really mean to make a grab for the horses, but to stand in their path as long as she could, hoping to make them slacken speed. but she had forgotten about the projecting knives, which, even in their sheath of steel, might seriously injure her. alice, white-faced, but still keeping her wits about her, tried to follow the shouted directions, and pull on the reins. but either the horses had the bits in their teeth, or her strength was not enough to bring them to a stop. on they raced, and, as the meadow was a large one, they had plenty of room. alice might be able to guide them until they tired themselves out, but there was danger that they would turn into a fence, or that the machine would overturn and crush her under it. she had half a notion to leap from the iron seat, and trust to falling on the soft earth. but she feared she might become entangled in the reins, or that she would slip, and fall under the flying feet of the horses, or even on the clattering set of knives. and of these last she well knew the danger, for sandy had warned her of them. so she decided she would keep her seat as long as she could. sandy was racing up behind her. above the thud of the horses' hoofs, and the shrill sound of the clicking knives, alice could hear him coming on, trying to save her. and how she prayed that he would be in time. the mowing machine was opposite ruth now, who had stepped back out of the way of harm. and as alice passed her sister in the machine the latter cried: "oh, alice! if you should be hurt!" there was the sound of tears in her voice. alice did not answer. she had all she could do to look after the plunging horses. sandy was not at such a disadvantage in his race as at first it would seem. he was light on his feet, and a good runner, though much tramping over plowed fields and rough hills had given him a rather clumsy gait in walking. but the horses were not built for racing, either, and they were dragging a heavy machine on soft ground. the iron wheels of the reaper were made with projections, to enable them to bite deeper into the earth, and thus turn the gears that operated the knives. and these iron wheels were a heavy drag. so it is not surprising that, after a comparatively short run, the horses slackened their pace. "sit down! i'm comin'!" cried sandy, and now alice could hear him panting behind her. in another instant she felt a jar on the machine, and then someone reached over her shoulder, and took the reins from her hands. "i'll pull 'em down!" cried sandy, balancing himself on a part of the machine, back of the seat on which alice was riding. the young farmer sawed hard on the lines and this, added to the fact that they had had enough of the hard run, caused the animals to slacken speed. they slowed down to a trot, and then to a walk, finally coming to a halt. and just in time, too, for right in front of them was a big stone fence, into which they might have crashed. "oh! oh dear!" gasped alice. "i--i think i'm going to faint!" "don't! please don't, miss!" begged sandy, more frightened at that prospect, evidently, than he had been at the runaway. "i--i don't know what to do when ladies faint. really i don't i--i never saw one faint, miss. please don't!" "all right--then i won't," laughed alice, by an effort conquering her inclination. but she felt a great weakness, now that the strain was over, and she trembled as sandy helped her down from the machine. in another moment ruth and the others came up, and ruth clasped her sister in her arms. "you poor dear!" she whispered. "oh, i'm all right now," said alice, bravely. "perhaps there wasn't as much danger as i imagined." "there was a plenty," spoke sandy, grimly. the dog, the cause of all the mischief, had disappeared. the horses were now quiet enough, though breathing hard, and soon they began to nibble at the grass. "well, my dear girl, i'm sorry this happened!" exclaimed mr. pertell, as he came running up. "i never would have let you go through that scene if i had dreamed of any danger." "no one could foresee that this was going to happen," returned alice, who was almost herself again. "i'm all right now, and we'll finish the act, if you please." "oh, no!" cried mr. pertell. "i can't allow it. we'll substitute some other scene." "no," insisted alice. "i'm not afraid, really, and i think the picture will be a most effective one. besides, it is almost finished. we can go on from the point where the horses started to run; can't we?" she asked russ. "oh, yes," he agreed, with a look at the manager, "but----" "then i'm going to do it!" laughed alice, gaily. "i'm not going to back out just because the horses got a little frisky. they will be quiet now; won't they, sandy?" she asked. "i think so, miss--yes. that run took all the tucker out of 'em. they'll be quiet now," and he rather backed away from alice, as though he feared she might, any moment, put into execution her threat to faint. "alice, i'm not sure you ought to go on with this," spoke ruth in a low voice. "papa might not like it." "he wouldn't like me to begin a thing and not finish it," was the younger girl's answer. "i'm not afraid, and i do hate to spoil a film. come, we'll try it over again," and she pluckily insisted on it until, finally, mr. pertell gave in. the horses were driven back to the place from which they had bolted and alice again took her place on the seat of the mowing machine, while russ worked the camera. this time everything went well, but sandy apgar was near at hand, though out of sight of the camera, to be ready to jump on the instant, if the horses showed any signs of fright. paul ardite, too, was on the watch, ruth noticed. however, there was no need of these precautions. the horses acted as though they had never had any idea of bolting, and the film was finished. mr. devere looked grave when told of the accident, and after a moment or two of thought remarked: "i wonder if i had better let you girls keep on with this moving picture work? it is much more dangerous than i supposed. i am worried about you." "you needn't be, daddy dear!" exclaimed alice, slipping her arm about his neck. "nothing has happened yet, and i'll be real careful. i should be heartbroken if we had to give it up now. i just love the work; don't you, ruth?" "indeed i do; but twice lately, danger has come to you." "well, i'll have one more near-accident and then the 'hoodoo' will be broken, as mr. sneed would say. three times and out, you know the old saying has it." "oh, alice!" cried ruth. "do be sensible!" "can't, dear! i leave that to you. but, daddy, you mustn't think of taking us out of moving pictures. why, some of the best and most important of all the farm dramas are to come yet. there's the one with the burning barn--i wouldn't miss that for anything! please, daddy, let us stay. you want to; don't you, ruth?" "oh, yes, of course. only there seems to be so many dangers about a farm. i used to think a country life was calm and peaceful, but things happen here just as in a city." "indeed they do," laughed alice, "only such different things. it's quite exciting, i think. mayn't we stay, daddy?" "oh, i suppose so," he consented, rather grudgingly. "but take no more chances." "oh, i didn't take the chances," laughed alice. "the chances took me." during the next few days several farm scenes were filmed by russ, and a number of partly finished plays were completed, the reels being sent to new york for development. word came back that everything was a success, only a few minor errors being made, and these were easily corrected. a few scenes had to be done over. "but i'm glad it wasn't the one with the hose," said mr. bunn, with a sigh. "really i'd never go through that again." "ha! i vould like dot--if i vos on der right side of der hose!" exclaimed mr. switzer. the day had been a busy one, filled with hard work for all before the moving picture camera. when evening came the players were glad of the chance to rest. "let's walk down the road," suggested alice to ruth. "it is so pretty and restful on the little white bridge, just before you come to the red schoolhouse." they walked down, arm in arm, talking of many things, and soon were standing on the white bridge that spanned a little stream, which flowed between green banks, fragrant with mint. here and there were patches of green rushes and beds of the spicy water cress. "oh, it's just lovely here!" sighed ruth. "it is too beautiful. i wish we could share it with some one." "here comes someone now, to share it with--a man," spoke alice, motioning down the road, which was shaded with many trees, through which the moon was now shining, making patches of light and shadow. "perhaps it is some of our friends," murmured ruth. "i believe russ and paul started out for a walk before we did." "that's not two persons; it's only one," declared alice as she continued to look at the advancing figure. "and see, ruth, he--he limps!" she caught her sister's arm as she spoke, and the two girls drew closer together. the same thought came to both. was this the man who had run out of the barn? "i believe it's the same one," whispered ruth. "and i'm perfectly positive," answered alice. "oh, ruth, now is our chance!" "chance! chance for what?" "i mean we can find out who he is, and perhaps solve the mystery." "alice devere! we're going to do no such thing! we're going to run back home--that man is coming straight toward us!" cried ruth, and she began to drag alice away from the bridge. meanwhile the limping figure continued to come along the road, going alternately from bright moonlight to shadow as he passed clumps of trees. chapter xiii on guard perhaps alice really intended to do as she had intimated, and seek to learn, through a direct question, the identity of the mysterious man who seemed to have some object in remaining about oak farm. then, again, she may not. i believe it may not have been altogether clear in her own mind. at any rate, once ruth began to show the white feather, and to insist that alice come away--then, if ever, the younger girl made up her mind that she would do as she had said--really interview the stranger--for, be it known, alice was rather headstrong when opposed. but she had no chance to carry out her resolution, for the simple reason that the man himself acted to prevent it. "come, alice! please come!" pleaded ruth, almost in a frenzy of fear. and then the man, catching sight of the girls, who were in bold relief in the gleam of the moonlight, on the white bridge, and hearing their voices, stood still for a moment in a light patch. then he turned and went rapidly down the road, limping as he hurried along. so alice had no chance to do as she had said she would. "there he goes!" she exclaimed. "so i see," responded ruth with a sigh of relief. "oh, i'm so glad!" "i'm not!" declared alice, and she really thought she meant it. perhaps she did. "oh, alice!" exclaimed ruth. "suppose he had kept on?" "just what i wanted him to do. there's nothing very harmful in one man, particularly as there are two of us, and we are so near the house, and on a public road. oh, it was the best chance we've yet had of finding out who he is, and what he wants around here. and he had to go and--spoil it!" alice acted as though really grieved. "we had better go back and tell sandy or his father," suggested ruth. "they may want to chase him." "not much chance of catching him," replied alice, ruefully. "see him go, even if he is lame." the man was really making rapid progress down the road in spite of his halting gait. "but come on," alice resumed, "we'll tell the men, and they can do as they like." the two sisters hurried back to the farmhouse, and the message they delivered caused some excitement. for all were more or less interested in the mysterious man. sandy, russ and paul at once hurried out, and went in the direction where alice and ruth had last seen the man. the girls, including miss pennington and miss dixon, also went out to see what success should attend the efforts of the young men. but it was the same as before--there was no sign of the man. this was not strange, though, considering that he might have slipped off at either side of the road, and gone into hiding in the fields, or in a patch of woodland nearby. "guess we'll have to give it up," said russ, as he and the others turned back. "i'd like to find out who he is, though." "do you suppose he could be one of those men who tried to get your patent?" asked alice. "i mean, he might be disguised." "i hardly think so," was the answer of the young moving picture operator. "besides, my patent is fully protected now. they couldn't make anything out of that." "then he must be after something on the farm," suggested paul, who was walking beside alice. "there ain't nothin' valuable lyin' aroun' here loose," said sandy, with a short laugh. "i only wish there was. i'd get it myself an' pay off th' mortgage. more likely that fellow is after some of your movin' pictures. aren't those reels, as you call 'em, valuable?" "that's so!" exclaimed paul. "i never thought of that. maybe he is after some of our films, russ! we'd better speak to mr. pertell about it." "perhaps we had. there are some moving picture men mean enough to try to take the ideas of other folks, and they might not be above taking the reels of exposed films, too. we've got some good ones on hand." mr. pertell was a little skeptical about the matter when it was mentioned to him, but he agreed that there was something in the idea, after all, and that it was rather odd for the mysterious man to remain so long in the vicinity of oak farm, without disclosing his errand. "he's a stranger--that's sure," said mr. apgar, sandy's father. "he's a stranger here, for none of th' farmers in these parts know him. i've heard one or two mention seein' a lame feller going about, as if he had plenty of spare time. it must be this man. but, as sandy says, we ain't got nothin' he can git. it all belongs t' squire blasdell," he added with a rueful laugh. "or it will after th' mortgage is foreclosed," he finished with a sigh. the old man looked over at his wife, who was seated in a rocking chair, mending stockings. she was a good sewer, and members of the theatrical troupe had her do work for them, thus enabling her to earn a little money, for which she was very grateful. the plight of the old people was really pitiful, with the dark shadow of losing their home ever looming nearer. sandy tried to be cheerful, and several times said that perhaps at the last minute a way might be found to save the farm. but he was not very hopeful. he worked hard--doubly hard, since his father was able to do very little. this made it necessary to hire help, and that left so much less profit on the gathered crops. "perhaps it wouldn't be a bad idea to keep watch to-night," suggested mr. devere, when the matter of the mysterious man was being discussed. "that fellow may have designs on some of your farm buildings, mr. apgar." "that's so, he might," agreed the farmer. "barns has been sot afire afore this." "don't talk that way, father, you'll scare the young folks," chided his wife gently, as she looked at ruth and smiled reassuringly. "that'll never happen," she added, for, at the mention of the word "fire," ruth had glanced nervously at the door, as though the limping man stood on the other side of it. "i'll keep an eye open to-night," said sandy. "if that fellow comes around i'll be ready for him." "i'll help you," volunteered russ, and paul, too, said he would help in standing guard. it was arranged that the three men should take turns in keeping watch, and, during the night, patrol the barns and other buildings occasionally, to watch for any signs of the stranger. at first the girls, and even mrs. maguire, were a bit nervous, and this made little tommy and nellie, the latter's grandchildren, somewhat timid. then mr. pertell suggested that they all consider their parts in a new drama that was to be started next day, as that would take their minds off the scare. save for the occasional barking of a dog, who bayed at the moon, and the lowing of the cattle, there was scarcely a sound, except those of the night insects. the night passed quietly, and there was no sign of the mysterious man. "i guess you girls scared him away for good," remarked paul, at the breakfast table. "i hope so," murmured alice. "i had one look at his face, and if ever i saw a hard and cruel one i saw it then." work and rehearsals of the new play occupied all for the next two days. several new things in the way of properties were needed, and this kept pop snooks busy. one of the things he had to provide was a rickety two-wheeled cart, that was to be hitched to a donkey, one of the farm animals. "who's going to ride in that cart?" asked mr. bunn, as he strode about the place with the new silk hat which, true to promise, mr. pertell had purchased to replace the water-soaked one. "i think i'll cast ruth devere to ride in the cart," said the manager. "someone will have to ride the mule, though, and as i want a tall man for that act i think i'll take you, mr. bunn. you will black up as a colored man, and----" "stop! stop where you are!" cried the shakespearean actor, in stentorian tones. "i shall do nothing of the sort. you may consider that i have resigned!" chapter xiv an upset perhaps wellington bunn was disappointed that mr. pertell did not at once beg him to reconsider his resignation, and to stay his parting steps, for the actor had turned aside after issuing his defiance, and started toward the house, as though to carry out his threat, pack up and go back to new york. but the manager did not call after mr. bunn to stay. all he said was: "very well, mr. bunn, if you resign now, without the two weeks' notice called for in your contract, you need not expect another engagement with me, nor with any of the moving picture associations with which i am connected. i am not asking you to do anything very difficult." "but to ride a mule! great scott! i can't do that, my dear sir!" "you told me you could ride." "yes, a horse, perhaps; but not a mule. why, a mule kicks!" "oh, i don't believe this one will kick," replied the manager. "anyhow, i want you to ride him. there is to be a comic part to this play, and i look to you to provide it. you will blacken your face and----" "black up and take the part of a colored man--me, wellington bunn--who has played the classic shakespeare--do blackface? never!" "you forget that shakespeare's othello was a colored man, i guess," laughed mr. pertell, "and you told me you had played that character." "so i have, but othello was a moor--not a common black-faced comedian. he was brown, rather than black." "well, we'll go a few shades darker, and be real black, in your case," suggested mr. pertell. "and you'll have to ride the mule. it is necessary to make the scene a success." wellington bunn sighed, as he answered: "very well. but when this engagement is over no more moving pictures for me! i am through with them!" "we'll see," replied the manager, as he went on with his preparations for the new play. nearly the whole company were to take part in this, and tommy and nellie had parts that pleased them very much. "i'm to drive a little goat cart!" exclaimed the small lad, "and you're to ride with me, nellie." "oh, that will be fun!" she cried, clapping her hands. "but your goat won't bite; will he?" "i won't let him bite you, anyhow," promised tommy, kindly. although mr. bunn had tacitly agreed to ride the mule, he had many misgivings on the subject, and several times he might have been seen standing near the animal, carefully studying it, as though it were a piece of complicated machinery that had to be mastered in detail. "is it a--er--a gentle beast?" the actor asked of sandy. "allers has been," replied the young farmer. "'hee-haw,' as we call him, ain't never done no harm to speak of." "he may begin on you," predicted pepper sneed, gloomily. "i wish you wouldn't say such things!" exclaimed the other actor, testily. "you are always looking for trouble." "well, you'll get some without looking for it, if you ride that mule," declared the "grouch," as he walked off. "yes, and if anything happens, i suppose you'll say 'i told you so!'" remarked mr. bunn, with a gloomy countenance. preparations for the play went on, and rehearsals were in order. without blacking his face, which could be done when the play was actually filmed, mr. bunn gingerly rode the mule. he made as much of a success of it as was possible. and certainly hee-haw showed no signs of obstreperousness. ruth rode in the curious old cart, which pop snooks had made from material found about the farm. she was to represent a country maid of a generation past--and very pretty she looked, too, in her wide skirts and poke bonnet, covered with roses. quite in contrast to the long and lanky figure mr. bunn, who in a nondescript suit, rode the mule that drew the cart, after the fashion of an english postillion. the play was a comic one without much rhyme or reason, but it was found that audiences occasionally liked things of that sort, so the films were made. the day for the humorous film had arrived, and all went well until the scene came with the mule. even the first part of that was successfully taken, though mr. bunn kept muttering to himself over the fact that he had to blacken his face. but he rode the beast, which certainly did nothing out of the ordinary, though mr. sneed, with his usual gloomy forebodings, confided to pop that the beast had a wicked look in his eyes. ruth had ridden in the cart along the country road and had alighted from the vehicle, her part being over. then, just as mr. bunn was about to get off the mule's back a bee, or some other insect, stung the animal. with a "hee-haw!" worthy of his name the mule lashed out with his hind feet and, in an instant, the frail cart that pop snooks had constructed was kicked to bits. it was lucky that ruth was out of it. as for wellington bunn, he fell forward on the mule's back when the animal kicked out, and there, holding on tightly, the actor clung, while the beast dashed off down the road, dragging behind him the shafts and a small part of the cart. "there he goes! i knew something would happen to him!" cried mr. sneed. "to-day is friday!" "oh, he'll be hurt--maybe killed!" cried ruth, for, in spite of his rather too-tragic airs, mr. bunn was liked by all. "i guess he won't get hurt much!" exclaimed sandy. "hee-haw never runs far, an' he never did such a thing before." however, all the men ran down the road to see the outcome of the happening to mr. bunn, and to lend help, if necessary. on ran the mule, seemingly not slackening speed, and to his neck, so that he should not fall off, clung the actor. his long legs flapped up and down, and swayed from side to side, while his cries of wild distress floated back to his friends. "stop him! don't let him run! grab him, somebody!" pleaded mr. bunn. but there was no one who could stop the animal. however, the ride was not destined to be a long one. the mule ran along the highway, leaped a roadside ditch, and then stopped short in front of a grassy bank. so sudden was the halt that mr. bunn shot over the animal's head, his hold around the neck being broken, and he was thus neatly upset, coming down amid the luxurious growth of grass. he sat there dazed for a moment, his face being now curiously streaked, for some of the powdered carbon had rubbed off on the mule's neck. as for hee-haw, he began quietly cropping the grass, as if he had done his part of the entertainment. "oh, if i had only been able to get that on the film!" cried russ, as he and the others ran up. "maybe we can get him to do it over again, mr. pertell." "what--do that again! never! i resign here and now!" exclaimed the actor. "i am through with the moving picture business forever!" but as he had often said that before, and as he was in the habit of resigning at least once every day, no one took him seriously. "are you hurt, my dear sir?" asked the manager, solicitously, as he reached mr. bunn's side. "if i am not, it is not due to you," was the retort. "but i believe i have escaped with my life." he arose gingerly, and discovered that he had not even a scratch. the soft grass had saved him from everything but a jolt. "i never knew hee-haw to act so before," said sandy, as he came up and took charge of the mule. "well, he'll never get the chance to act so with me again," declared mr. bunn, with great decision. "now, as soon as i get this detestable black from my face, i am going to new york. i am through with moving pictures." mr. pertell did not attempt to argue with the actor, well knowing that the threat would not be carried out. nor was it. a little later, when clothed in his accustomed garb, with his tall hat, which he seldom omitted from his costume, mr. bunn walked out, studying a new part that he was to take in the next play. but for several days after that, if anyone said "mule" to him, or even imitated the braying of that beast, mr. bunn scowled fiercely and strode off. in one of the scenes mr. pertell needed a number of farm hands to pose in the background, representing a scene in a wheat field, that was being mowed with the old fashioned scythes. sandy undertook to get the characters, and a number of rather shy and awkward young men presented themselves at oak farm one morning. "now we'll try this," said the manager, when all was in readiness. "you young farmers are supposed to be working in the wheat field. just act naturally--as if you were working. don't pay any attention to the camera. talk among yourselves, and swing your scythes. my actors will do the main work in front of you. but i want a truly artistic background for the film. "now, mr. sneed, you and miss pennington are the main characters in this scene. you, mr. sneed, are supposed to be one of the reapers, and miss pennington comes out to bring the workers a jug of lemonade. she also has a letter for you to read. you lean on your scythe as you read it--you know, a nice, graceful pose." "i know," answered the actor. "and you, miss pennington, you are supposed to be in love with one of the young farmers." "me! me!" cried several of the lads sandy had engaged. "now, not all at once, please!" begged mr. pertell, with a smile. "i appreciate your interest in miss pennington, but this must be worked out according to the scenario." he went on to explain how he wanted the action carried out, and russ was ready with the camera. "attention!" called the manager, as he stepped back to get a general view of the scene. "that will do, i think," he added. "go!" he cried, and the action of the play was on, russ clicking away at the camera. first the reapers were shown, swaying as they walked along, each one cutting his "swath," or path, through the standing grain. mr. sneed was one of these. then the view changed, so as to show miss pennington, dressed as a country lass, coming along with a jug on her shoulder, and a letter in her hand. she reached the scene of the mowing, and there was a little "business," or acting, as she handed over the letter. some of the farmers drank from the jug, and all of them had hard work to keep their eyes from the camera. "not that way! not that way!" cried the manager, as one young reaper took a position directly in front of the clicking machine and stared straight into the lens. "you're not posing in a beauty contest. go on with your reaping, if you please, young man!" "i can cut a foot or so out," said russ. "that won't spoil the film." "now then, mr. sneed, lean your arm on the scythe, and read your letter," directed the manager. "miss pennington, you stand off a little to one side, and talk to one of the reapers. the rest of you swing your scythes." the action went on, and mr. sneed, taking as graceful an attitude as was consistent with his character, began to read the missive, which would be photographed, much enlarged, later, and thrown on the screen for the audience to read. made nervous by something to which they were unaccustomed, the farmer-actors were perhaps a little self-conscious. one of them, swinging his scythe, came too near mr. sneed. in an instant he had knocked from under the actor's arm the crooked scythe handle on which mr. sneed was leaning, and the next instant the "grouch" went down in a heap, fortunately falling in such a way that he was not cut by the sharp blade. chapter xv the lonely cabin "stop the reel! hold that, russ! everyone keep position! we don't want that spoiled!" cried mr. pertell, when he had seen, at a glance, that mr. sneed was not hurt. "hold your positions, everybody!" this is an order frequently given during the taking of moving pictures, when any accident happens. often the film will break, while the exposures are being made, and if the actors keep to the places and positions they had when the break occurred, the film can be threaded up again, and mended. then, later, undesireable parts can be cut out of the exposed part, so that no great harm is done. for a moment the little accident rather upset the crowd of farm lads, who were not used to such happenings. but the moving picture actors themselves were not unduly alarmed. russ had stopped operating his camera. "you're not hurt; are you, mr. sneed?" asked the manager. "hurt--no! but i might have been! i was sure something would happen to-day, for i saw a black cat as i got up. well, it's lucky it's no worse. but i wish you'd make those fellows with their big cutters keep farther back, mr. pertell. they might slice my legs off. i know some serious accident will happen before the day is over." "oh, cheer up!" laughed russ. the actor arose, mr. pertell cautioned the young farmers about coming too close with their keen, swinging scythes, and the moving picture play went on. ruth and alice devere had parts in the little drama, but they were to enact them with a different background, and when russ finished filming the scenes in the wheat field he went back to the farmhouse to get other pictures. there appeared to be something unusual going on, for out in the road stood two carriages, and on the porch could be seen mr. and mrs. apgar, and sandy, with two men. the moving picture actors and actresses who had not gone to the field were also there. "i wonder what is going on?" said mr. pertell. "something has happened!" exclaimed mr. sneed. "i knew it would--i told you so!" hurrying to the porch where the group was, mr. pertell heard one of the strangers saying: "well, we've got to do it whether you like it or not, mr. apgar. squire blasdell wants the money on that mortgage, and the only way he can get it is to foreclose. so i've got to post the notices of the sale." "to think that i should live to see this day!" sighed mr. apgar. "my farm to be sold under foreclosure!" "it is hard, pa, dreadful hard," said mrs. apgar. "but we are honest. we'd pay if we could." "if only i could find uncle isaac's money," sighed sandy. "couldn't you give us a little more time, sheriff hasell?" "no, i'm sorry; but i can't," replied the official. "you see this isn't actually selling the farm. we're only going to post notices that it will be sold. that has to be done, according to the law here. it'll be some time though, before the farm is auctioned off to the highest bidder." "and we can stay here until then; can't we?" asked sandy. "oh, yes, sure, and for a little while after. you see these things take time," the sheriff returned. "it's too bad--i'm sorry, but me and my deputy has to do our duty." "go ahead, then," said sandy, and there were tears in his eyes. "we won't stop you, but it's hard--it's terrible hard--to lose the place we worked so long for, an' all because of some mistake. uncle isaac would want us to have that money paw lent him, but he died afore he could tell where he hid it." the sheriff and his man then went about the farm, posting several notices of the sale on the different buildings. this gave russ an idea, and he suggested it to mr. pertell. "why not make a film of this," said the young operator. "old couple--going to be turned off their farm--foreclosure of mortgage--posting the notices--the cruel creditor--the sheriff and all that. we could make up a good play." "so we could!" cried the manager. "a good idea, and i'll pay mr. and mrs. apgar for posing for us. it'll give 'em a little extra money." at first the aged couple would not hear of posing before the camera, but sandy explained matters to them, and told them they could easily do it. mr. pertell promised to pay well, and this finally won them over. the sheriff and his deputy good-naturedly agreed to do their tacking up of the notices in front of the camera, and so an unexpected film was obtained. it is often that way in making moving pictures. the least germ of an idea often leads to a good play. the other scenes in "the loss of the farm," as the play was to be called, would be made later. for the present it was necessary to go on with the scenes of the drama, part of which had been laid in the wheat field. russ put some fresh film in his camera and was ready for ruth and alice, who had some pretty little scenes together. the day was hot, the work was exacting, and when it was over everyone was ready to rest. russ was perhaps busier than any, for he had to prepare the films to be sent in light-tight boxes to new york for development, arrangement, and printing. "let's go off to the woods," suggested alice to her sister, when they had changed their costumes for walking dresses of cool brown, with white waists. "i declare i just want to get under a tree and lie down on the soft green moss." "so do i, dear. we'll go up to that little dell which is so pretty--the one where we got the lovely flowers. it is so restful there." together the sisters set off, walking slowly, for the air was sultry. "don't you want to come, daddy?" called ruth to her father, who was sitting on the farmhouse porch. "no, thank you," he answered. "i have some letters to write." his voice had grown somewhat stronger under the influence of the pure, country air, and from the fact that he used it very little. but still it was not clear enough to enable him to go back into legitimate theatrical work. and, truth to tell, he rather preferred the moving pictures now. it was easier, even if there was no audience to applaud him. ruth and alice soon reached the edge of the cool woods, and then they strolled slowly along until they came to a little dell--a nook they had discovered one day when out walking. "oh, this is delightful!" exclaimed alice, as she sank down on a bed of moss. "yes, it is very soothing to the nerves," agreed ruth. "oh, dear!" she suddenly cried, leaping to her feet. "what is it?" demanded alice. "a bug walked right over my shoe!" "oh, mercy me!" mocked her sister. "are you so scared that even a bug can't look at you, sister mine? why, it's only a lady-bug--very proper to have on one's shoes, i'm sure," she added, as she saw the harmless insect. "i don't care! i just hate bugs!" cried ruth. "i wish i had a rug to sit on." "oh, you were never meant for the country!" laughed alice. "come, sit down, i'll keep the bugs away from you," and she pulled a big fern, which she used as a fan. the sisters sat and talked of many things, speculating on the identity of the mysterious man and wondering if the apgars would ever discover uncle isaac's missing money and so save the farm. the day was drawing to a close, and the girls felt that they must soon return to the farmhouse. "hark! what's that?" asked alice, suddenly, after a period of silence. a distant rumble came to their ears. "wagon going over a bridge, i should say," replied ruth. "more like thunder," alice went on. "it _is_ thunder," she said a moment later, as a sharp clap reverberated through the still air. "come on, ruth, or we'll be caught." they scrambled up from the mossy bed, and hurried from the little glen. but the storm came on apace, and before they were half-way out of the woods there was a sudden flurry of wind, and then came a deluge of rain, ushered in by vivid lightning, and loud thunder. "oh, alice, we'll be drenched--and our new dresses!" cried ruth. "let's get under a tree," suggested the younger girl. "that will shelter us." "and get struck by lightning! i guess not!" protested ruth. "trees are always dangerous in a thunder storm." "but we must find shelter!" said alice, as they ran on. they came to a little clearing in the woods, and pausing at the edge saw a lonely cabin in the midst of it. "come on over there!" cried alice. "they'll take us in, whoever they are, until the shower is over." seizing ruth's hand she darted toward the cabin. then both girls saw a man open the door and stand in it--a man at the sight of whom they drew back in alarm. chapter xvi the man and the umbrella for a moment the man stood in the doorway of the cabin, staring at ruth and alice standing there in the drenching rain. they had recognized him at once as the man whom they had seen run out of the old barn--the limping man who had fled down the moonlit road when he espied them on the bridge. whether or not he knew the girls, they did not stop to consider. certainly they were dressed differently than on either of the occasions they had encountered him; but that might not obviate recognition. "come--come on back to the woods," whispered ruth. "we--we don't want to meet him, alice." "no, i suppose not," agreed alice, "and yet," and she seemed to shiver, "we ought not to stand out in this storm when shelter is so near, no matter who that man is." "oh, alice!" exclaimed ruth. "well, i mean it! i am soaked, and you are, too. besides, that lightning is awful--and the thunder! i can't stand it--come on. i'm sure he won't eat us!" but the girls were saved any anxiety by the action of the strange man. alice was trying to draw her sister toward the cabin, and ruth, torn between a desire to get under shelter, and fear of the man, was hardly able to decide, when the stranger darted back into the cabin, and came out with an umbrella. "oh, he's going to offer it to us!" exclaimed alice. "that is good of him." but, to her surprise, no less than that of ruth, the man called out: "come in, and welcome, young ladies. you may stay in this cabin as long as you like. the roof leaks in one place, but otherwise it is dry. i have to go away. come in!" and with that he put up the umbrella and hurried off, limping through the rain, but never once glancing back at the girls. for a moment alice and ruth did not know what to do or think. the action was certainly strange. and why had not the man come to meet them with the umbrella, while he was about it? there was some little distance to go, from the fringe of trees where the two girls stood, to the cabin, and this space was open; whereas, by keeping under the leafy boughs they were, in a measure, protected from the pelting rain. "what shall we do, ruth?" asked alice. she wanted to defer to the older judgment of her sister. but ruth answered: "i don't know, dear. what had we better do? i'm afraid----" "and so am i afraid--but i'm more afraid of this thunder and lightning, to say nothing of the rain, than i am of what may be in that cabin, now that the man has so kindly left it to us. i'm going in there, ruth, and stay until the storm is over." with that, picking up her skirts, alice sped across the open space, leaving ruth to do as she pleased. and, naturally, ruth would not stay there to be drenched alone. "wait for me, alice--wait!" she pleaded. but there was no need for alice to delay, since she would only get the wetter, and ruth was in no danger. "come along," called alice over her shoulder, and ruth came. the sisters reached the cabin just as a brilliant flash of lightning, with almost simultaneous thunder, seemed to open the clouds, and the rain came down in a veritable flood. "just in time!" cried alice. "we would have been drowned if we had stayed out there. that man has some good qualities about him, at any rate. he was nice enough to give us the use of this place." "and maybe we're wronging him," panted ruth, out of breath after her little run, and her hair all awry. "he may be all right, and it is foolish to suspect him of something we know nothing about." "perhaps," admitted alice. "but there is a look in his face i do not like. i can't explain why, but he looks, somehow--oh, i can't explain it, but he looks as if he had been in prison--or some place like that." "what a strange idea," responded ruth. "i can't say i think that of him, but i agree with you that there is something repulsive about him. and that seems a mean thing to say, after he has given us the use of the cabin." "how do we know it was his?" asked alice. "it doesn't appear to me to belong to anybody. certainly it isn't very sumptuously furnished!" and she looked about the place in considerable curiosity. it was devoid of anything in the way of furniture, and only a few rough boxes were scattered about. on a stone hearth were the gray and blackened embers of a fire, and in one corner was a broken chair. "it seems to have been deserted a long time," said alice. "i guess that man was passing and took shelter in here, just as we intended to. but there's another room. we may as well inspect that, and there's another upstairs. that may be a little better. we'll look, ruth." "we'll do nothing of the kind!" exclaimed ruth. "we'll just stay right by the door where we can run, in case--in case anything happens," she finished, rather falteringly. "silly!" exclaimed alice. "there is no one in this place." "but that man might come back." "not likely. besides, don't you know that it's the worst thing in the world to stand in an open doorway, before a fireplace or in a draft of any kind when there's lightning. lightning is always attracted by a draft, or a chimney, or something like that." "oh, why do you always think of such nervous, scary things?" cried ruth. "because they're true," answered alice. "and i want to get you into the other room. we might find out something. and if you won't come upstairs, i'll go alone." "and leave me down here? i'll not stay!" "then come along. we'll investigate. we may find a clue, as they say in books." alice drew back from the open door, and started for the inner room. ruth stood for a moment, uncertain what to do. she looked across the glade, but the strange man was not in sight. he and his umbrella had disappeared into the depths of the woods. just then there came another vivid flash of lightning, and such a startling clap of thunder that ruth, with a little scream, darted back, and, springing across the room, clutched alice by the arm. "oh, i'm so frightened!" she gasped. "we'll be all right now--in the back room," soothed the younger girl. "oh, look! i believe that man does live here after all!" for the room was furnished with some chairs, a table, and in one corner was a cot bed, with the clothes tossed aside as if someone had lately been sleeping there. there was a small stove in the room, and pots, pans and dishes scattered about, as if meals had been recently cooked. a cupboard gave hint of things to eat. all this the girls took in by means of the rapid flashes of lightning, for it was growing too dark to see well inside the cabin, which was of logs, and with only small windows. "yes, he must live here," agreed ruth. "oh, i hope he doesn't come back before the storm is over, so we can get away. you'll not go upstairs now; will you, alice, dear?" ruth looked pleadingly at her sister. "no, i guess not," was the answer. "we couldn't see much, anyhow. and if that man really lives here it wouldn't be exactly polite to go about his place without a better invitation than we have. he spoke truly when he called this his cabin." "unless he just found it empty and took the use of it without asking the owner," suggested ruth. "i wish we knew more about him." "so do i," agreed alice. "i wonder if he really had to go away in the storm, or whether he knew we would not come in the cabin while he was here, and so made an excuse to leave it to us alone?" "if he did that it certainly was very kind of him," said ruth. "perhaps he is bashful and shy," observed alice. "he ran before, when he saw us on the bridge, and now he runs away and leaves us his house--such as it is. clearly there is some mystery about him. oh, listen to the rain!" indeed the storm was at its height now, and the girls were glad of the shelter of the cabin. as the man had said, there was a leak somewhere in the roof, and they could hear the steady drip, drip of water falling. but they did not see it, and the cabin seemed quite dry. it was a shelter from the wind, too, which was now blowing fiercely, bending the trees before the might of its blast. but, like all summer showers, this was not destined to last long. its fury kept up a little longer, and then began to die away. gradually the lightning grew less vivid, and the flashes were farther apart. the thunder rumbled less heavily and the rain slackened. the girls went to the entrance room and gazed out. "we can start soon," spoke ruth. "it may sound a selfish thing to say, but i wish that man had left us his umbrella. we'll get quite wet going home, for the water will drip from the trees for some time." "perhaps he'll come back and offer us the use of it," suggested alice. "don't you dare say such a thing!" exclaimed her sister. "oh, i wish we were home! i'm afraid daddy will worry." "i wish there was a fire in that stove," spoke alice, musingly. "i'd make some coffee, if i could find any. i'm quite chilly. we are wet through, and can't be made much worse by not having a umbrella. i'm going to look and see if i can find some coffee." "alice, don't!" objected ruth, but her sister was already in the rear room, and, not wanting to be left alone, ruth followed. but, before either of the girls had time to look about and see if it were possible to kindle a blaze in the old stove, they heard a noise in the room they had just left. it was the patter, as of bare feet, on the wooden floor. startled, the two gazed at one another. then they clasped their arms about each other's waists. "did--did you hear that?" whispered ruth. alice nodded, and looked over her sister's shoulder toward the door between the two rooms. meanwhile the pattering footfalls in the other apartment continued. they seemed to be coming nearer, and there was a panting, as though someone had run far, and was breathing hard. chapter xvii in the woods "what--what can it be?" faltered ruth, as she clung to her sister. "i--i don't know," answered alice, and her voice was far from steady. "i wish we hadn't come in here." "so do i!" ruth confessed. nearer and nearer came the footfalls. now the girls were able to distinguish that they were made by some four-footed beast, and not by a human being, for the sound came in a peculiar rhythm that was unmistakable. also there could be heard a panting, sniffing sound, that could only be made by some beast. "oh, if it's a _bear_!" gasped ruth. "silly!" chided alice. she was less nervous now, for she realized, with ruth's remark, that there were no savage beasts in that part of the country. "maybe it's only a cat," alice suggested, after a moment. "it's too big and heavy for a cat," objected ruth. "oh, there it is!" she suddenly cried, pointing to the doorway between the two rooms, and, looking, alice saw a tawny animal standing looking at them in the fast falling darkness. "it's only a dog!" cried alice, in joyous relief. "a fine dog! come here, sir!" she called, for alice could make friends with almost any animal. but this dog, though he barked in a friendly fashion, and wagged his tail as a flag of truce, would not come nearer. he sniffed in the direction of the girls and then, with another bark, turned and ran out toward the entrance door. "come on!" called alice. "it has stopped raining, ruth, and maybe that dog will follow us home. he'll be fine protection!" ruth was not at all averse to having some sort of guardian on the walk through the lonely woods, but when she and alice reached the outer room the dog, with a last look back, and a farewell bark, trotted off across the glade in the direction taken by the strange man with the umbrella. "he's gone!" exclaimed alice, in disappointment. "come back!" she invited. "come back, sir!" and she whistled in boyish fashion. but the dog was not to be enticed, and was soon lost in the woods. "maybe he belonged to that man," suggested ruth, "and came here looking for him. what sort of a dog was it, alice?" "a collie. the same kind mrs. delamont lost in the train wreck, you know." "oh, maybe it was her prize animal, alice!" "how could it be? he was lost a good way from here. but it looked to be a fine dog. shall we go home, now?" "yes," agreed ruth. "we can't get much wetter, and i don't want to stay here any longer. i know daddy will be worried about us." with a last look about the cabin, wondering what could be the business of the man who stayed there, the girls started off. but they had not taken three steps before they saw, coming toward them from the other side of the clearing, two figures. "oh!" cried ruth, drawing back. "there comes that man, and he's got someone with him." alice, too, was startled and a little bit afraid, but a moment later there came a cheerful hail. "oh, it's russ and paul!" alice cried. "they have come for us!" "thank goodness!" exclaimed ruth, and a few seconds later the four young people were together, making mutual explanations. mr. devere had indeed become worried about his daughters, when the storm arose, and, as they had left word whither they were going, russ and paul volunteered to go after them, taking raincoats and umbrellas. "and here we are!" exclaimed russ, as he helped ruth on with her garment. "and we were never so glad to see anyone in all our lives; were we?" went on alice, who, in spite of her brave nature, had been considerably unnerved by the events of the last few minutes. the young men were much surprised when told about the strange man and the dog, and they at once wanted to make an inspection of the cabin. "who knows what we might find!" exclaimed russ. "wait until later, then," suggested ruth. "please take us home now." russ and paul had no choice, after that, but to take the girls back to oak farm. the rain was over, but the trees still dripped with moisture and the raincoats and umbrellas were very useful. paul walked with alice, while russ kept pace at the side of ruth. and as the four walked together they talked of the recent happenings, speculating as to the meaning of them all. back in the comfortable farmhouse, clothed in dry garments, ruth and alice were inclined to laugh at their scare, which, at the time, had seemed very real. "i think that man was real kind," said mrs. apgar, as she heard the story. "to leave his cabin that way." "he was, unless he had some object in view," said sandy. "i'd like to know what his game is. he's got some object hangin' around here, and i'm goin' to find out what it is." "was that his cabin?" asked ruth. "no, that's an old shack that really belongs on this place," explained mr. apgar, "but there's a dispute as to the title, so no one really knows who owns it. 'tain't much 'count, anyhow. but you say he was livin' in it?" "he had it partly furnished, at any rate," said alice. "it could be fixed up and made into a lovely little bungalow." "well, you folks kin do that if you like," offered sandy. "i kin have it fixed so that fellow won't stay there. he's got no rights: only a squatter." "i think we'd feel safer here," returned ruth, with a smile. "that man might come back unexpectedly." "i think i'll go up there to-morrow and have a look around," suggested russ. "i'd like to see more of that cabin by daylight." "and i'll go with you," offered sandy. "i'm gittin' real interested in this chap." but when they went up early next morning they found the place deserted, and no signs of the strange man. there was evidence that he had packed up some of his things, for the bed clothing was gone, with some of the cooking utensils the girls had seen in the kitchen. "he's stolen a march on us," declared paul, grimly. "probably took fright because the girls located his hiding place," said russ. "and i reckon he is in hidin' for some reason or other," remarked sandy. "i wish i could have him arrested!" "what for?" russ wanted to know. "i'm afraid you'd have hard work to make a charge that would hold. so far he hasn't done anything that we know of." "he could be held as a trespasser," spoke paul. "he was in the apgar barn; wasn't he?" "yes, i suppose so." "that fellow's up to more than jest trespassin'," declared sandy. "he's got some motive, and i'm goin' to find out what it is." but for the present this was out of the question. the man was gone, and none at oak farm knew his whereabouts. the only thing they could do was to wait until he showed himself again. "but having a dog was a new one," said russ. "that is, if it was his the girls saw." but even on this point they could not be sure. they returned to the house, for russ had to make several films that day. several acts of one of the plays were to take place in the woods, and russ had found a spot, not far from the lonely cabin, where there was the proper background of trees and hills. thither the company went that afternoon, and after a little rehearsal, mr. pertell gave the word for the real action of the drama to begin. miss pennington and miss dixon were in this, as were ruth and alice. there was to be a picnic scene, with a campfire at which a meal was to be cooked, and real food had been prepared for the act. "all ready!" called the manager, when he had looked over the little company, and seen that they were all in their proper positions. "go ahead, russ!" for a time all went well, and then came a scream from miss dixon, who jumped up with such suddenness that she upset a pitcher of lemonade over mr. switzer. "cut that out, russ!" called the manager, sharply. "we seem to be having all sorts of accidents of late." "oh, i'm so sorry!" apologized the actress. "but i--i saw a bug!" "you usually do in der voods, my dear young lady!" said mr. switzer, as he sopped up the lemonade from his trousers with his handkerchief. "und, if it iss all der same mit you, i vould like to have my oder lemonade on der insides of me und not on der outsides, ef you pliss!" it took some little time to get matters straightened out, so that the making of the film could proceed. several scenes were successfully made, and they were ready for the final one, when this time miss pennington screamed. "another bug?" asked mr. pertell, and he was a bit sarcastic over it, for several little things had bothered him that day. "no, it's a snake! a snake! see, he's coming right for me!" and deserting the scene miss pennington made for a broad stump, upon which she jumped, screaming. "snake! call that a snake!" cried russ, as he picked up a rather large and squirming angleworm. "oh, put it down--the horrid thing!" begged miss dixon, who had joined her friend on the stump. "poor little thing!" laughed russ, as he tossed the worm into a clump of leaves. "go home and tell your folks you scared two brave young ladies!" "smarty!" exclaimed miss pennington, with a vindictive look at the moving picture operator, who had left his camera when the scene was broken up. once again matters were arranged and the taking of the film went on as before. but that was a day destined to be fraught with adventures of more or less moment. in one scene mr. sneed had to pose as a wood chopper, and, to make it more realistic he was to fell a small tree. this action on his part had cost him no little time and trouble, for he was not proficient in the use of the axe. for several days the actor had had sandy "coaching" him until he could do fairly well. "we'll try that tree-cutting scene now," said mr. pertell, after a bit. "get ready for that, russ. and, whatever you do, mr. sneed, don't have the tree fall on the camera. i don't want all the film spoiled." soon all was in readiness for the final act of the day. mr. sneed swung his axe with vigorous strokes and the keen weapon bit deep into the wood. alice and ruth, who were acting with him, went through their parts in the little play. at times mr. sneed would pause to go through some other "business," and then resume his chopping. "look out," warned sandy apgar, who was one of the characters in the act. "she'll fall in a minute." "yes, get from under," advised russ. "i'll get a good picture of the tree coming down." mr. sneed ran out of the way, as a cracking warned him that the tree was going to fall. it was not a large one, but it had very heavy and thick foliage. crash! down came the tree, and then followed a cry of alarm. "ach! i am killet! i am caught under der tree!" "great scott! another accident!" groaned mr. pertell. "this certainly is a hoodoo day!" and they all ran to where mr. switzer had been pinned. chapter xviii going to school fortunately for the german actor, he had been far enough away when the tree came down, so that only the top part of it, consisting of little branches and leaves, fell on him. in fact, he was not even knocked down by the impact, but stood up right in the midst of the foliage, his frightened blue eyes and rumpled light hair standing out from amid the maze of green in a curious fashion. "vot for you do dot to me?" demanded mr. switzer of the grouchy actor who had chopped the tree. "dot vos not in the act; vos it, mr. pertell?" "no, but as long as you're not hurt we'll leave it in. it will make a little variety. why didn't you get out of the way?" "nobody tolt me to. i t'ought herr sneed knowed vot he vos doin' by der tree yet! vhy shoult i get der vay oudt?" "well, i knew something would happen when i tried to chop a tree," grumbled the author of the mischief. "as long as it's nothing very bad we'll forgive you," went on the manager. "und i forgif him, too," spoke the german. "only he must now use his axe again und get me out of dis. i am helt fast yet!" this was true enough, for the branches, though not heavy enough to have caused any injury, were quite thick, and fairly hemmed mr. switzer in. "better let me lop off a few," suggested sandy, and they agreed that as the chopping would have to be done quite close to the imprisoned one, a more expert hand had better do it. sandy quickly had cut a way so the actor could emerge, and at mr. pertell's suggestion russ made moving pictures of it. "i'll have a new scene written in the play to fit this," the manager said. "mr. bunn, i think you might climb that tree over there," and he indicated one within range of the camera. "climb a tree! me!" exclaimed the actor. "what for, pray?" "well, i'll have a scene fixed up to indicate that the party gets lost in the woods, and you climb a tree to see if you can spy any landmarks to lead them out of their plight. just shin up that tree, if you please, and put your hand over your eyes when you get up high enough to see across the tops of the other trees. you know--register that you are looking for the path." "i refuse to do it!" cried wellington bunn. "to climb a tree is beneath my dignity." "then climb a tree and get above it," suggested the manager, drily. "you've got to climb; i want you in this scene." the tall actor groaned, but there was no help for it. up he went, not without many misgivings and grunts, for he was not an athlete. "i say!" he cried, when part way up, "if i fall and get hurt you'll have to pay me damages, mr. pertell." "you won't get hurt much," was the not very comforting answer. "and you won't fall, if you keep a tight hold with your arms and legs. but if you do, there's lots of soft moss at the foot of the tree." "oh, this life! this terrible life!" groaned mr. bunn. "why did i ever go into moving pictures?" no one answered him. perhaps they thought the reason was that he had outlived his drawing powers in the legitimate drama. finally he reached the top of the tree, and pretended to be looking for a path for the lost ones, while russ, always at the camera, successfully filmed him. "that's enough--come on down," ordered mr. pertell. mr. bunn came down more quickly than he went up, and the last few feet he slid down so rapidly that he scratched his hands, and tore his trousers. "you'll have to pay for them," he said, ruefully, as he looked at the rent. "put it in your expense bill," suggested the manager. "we'll do anything in reason. and now let's get back before anything else happens. is to-day friday, the thirteenth?" he asked with a smile, for really a number of occurrences out of the ordinary had taken place. fortunately, however, none of the accidents was serious, and no films were spoiled. several days passed, one or two of them rather lazy ones, for the weather grew hotter and mr. pertell did not want to overburden his players. russ and paul took advantage of the little holiday to pay several visits to the cabin in the woods, but they saw no traces of the mysterious man. "i have something new for you to-day," remarked the manager one morning to the actors and actresses. "water scenes?" asked russ, with a sly glance at alice. "no, this is on dry land. you're going to school for a change." "going to school!" they all echoed. "yes. i've a new play, and some of the scenes take place in a school room. i'll only want the younger ones in this, though. miss ruth and miss alice, paul and tommy and nellie." "only the younger ones! well, i like that!" sniffed miss pennington, powdering her nose. "as if we were old maids!" "the idea!" gasped miss dixon. "those devere girls think they are the whole show!" "i should say they did!" but it was not the fault of alice and ruth that they were young and pretty. "it won't be a very large class--with just us five in it," remarked paul. "oh, i'm going to use some of the regular school children," said the manager. "i've made arrangements with the teacher. we're to go to the schoolhouse this afternoon. here are your parts--it's a simple little thing," he added, as he distributed the typewritten sheets. "study 'em a bit, we'll have a little rehearsal, and then we'll film it." it was not as easy as mr. pertell had thought it would be to get the little scenes in the country school. his own players were all right, but the regular school children were either too bashful or too bold--particularly some of the boys. and, just as one side of the room would get quiet, and russ would be ready to grind out the film, the other side would break out into disorder caused by some mischievous boy. the children did not really mean to cause trouble, but it was a new thing for them to be made subjects for moving pictures. they would persist in staring straight at the camera, instead of pretending to study their lessons as they should have done. but finally they were induced to go properly through their little scene, and the action of the play began. at one part alice was to go to the blackboard to do a sum in arithmetic, and paul was to pass her a little love note. this was to be intercepted by ruth, and then the trouble began--trouble of a jealous nature, all being woven into a little country romance that had its start in the schoolhouse. all was going well, and russ was clicking merrily away at the camera, when suddenly one of the real pupils--a red-haired boy--cried at the top of his voice: "bees! look out for the bees! there's a swarm of bees headed this way!" and through the open windows of the school there came a curious humming sound. chapter xix filming the bees there was an instant scramble on the part of the school children. they made a rush for the door. "stop! keep still--you're spoiling the scene!" cried mr. pertell, fairly hopping about in his excitement. the humming sound came nearer, and there was more haste on the part of the youngsters to leave the schoolroom. the players, on the other hand, seemed to feel no alarm; but there was no use in going on with their parts if the others did not carry out the scene. "stop! stop!" cried the manager. "there's no danger!" "no danger!" cried the red-haired boy who had given the alarm. "what d'ye call that! wow!" and he slapped the back of his neck vigorously. "i'm stung!" he yelled. "so'm i!" cried a girl near him. "me, too!" exclaimed another boy. the humming sound was much louder now, and several small insects could be seen flying about the room. "i guess we'd better get out of this!" cried russ, as he prepared to abandon his camera. "it would be best," advised the teacher. "there is a swarm of bees outside, and some of them are in here. they may sting all of us." "well, this is a new one--a moving picture spoiled by bees!" cried mr. pertell. "i never----" "one got me!" interrupted mr. sneed. "i knew something would happen. if there's anything going i get it--from bulldogs to bees!" he began rubbing vigorously at his cheek, where a bee had saluted him too ardently. "come on--everybody out!" ordered mr. pertell, making slaps at a bee that was buzzing angrily around his head. there was no need to give this direction to the school children, for they were already outside, and now the teacher hastened out, while the moving picture players lost no time in following her example. "ouch! one got me that time!" cried paul, who was hurrying out at the side of alice. "did it hurt much?" she asked. "not much now; but it will more, later," he said, as he examined his wrist to see if the bee's sting had been left in, as that would make an ugly sore. "i've been stung several times before, and when it swells up, and itches, then it's really bad. let's go find a mud puddle." "what in the world for?" she asked curiously. "mud is the best thing for a bee sting when you can't get ammonia," paul explained. "just plaster some mud on, and it draws out the pain. i don't know the theory, except that when a bee stings you he injects some sort of acid poison under the skin. mud and ammonia are alkalies, and are opposed to acid, so the chemists say." "then i'll help you look for a mud puddle," she said. there was considerable excitement now, for a number of the school children had been stung, and one or two of the players. "that's the idea--mud!" cried sandy, as he saw what paul was doing. "bring the children over here, miss arthur," he said to the pretty school teacher, "and we'll help doctor 'em." "oh, thank you," she answered. "here, children, over this way." soon a number of the little tots were gathered about her, and ruth and alice, who offered to help doctor their stings. miss pennington and miss dixon, who had come to watch the film being made, had, at the first alarm, gone far enough off so that they were in no danger of being stung. the bees, in a big cloud, were flying slowly about the school, only a comparatively few having entered the window to rout the pupils. suddenly russ darted back into the building. "what are you going to do?" asked mr. pertell, who was fretting over the spoiling of the school scene film. "i'm going to get my camera," he called back over his shoulder. "i'm going to make a film of this. look, there comes the bee man after his swarm." across the field came running several men, and one of them carried a dishpan on which he was vigorously beating with an iron spoon. another had a dinner bell which he clanged constantly. "great scott!" cried mr. pertell, "what does all this mean?" "they're trying to make the swarm settle, so they can put 'em back in a hive," explained sandy. "you see, a swarm of bees is valuable this time of year. there's an old saying, 'a swarm of bees in may is worth a load of hay; a swarm of bees in june is worth a silver spoon; but a swarm in july ain't worth a fly.' that means a swarm in may will make enough honey to be worth a load of hay, more or less, but in july th' season is so far gone that th' bees won't make more than enough for themselves durin' th' winter." "i see!" said mr. pertell. "well, i guess russ has a good idea--we'll get a moving picture of them hiving the swarm. but what do the men make all that noise for?" "oh, there's a notion that bees will settle down in a bunch around th' queen, and not fly away if they hear a racket. i don't know whether it's true or not. some folks spray 'em with water, and that usually fetches 'em." meanwhile russ came out with the camera and began taking pictures of the odd scene. first he got pictures of ruth, alice and the teacher applying mud to the stings of the children. "well, we'll get a good film out of it, after all," said mr. pertell. "and we can do the school room scene over again after the excitement calms down." then russ began taking pictures of the men making a noise to try and induce the bees to settle. the men themselves seemed to enjoy being filmed. they wore veils of mosquito netting, draped over their broad-brimmed hats, for they approached close to the bees, which were now flying low. "i'd like to get a near view of these bees," said russ, "but i don't fancy getting too close. it's no fun to be stung eight or ten times." "i'll lend you my hat," offered one of the men and, thus protected, russ moved his camera closer and got a fine view of the swarm of honey-making insects as they alighted on the low branch of an apple tree. "git the hive, now, sir!" called another of the men, and while the hive was brought up, to receive the bunch of bees when they should be knocked into it, with their queen, about whom they were clustered, russ got a fine film of that. afterward sandy explained how bees swarm. a colony of bees will permit but one queen in a hive. sometimes, when a new one is hatched, the swarm divides, part of the bees going off with the new, or sometimes the old queen, to form a new colony. this is called "swarming," and the idea is to capture the new swarm, and so increase your number of colonies. sometimes the bees will go off to the woods, and make a home for themselves in a hollow tree, being thus lost to the keeper. a swarm of bees will make in a season many pounds of honey more than they need to feed themselves during the winter. sandy explained how faithful and devoted a colony of bees is to their queen, which is the bee that lays eggs out of which are hatched drones, or male bees, and the workers. there is a peculiar kind of honey called "queen bread," and sometimes, it is said by some, when a queen bee dies, the workers will select a "cell" containing an egg that will eventually hatch, and surround this egg with queen bread so that when the insect develops enough, it can feed on that instead of on ordinary honey. this is said to change the character of the insect and make a queen of it to replace the one that has died. or, if this is not done the queenless colony may merge with another that has a queen. in order to prevent the hatching of too many queens the bee keeper will examine his hives frequently, and cut out all the "queen cells," thus preventing them from hatching and so causing the bees to swarm frequently. they all watched while the men shook the cluster of bees into the new hive, and carried them away, russ, meanwhile getting a fine film of the operation. later this film was shown with much success in new york, so that, after all, the interruption of the school scene had a happy outcome. later the little play was finished. "whew!" exclaimed paul, when it was all over. "that was some going on, all right!" "does your sting hurt much?" asked alice, solicitously. "i think it would be better for some ammonia," he replied. "i'll put some on for you when we get back to the house," she offered, "and some witch hazel, too." "it feels better already--just with the thought of that," he answered gallantly. chapter xx that man "well, ladies and gentlemen, we will now get ready for our big play," announced manager pertell to his company of actors and actresses one morning. "it will be the biggest farm drama we have yet attempted. one scene will include the burning of the barn, and the rescue of one of you ladies from the structure." "not any of that for mine," remarked miss pennington, pertly. "i'm not going to run any chances in a burning building." "there won't be any chances," returned mr. pertell, quietly. "i will have everything arranged in advance so that there will be no danger. that is why i want to start in plenty of time. we will have a number of rehearsals. i am going to have part of the roof of the barn cut away before we start the fire." "what for?" asked russ. "so there will be no danger of anyone getting caught in the burning structure. the cut-out section can be placed back again, after it is sawed, or chopped out, and it will not show in the picture. but it will be a measure of safety. now, russ, you come out with me and we'll figure on the best position to get the pictures, and the best part of the roof to cut away." "who's going to be rescued?" asked miss dixon. "if it's all the same to you i'd rather not be one of those characters." "you won't be," replied mr. pertell, with a laugh. "i have cast alice and ruth for that. there'll be a double rescue scene." "oh, i don't know that i can do it very well," said ruth, quickly, though she did not say she was afraid. "you can do it all right," declared mr. pertell, confidently. "in fact, you won't have to do anything, except allow yourself to be carried down a ladder. you see, you and your sister will pretend to be caught in the burning barn. the only way to get you out is through the roof. "paul ardite, as a farmer's son, goes up a ladder and chops a hole in the roof. but the roof will be sawed away beforehand. you see, i want no delay with you inside the burning structure. then paul carries you down the ladder, and mr. sneed will rescue alice. "that will be fine!" cried alice, in her lively manner. "i've always wanted to be carried down a ladder. you won't mind; will you, daddy?" and she appealed to mr. devere. "oh, i guess not, if the ladder is good and firm," he replied in his husky voice. "that's just the point; it won't be!" predicted mr. sneed in his usually gloomy manner. "it's bound to break!" "comforting; isn't he?" laughed alice. "i'm not afraid, mr. sneed." "no, but i am," he went on. "i don't want that part, mr. pertell." "you'll have to take it," said the manager, decidedly. "i have no other one i can cast for the part." "can't you give it to mr. bunn?" asked the "grouch." "eh? what's that? me carry someone from a burning building? not much!" exclaimed the tragic actor. "i resign right now." "well, i must say neither of you is very gallant," laughed alice. "paul, i guess you'll have to rescue both of us!" "i'd be pleased to do it!" he retorted, gaily. "oh, i suppose i can manage it," grumbled mr. sneed, fairly shamed into taking the part. "good!" exclaimed the manager. "mr. bunn, you will be one of the fire-fighters in the bucket brigade. you'll help pass the buckets of water along to put out the fire." "what? i become a country fireman?" demanded the tall-hatted actor. "certainly." "i refuse! i will take no such part. i cannot lower myself to it." "very well," said mr. pertell, calmly. "you may resign, but you know what it means--no more engagements." "oh, give me the screed," returned the actor, petulantly. "i'll do it!" preparations for the rural play went on apace. the barn-burning scene was only one of many, though it was the climax. rehearsals began and russ and mr. pertell decided on the barn incidents and the place where the roof was to be cut. a carpenter had been engaged to do this properly, so that it would not show in the moving picture that the roof had been fixed in advance. in order to have the big play a success mr. pertell allowed the players to rehearse leisurely and at considerable length. there was plenty of rest for all. on one afternoon paul and russ, when there was nothing to do, paid another visit to the cabin in the woods, to see if there were any signs of the mysterious man. but he was not there, nor was there any evidence that he had returned to the place. nor had he been seen about the farm since. he and his dog, if it was his, seemed to have disappeared. the summer was now passing, and the character of work on the farm changed with the advancing season. threshing time came, and several good films were obtained of the men at work at the big machine which went from farm to farm to thresh the grain. mr. pertell built a little play about the work, the principal scene in one being where the threshers were at work, and afterward they were shown at dinner in the open air. and such appetites as those men had! a number of mrs. apgar's neighbors came over to help her cook, as is usually the case when the threshers come, so altogether some good films were obtained of this phase of rural life. getting in the hay was another occasion for making some interesting pictures, and alice, as she had longed to do, was allowed to ride in on one of the big loads. afterward, when it was put into the barns she jumped into the soft and fragrant pile of the mow, and was filmed that way, the scene to be used in one of the many rural dramas. in fact, all sorts of scenes about the farm were caught on the films, to be used later as plays should develop. the farm animals, too, made up some of the pictures, and the mule which ran away with mr. bunn was used for some comic pictures. mr. pertell, however, did not ask anyone to ride him, as he wanted no accidents. in fact, it is doubtful if he could have gotten any of his company to try this, even through fear of discharge. "we'll have a rehearsal of the barn-burning scene to-day," announced mr. pertell one morning. "it has gone off pretty well so far, and if there is no hitch to-day we'll film it to-morrow and get the real picture. everybody ready, now." "are we to be carried down the ladders?" asked ruth, for the former rehearsals had not included this. "i think so," answered the manager. "the carpenter promised to be here to cut the roof, too, so we may be able to go through the whole scene just as we will in the play. russ, you come out and watch, and select the best places for your camera, so there will be no hitch to-morrow." "i hope that ladder will be good and strong," remarked mr. sneed. "i wouldn't want it to break with me on it." "nor would i," laughed alice. "still, that might make a funny picture for you, mr. pertell." "oh, alice!" chided ruth. "the ladder is all right--it's a new one," said paul. "i've seen it, and given it a trial. it would even hold pop snooks, and he's our heavy-weight." "i made that ladder myself," said the property man. "i hope it isn't like the imitation fence you made once, that came down with mr. switzer," said ruth. "ach, himmel! i hopes not!" exclaimed the german actor. "dot voult be too bad. it vos bad unough to fall on der fence, but a latter--ach!" "don't worry," said pop. "the ladder will hold an elephant. i have tried it a dozen times." the moving picture players were gathered about the barn, and the preliminary scenes were rehearsed. the carpenter had come and as soon as he had made the cut in the roof, the more important parts of the play would be gone through with. the ladder had been tested and found to be perfectly secure, so that any little fear mr. de vere may have had for the safety of his daughters was dispelled. "well, now we're ready for the main scene, i think," said mr. pertell. "carpenter, you can get busy while we take a rest." as ruth and alice, with paul and russ, were walking off toward a little clump of trees, to sit down in the shade, alice, glancing across the fields, saw a figure that caused her to cry out: "that man! that lame man! there he is!" "and this time he doesn't get away from us!" cried paul, as he darted toward the mysterious stranger. chapter xxi a chase the unknown interloper pursued his usual tactics. that is, he turned and fled as soon as he saw paul coming toward him. and he went surprisingly fast for a lame man. alice was the first to notice this. "look!" she cried. "that man limps hardly at all now." "that's so," agreed ruth. "perhaps he only did that as a disguise." "excuse me!" called russ. "i've got to get in on this chase," and he left the two girls, and ran after paul, who had started ahead of him. "oh, please be careful!" cried ruth, nervously. "does that mean paul--or russ?" asked alice, mischievously. "both!" said ruth, with decision. "that man may be a desperate character." "he doesn't act so," declared alice, with a laugh. "see, he is running away." "yes, but if the boys catch him he may turn on them--and he may--he may have a weapon, alice." "don't be silly, ruth. paul and russ are able to look out for themselves. but how fast that man can run!" the stranger was indeed making good time across the fields, and russ and paul did not seem to be catching up to him very fast. he had had a good start. the other members of the company had gone in a different direction, and as the chase had started behind the old barn, neither mr. pertell nor any of the others could see what was taking place. "what had we better do?" asked ruth, with much anxiety. "i don't see that we can do anything," replied alice. "we certainly can't join in the pursuit." "no, but we might tell someone--give an alarm," went on ruth. "no," decided alice, after a moment of thought. "i think russ and paul can do better alone. we don't know what that man has done, if anything, and perhaps when the boys catch up to him he may be able to offer a perfectly good explanation. then, in case we had set others after him, it would not be fair to him. besides, if you think there is danger you oughtn't to want any more to share it." "that is so," agreed ruth. "perhaps it will be better to let them try by themselves." but paul and russ evidently were going to have no easy task in capturing the mysterious man. he was running well now, and limping scarcely at all. either he had feigned it before, or had, in the meanwhile, recovered from his injury. the two girls watched the chase until a depression in the fields hid the three from sight. "we'd better go back," suggested ruth, after a bit. "yes," agreed alice, "but we won't tell the others what has happened." as it turned out, however, the girls were not able to carry out this intention. for mr. pertell had a new idea in regard to some of the scenes, and wanted to consult with russ about it. "where is he?" the manager asked, coming from the farmhouse with a bundle of papers in his hand, after having called a rest period in the barn-burning rehearsals. "he's after--that man," replied alice, hesitatingly, and then she told what had happened. "that man again!" cried sandy apgar, who overheard what was said. "he'll not get away this time. i'm goin' after him on a hoss!" he hurried to the stable, and leaped on the back of one of the lighter farm animals, not even stopping for a saddle. "which way was he headed?" he asked the girls. ruth and alice showed him, and sandy set off over the fields in a strange cross-country run, with a man-hunt at the end of it. there was nothing for the company of players to do but await the outcome, while the chase was kept up. meanwhile, what of russ, paul and the mysterious man? when paul turned around, after being on the chase for a little time, and saw russ coming toward him, he stopped to allow the young moving picture operator to come up to him. for he saw that the pursuit was to be a long one, and the man had such a start of him that a few seconds' delay would make no difference. on and on over the fields went the stranger, until he was headed down a highway. "when he gets on that it will be easier going," remarked russ. "yes, for both of us," agreed paul. "i wonder what in the world his game can be, anyhow?" "we'll find out--if we ever get him," panted russ. "come on! this is going to be 'some run,' as the poets say." the man gained the highway, and raced along that for some distance. paul and russ tried to take a short cut across the field to reach the same road, but they got into a marshy place and sank in, nearly up to their knees. "he knew this was here!" cried russ, as he drew himself out of a sticky place. "he evidently did, and avoided it," agreed his friend. "and we blundered into it--worse luck!" they had considerable difficulty in reaching the road, and by that time the mysterious man was even further in advance. but they pluckily kept to the chase. "there he is!" cried russ, as they came to a turn in the road, and saw a straight stretch before them. "he hasn't gained so very much." the man was running well, and there seemed to be no return of his lameness. the neighborhood was a lonely one, and there were no houses in sight. nor had the young men engaged in the chase met any persons since starting out. doggedly they kept on. "this would make a good picture film!" exclaimed russ. "it sure would," agreed paul. "only we haven't time to do it. say, he can run some; can't he?" "he sure can. oh, look at that, would you!" cried russ. they had now come in sight of a white house, standing back a little from the road. and in front of the house stood an automobile runabout. what caused russ to cry out was the sight of the mysterious man leaping into the auto, the engine of which had evidently been left running. in another moment he was off down the road, going at the limit of speed of the machine. "well, we might as well give up now," said paul, coming to a stop. "i'm done up, anyhow." "same here," agreed russ. "that is, unless we can find another auto." they saw a man run from the farmhouse from in front of which the auto had been so audaciously taken. he was a physician, it appeared. "the idea! the idea!" he cried. "that perfect stranger ran up and took my auto. was he a friend of yours?" he asked as russ and paul came up. he looked at them suspiciously. "a friend! no indeed!" exclaimed paul. "we want to catch him; but we can't do it now." they heard the sound of hoofbeats in the road behind them, and, turning, they saw sandy coming along on the farm horse. he had taken a short cut, guessing or hoping that the chase would lead that way. "where is he?" cried the young farmer, as he galloped up. "gone!" replied paul. "in an auto," added russ. "my auto," corrected the doctor. "the impertinent chap had the nerve to take my machine, and i need it, too." "i'll get him!" cried sandy, as he clapped his heels to the side of his panting horse. "you can never get him while he's in that machine!" called paul. "maybe the auto will have a break-down!" the young farmer answered over his shoulder. "such things have happened." "indeed they have--to me often enough," remarked the doctor. "i have had more break-downs in that car than i like to remember. but just when we want one, so we may be able to catch that scoundrel, it may not happen." "if mr. sneed was here he'd be sure to cause something to happen," remarked russ, jokingly. sandy galloped on down the road after the mysterious man in the automobile he had so daringly taken. chapter xxii caught there was considerable excitment about oak farm when russ and paul returned from their unsuccessful chase after the mysterious man, leaving sandy to continue the hunt. all the players, and a number of the hired men, were discussing the occurrence, and eagerly questioning ruth and alice as to what they knew and had seen. this was little enough, however. when russ and paul came up, still breathing hard after their run, they added what they knew. "vy shouldn't ve make ourselves yet into a committee und all go after him?" asked mr. switzer. "dot feller ought to be caught." "that's true enough," agreed mr. pertell; "but we're here to make moving pictures, and we can't do it if the whole company chases after that fellow." "besides, something might happen," remarked mr. sneed, gloomily. "he might have a gun and shoot us." "then i'm glad you girls didn't keep on after him," said mr. devere in his hoarse voice. "i wish you would take no further part in this affair, ruth and alice," and he spoke earnestly. "don't worry, daddy," laughed alice. "i'm sure, after all, that the man isn't dangerous. he wouldn't hurt us, that's certain, for he loaned us the use of his cabin, and he was very polite about it." "he doesn't seem to care about us," added ruth. "for he runs every time he sees us. is there anything peculiar about us?" "yes," said russ, "there is." "what?" "i'll tell you--some other time," he informed her, and ruth grew rosy red. "well, i suppose we could go on with the barn-burning scene," said mr. pertell, when the chase had been discussed in all its phases. "i did want sandy on hand, though, as representing his father, the owner of the farm, in case anything happens." "i won't own the farm much longer," said felix apgar sadly. "the sale will come off next week, and then i s'pose we'll be turned out bag and baggage, mother." "oh, pa, i hate to hear you talk that way," she said, as she put her trembling hand in his. the old couple made a pathetic picture as they stood together on the porch of the white house--the house that had been their home so many years, but out of which they were soon to be turned by a cruel shift of fate. "cheer up!" said pop snooks, who had a leisure hour. "it's always darkest just before dawn, you know. something may happen to save the farm for you." "i'm too old to believe in miracles," replied mr. apgar, with a shake of his head. "come on in the house, mother, and we'll begin to pack. they can't take our things from us, anyhow, though where we'll go the lord only knows." "why, you won't have to move out, even after the mortgage was foreclosed," said alice, as she slipped her arm about the waist of the trembling old lady. "i heard the sheriff say you could stay on for some time yet." "i know, dearie, but it wouldn't be _our_ farm, and pa and me wouldn't feel like stayin' when squire bladsell owns it. it would be like livin' on charity. no, we'll go as soon as the sale is over. but you're a dear, good girl to try and help us." "they have helped us a lot, mother--all of 'em!" exclaimed mr. apgar. "you movin' picture folks have been real kind to us, and the money you paid for the use of the farm come in mighty handy, seein' that some of the crops wasn't over and above good. yes, we'll never forget you--never." he and his wife turned into the house, and the hired men went about their tasks. "i suppose we'll have to wait until sandy comes back," spoke mr. pertell. "i don't want to set the barn afire until he's here. for, not only do i want him on hand, as i said, to represent his father, but i'm depending on him to lead his men, and some of the others, in an attempt to put out the fire. i want plenty of action in this scene. so we'll wait." "i wonder what has happened to him?" mused ruth. but no one knew. the carpenter mr. pertell had hired to cut away part of the roof asked if he should set about his task. "no, i think we'll wait until sandy comes back," replied the manager. "you can get all ready, though. russ, i suppose your camera is in shape?" "oh, yes. in fact i've got two--one for emergencies." "that's good. plenty of film on hand?" "all we'll need, i think." "well, then, the only thing to do is to wait." meanwhile sandy was keeping on after the daring and mysterious fugitive. fortunately for the young farmer his horse was a comparatively fleet one, or he would have lost sight of the auto soon after the strange race began. as it was he managed to keep the doctor's car in sight for a considerable distance. and then, so suddenly that it seemed like a trick of fate, something occurred which completely turned the tables in favor of sandy. the fleeing man in the auto found himself behind a load of hay, that occupied a considerable part of the road. sandy was close enough to hear the frantic tooting of the horn, but either the driver of the hay wagon did not hear, or he had a constitutional objection to autoists, for he did not pull out. thus the strange man was obliged to turn to one side and, unluckily for him, but luckily for sandy, there was a roadside ditch at that point. into this the wheels of the auto went and as it was sticky and soft the car came to such a sudden stop that the man was pitched out over the glass wind-shield, landing in the ditch. "now i've got you!" cried sandy, and clapping his heels to the sides of his panting horse the young farmer rode up alongside the prostrate man. "i've got you! surrender!" commanded the young farmer, leaping down, and grabbing the man, who was now sitting up a dazed look on his face. "i've got you, and i arrest you in th' name of th' law!" "yes, i see you've got me," replied the man, slowly. "but on what charge do you arrest me?" sandy was puzzled for a moment, and scratched his head. he had not thought of this. "you have no right to arrest me," the man went on. "i have done nothing to you." "i don't know whether you have or not," sandy said. "i think you've been tryin' to, but couldn't do it. i'm suspicious of you. that's it--i arrest you on suspicion!" "that's no charge," cried the man, struggling to his feet and trying to break away. but sandy held him firmly. "besides, you are not an officer, and have no warrant." "i don't need any!" cried sandy, who had that point clear enough in his mind. "any citizen of the united states can make an arrest if he wants to, and i'm a citizen. so i arrest you, whatever your name is, on suspicion." "suspicion of what?" again sandy was puzzled. "i don't just know," he confessed. "i'll leave that to squire blasdell. he's th' law-court around here--and he's a hard one, too. i'll take you afore him. so come along. you've been trespassin' on our place, anyhow, and i can make that a charge if i can't any other. come along." sandy was young, strong and vigorous, and the man, though almost his equal, was tired out from his long run before he had taken to the auto. besides he was badly jolted up by the sudden and unceremonious manner in which he left the car. "all right, i s'pose i've got to come," the man admitted in a sullen manner. "you'd better," observed sandy, grimly. "and there's another charge, too. you took th' doctor's automobile." to this the man answered nothing. he probably knew that this was a serious enough charge on which to hold him. "we'll jest go back in th' car, too," went on sandy, "since you know how to run 'em. but, mind you! no monkey tricks! don't you try to run away with me." "all right--get in," said the man, shortly. "i'll see if i can get her out of the ditch. you wouldn't have gotten me if that man with the hay had given me my share of the road." "maybe not," admitted sandy, grimly, "but i _have_ got you, jest th' same. come on." sandy left his horse cropping the grass at the roadside, and got into the auto with his prisoner. after a few attempts, the machine was gotten out of the ditch, and the start back was begun. sandy saw a farmer whom he knew, and asked him if he would bring the horse back to oak farm. "and now we'll 'tend to your case," the young farmer remarked to the man in the auto. "i don't believe you told me what your name was," he added significantly. "no, i didn't, and i don't intend to," snapped the stranger. "you can find out any way you like." "oh, we'll find out, all right," sandy returned. "drive on." the man did not speak as he drove the car forward. they reached the house where the physician had been, and found him waiting; a very angry medical man indeed. "so you got him; eh?" he called to sandy. "that's what i did. and i'd like to borrow your car to take him to jail, if you don't mind." "i don't mind a bit, and i'll go along to lodge a charge against him. there's a state law against anyone taking another person's automobile without permission. who is he, anyhow, sandy?" "i don't know, and he won't tell." the man maintained a sullen silence during the remainder of the trip, and when the office of squire blasdell was reached he was led inside by sandy. "i've got a prisoner here for you, squire," announced the young farmer. "i don't know what his name is, and i don't exactly know what charge we can make against him. but he's been hanging around oak farm for some time, and he runs whenever anyone comes near him, and if that ain't suspicion i don't know what is." "you're right there, sandy," said the squire, who, in spite of the fact that he was about to foreclose on oak farm, was not on bad terms with the apgars. the truth of the matter was that the squire only acted as agent for others whose money he put out on mortgages. personally he was sorry for the apgars. "now then, mister whatever-your-name-is," began the squire, "what about you?" "i'll tell you nothing," said the man. "you have no right to hold me." "he took my auto," broke in the doctor. "then we'll hold him on that charge, and we'll call him john doe," decided the squire. "maybe he'll change his tune after a bit. lock him up," he ordered the constable in charge, and the mysterious man, as mysterious as ever, was led away. "i'd like to ask one favor," he declared, halting a minute. "you can ask, but i don't know as we'll grant it," spoke the squire. "i've left a dog up in the old cabin," the man went on. "i guess you know the place," he said to sandy. "it's the cabin where the girls took shelter from the rain. there's a dog tied there and he might starve to death. i wish you'd feed him." "i'll do that," responded sandy, quickly. "i'll look after him, too. he's entitled to some consideration, even if you ain't." the man said nothing. "is it your dog?" asked the squire. "i--i found him," answered the man, hesitatingly, "and he likes me. i wouldn't want to see him starve." "he shan't!" promised sandy. then, as the queer character was locked up, sandy started back for oak farm, puzzling over the mysterious man and his object. chapter xxiii the money box "what did he say?" "who was he?" "what was his object?" these, and a dozen other questions like them, were showered on sandy apgar when he arrived at the farm, some little time later, after having seen the mysterious man safely locked up in the town jail. "now there's no use askin' me who he is, or what he wants," declared the young farmer. "all i know is that i caught him. he won't talk." "you did a good piece of work," declared mr. pertell, "and a day or so of jail food may make the fellow change his mind. well, it's too late to do any moving pictures to-day. we'll put off the barn-burning until to-morrow." "well, there's one thing we can't put off until to-morrow and that is looking after that dog," remarked sandy. "the poor fellow may be frantic by now." "may we go with you?" asked alice. "surely," answered sandy. "come along, ruth--and anybody else who wants to," she added. "count me in!" exclaimed paul. "the same here," laughed russ. so the five set off for the lonely cabin. "i can't understand how the dog came to be there, though," mused russ, as they walked on through the woods. "that fellow wasn't at the cabin the last time we looked." "but that was several days ago," paul reminded him. "he may have been staying there ever since, thinking we had given up going there. that's very likely it." and this proved to be the case. the man had apparently moved back into the cabin. the room was arranged about as it had been the day the girls took shelter in the place, but there was this change--that a fine collie dog was chained near the big fireplace. and if ever a dog was glad to see anyone it was that same collie. he jumped about, barking joyfully, but was held back by a strong chain, fastened to his collar. "poor fellow!" exclaimed sandy kindly, and the dog wagged his tail in friendly greeting. "oh, i wish we could keep him!" exclaimed alice, who loved animals. "i guess we'll have to--until that feller gits out of jail," spoke the young farmer. "they won't allow no animals in the lockup. we'll take him to the farm." the dog made friends at once, and seemed particularly fond of alice. she was patting him, when she happened to turn his collar around. a brass plate came into view and as the girl read something on it she uttered a cry of surprise. "look!" she exclaimed. "this is the lost dog!" "what lost dog?" asked russ. "don't you remember--the one mrs. delamont lost when we were in the wreck, coming up here. see, there is his name--rex iii. we have found him for her. how glad she will be!" "you're right!" exclaimed paul, after examining the collar. "here are the initials 'h. a. d.' weren't those hers?" he asked of ruth. "yes, i have her name and address," replied the girl. "we must send her word at once." "i don't understand how the man got the dog," observed russ. "he might have been at the scene of the wreck, and when he saw the chance he slipped into the baggage car and took rex," explained paul. "i suppose he'll tell about that, if he ever confesses. it's a queer business all around." the fine dog seemed to like his new friends, and skipped and frisked about them as they went back to oak farm. and there the dog made his home, though it would not be for long, since mrs. delamont would be sure to send for her prize pet when she learned where he was. "oh, but i shall hate to let you go!" cried alice, as she put her arms about the neck of rex. "well, i hope there won't be no more interruptions or delays," remarked mr. pertell the next day. "we must get that barn-burning film sure, for i have some other plans to carry out, with winter coming on." "you don't mean to say you're going to keep on in this moving picture business all winter, do you?" asked mr. sneed. "i certainly do," remarked the manager. "well, all i've got to say is that we'll freeze to death," went on the "grouch" in gloomy tones. "you can count me out of it," he added. "i'm not going to freeze for anybody." "no one asked you to," replied the manager. "come now, everyone get ready for the fire scene. we'll go over it once more, to be sure we're all right for the final. the roof will be cut and then we'll touch off the place. "sandy, see to it that there are plenty of pails of water for the bucket brigade. mr. bunn, you're to be one of that crowd, you remember." "yes," responded the actor, with a heavy sigh. "i suppose i must lower my art to the level of the movies. oh, why did i ever get into this wretched business?" ruth, alice and the others went out to the old barn. all was in readiness for the big scene. the ladder for the rescue of the moving picture girls was in readiness, and paul and mr. sneed made sure that it was safe. "now then, carpenter, up on the roof with you, and cut out that section so there won't be any doubt but what it will come loose readily when paul chops at it with his axe," ordered the manager. the carpenter began his work. he ascended to the roof by the ladder, and was soon cutting and sawing away. the others watched him, half idly, little prepared for the dramatic scene that was to follow. mr. and mrs. apgar had come out to witness the making of the fire film. "i'll sort of hate to see the old barn go, useless as it is," said the farmer. "it was one of the first buildin's on the farm, and uncle isaac used to be terrible fond of stayin' out here. in fact before he died he spent a lot of time out here after th' accident, sittin' all by himself, and sometimes talking a lot of nonsense. his mind was goin' then, i reckon, only none of us knowed it. yes, poor uncle isaac was terrible fond of this old barn, and i sure will hate to see it go up in smoke." "i wish uncle isaac had been fonder of business, an' had left some word where his money went--and ours, too," observed sandy. "i don't want to blame him for what he couldn't help, but it sure is hard for us!" the carpenter was chopping away, taking off a section of the roof, to afford easy egress for ruth and alice when the time should come. suddenly he uttered a cry of surprise. "what's the matter--cut yourself?" called sandy. "no, but i've cut into something queer. better come up here and see what it is--i don't want to touch it." "i hope it isn't a hornet's nest!" exclaimed sandy. "no, it isn't that." the others wondered what the queer find might be, as sandy and russ hurried up the ladder. as they reached the roof, which at this point was nearly flat, they saw that the carpenter, in taking off a section, had uncovered what proved to be a small secret room. it was built into the barn in such a manner, between false walls, that its existence had never in the past been suspected. it was a small place, just large enough to contain a table and a chair, and there were no openings or windows on the sides. it must have been a dark place, but there was an old lantern on the table, showing that the occupant, whoever he had been, was not left in the gloom. but there was something else on the table besides the lantern. this was a large tin box, the sort that valuable papers are usually kept in, and at the sight of it, as sandy gazed down into the secret room, through the hole in the roof, the young farmer cried: "there it is! there's uncle isaac's money box! the lost is found, and now, if there's only the money and papers in it we'll not lose our farm after all! the lord be praised! if only the money is there!" "you can soon tell!" remarked russ. "drop down in there and take a look." "what is it? what have you found?" called mr. pertell from the ground. "we want to get the pictures." "wait a minute!" sandy begged. "we've found----" "wait, don't tell them yet," suggested russ. "it won't do to raise the hopes of the old people, and then disappoint them. the box may be empty." "that's right," agreed sandy. "i'll soon know, though." he hung by his hands to the edge of the opening, and then dropped down into the secret room, so strangely revealed. "the box is locked!" he cried. "here's my hatchet--break it open," suggested the carpenter. "guess i might as well--no telling where the key would be," said sandy. with the hatchet he soon had lifted the cover of the box. then he gave a joyful cry. "it's here!" he shouted. "it was uncle isaac's box, all right, and the money's here--quite a lot of it, and some valuable papers worth more. hurray! the farm is saved, after all! tell pop and mom!" "no, we'll let you tell them," said russ. "come and tell them yourself." "how'm i goin' t' git up?" asked sandy, trembling with excitement and new hope, as he fingered the dusty bills that would mean so much to him and his parents. "here's a rope," suggested the carpenter, for he had been using one at his work. "we'll drop it down to you, and you can tie it to the box. then you can come up on the rope yourself." this was soon done, and a little later sandy was standing beside his aged parents, showing them the find. "it's money--real money!" he cried. "the money uncle isaac owes us. now we can pay off the mortgage on the farm. you won't have t' move off th' farm!--pop--mom! you can stay here!" "praise the lord!" cried the farmer, reverently. "my prayer has been granted; i can die on the old place!" "why, pa, don't talk about dyin' now!" protested mrs. apgar, through her tears. "we're goin' t' live--live on th' old place!" "that's what we be!" he cried. a close examination of the contents of the box disclosed the fact that it contained considerable wealth. there were some bonds and stocks, as well as a large sum in cash. at least five thousand dollars of this belonged to the apgars, representing the loan they had made to uncle isaac. and as he left no other heirs, eventually the entire wealth would come to the farmer. "this has been a lucky day for us!" exclaimed sandy, as he put the wealth in a secure place in the house. "well, it will be an unlucky one for us, if we don't get this fire film," remarked mr. pertell, half humorously. "just so," returned russ. there was much discussion over the find, and then an examination was made of the secret room. from within the sliding panel door, by which entrance was gained, could easily be seen. but outside, it was so well hidden that it is doubtful if anyone but one who knew the trick could have found it. mr. apgar recalled that the barn stood on the farm when he had purchased the estate years before. it had belonged to an eccentric man, and there was little doubt that he had built the secret room for his own use--though what it was could only be guessed. "and uncle isaac must have discovered the hidden door when he was out here in the barn so much," said sandy. "lunatics are cunning, sometimes, i've heard. he probably found th' place and kept it to himself, as a good place to hide his valuables. "that's why he spent so much time out here. i used to wonder sometimes, at having him appear from inside the old barn, when i never suspected he was on hand. he was in this room, all right." "it certainly was a good hiding place," agreed mr. pertell. "it was lucky he did not shut himself up and die in here, or you would never have known where to look for him. he must have left his money box here one day, closed the place up and then came his unfortunate loss of mind, after he was hurt. he forgot all about where he had left the wealth, and of course he couldn't tell anyone. well, i'm glad you've got it back." "so am i!" chuckled sandy. "now if we only had some explanation as to why that queer chap was always hanging about this farm we'd be all right." "maybe he knew your uncle isaac," suggested ruth. "no, that man's a stranger around here," declared sandy. after some little further talk about the queer find, mr. pertell again suggested that the taking of the picture be resumed. sandy seemed to hang back and the manager asked him: "do you want to give up your part in it, now that you have your money again? don't you want the barn burned?" "oh, yes; it ain't that!" the young farmer hastened to assure the manager. "it's a good thing we didn't burn the barn before we found the money. i was only wishin' i could send word of it to squire blasdell, so he could call off the foreclosure. i hate to see them signs up." "then you go and tell him the good news," suggested the manager, generously. "we've had so many delays on this thing that a little more won't hurt. go tell the squire." so sandy went off, and the players had an unexpected rest. chapter xxiv explanations sandy found squire blasdell having an interview with the strange prisoner. "i'm putting him on the grill, and trying to find out something about him, but it's hard work," the squire said to the young farmer. "yes, you might as well save your time," spoke the man. "i'll tell you nothing!" "i've got news for you, squire," said sandy, a little later when the constable had been called in to take the stranger back to his cell. "looks like good news, by your face, sandy," the lawyer replied. "you haven't been finding money for the mortgage; have you?" "that's just what i have, squire!" sandy cried. "we just found uncle isaac's money box!" "you did! 'gosh all hemlock' as the boys used to say. how was it?" "we found the money box--with a lot of cash and papers in a secret room in the old barn we're goin' to burn for movin' pictures. we found the money box, all right." there was a sound from the room where the prisoner sat. he started to his feet, and stepped to the grating which separated the cell from the apartment in which sandy and the squire were. "you say you found isaac apgar's hidden wealth?" he asked. "yes--but what is that to you?" inquired the squire. "a lot to me. the game is up now, and i'll confess everything. i've been keeping still, hoping i could get out and find that box myself. that's what my object has been in hanging around your farm," he went on. "i was looking for that box myself. i--i thought maybe i might get a reward if i located it." this statement might be doubtful, but there was no way of disproving it. the man might have been hoping only for a reward; but, on the other hand, if he had found the wealth he might have kept it all for himself. "how did you come to know about this?" asked squire blasdell, curiously. "did you ever know isaac apgar?" "well, i don't know as you could exactly call it 'knowing' him," was the slow answer, "seeing that he didn't know anybody himself, of late years. i may as well tell you the whole story. my name is monk freck, and i used to be a keeper in the state lunatic asylum where isaac apgar was confined. that's how i knew him. i was his keeper!" this was strange and startling news, but it explained many things. "go on," urged the squire. "what about looking for his money?" "that's it," added sandy. "i'll come to that. though few folks knew it, mr. apgar had some lucid moments during his insanity. he was as right as anyone at times, but maybe only for a half hour or so at a stretch. and it was in those times that he'd talk about the wealth he had hidden. "i tried to get him to tell me just where it was, for i had heard rumors that he had hidden quite a pile before he went crazy. but he was either too cunning to tell me, or his mind failed him at the critical moment. all i could learn was that it was hidden somewhere about the corner of the old barn on the apgar place. "well, he kept on getting worse until he died, and i made up my mind to have a try for the money box. i gave up my job in the asylum, and came here. and since then i've been looking around, trying to make the discovery, and claim a reward. "i spent a good deal of time in the barn, but i never thought there could be a secret room. i thought it might be buried somewhere around the place. i didn't have much chance to hunt, though, after the moving picture people got here," he added. "and was it you who made the queer noises in the barn, and scared the girls?" asked sandy. "it was. i didn't mean to scare 'em, though. i was trying to crawl up between two beams one day, when i slipped and fell. i rattled some loose boards where i had lifted some up to have a place to hide. i hurt myself, too, and i guess i groaned. the fall made me lame for a while." "that accounts for your limp," said sandy. "how did you come to go to the cabin?" "oh, i wanted some place to stay near your barn, and as no one used the cabin, i took up my quarters there. before that i often used to sleep in a secret place in your old barn. but i didn't mean any harm. of course i didn't want it known who i was, for if it was learned that i had been mr. apgar's keeper in the asylum everybody would have guessed my object. so i ran whenever i saw anybody from oak farm. but you finally caught me. i'm not sorry, for i was getting tired of the game. and so you found the hidden box? well, i wish it could have been me." "did you steal that dog, too?' asked sandy. "no, i did not. i found him wandering about and took a notion to him. i guess maybe he had been stolen, but i didn't do it. if i had known who he belonged to i might have got a reward from them." "the owner is known," sandy said, "and she may reward you. i feel so happy that i don't wish anybody bad luck. now squire, i suppose the foreclosure is off; ain't it? i've got more than the four thousand dollars." "the old farm is safe, sandy," the squire answered, "and i'm glad of it, for your sake. you may have thought me hard and grasping, but i had to do the business for my clients. now we'll have to decide what to do with this man. i reckon we can let him go, seeing that he didn't really do anything except take the auto, and i guess the doctor won't press that charge." this proved to be the case, and that day monk freck was released. mrs. delamont was to over-joyed to get her dog back that she gave freck a substantial reward, for the former asylum keeper had been kind to rex iii, and insisted that he had found him after the dog had gotten away from the real thief. chapter xxv the fire film "all ready now, russ!" "all ready, mr. pertell." "then start off. be ready with the torch there, sandy, and touch off the pile of hay and straw inside the barn when i give the word. then come out for the bucket brigade." "yes, sir." it was the day after the finding of the money box, for there had been so much excitement attending that episode, that mr. pertell thought it wise to postpone the fire scene. but now all was in readiness for it. "all ready now!" called the manager, and the play began. there were several preliminary scenes before the final one of the burning barn, and these were successfully run off, russ filming them one after the other. there was no hitch, so well had the play been rehearsed. now came the time when ruth and alice were to take refuge in the barn, the action being supposed to occur after a chase when they wished to escape from a rascally guardian. the firing of the barn (in the play) was supposed to be done by an enemy of the farmer, and was not done to entrap the girls, of whose presence the incendiary supposedly knew nothing. but the girls were locked in the barn when the fire broke out, and necessarily must be rescued. "touch her off!" cried the manager at the proper point, and sandy set fire to a pile of hay and straw inside the barn. this would make considerable smoke, and smoke always shows up well in moving pictures. "get ready with the water now!" called mr. pertell. "i want a lively bucket brigade scene here!" sandy and his force, of whom wellington bunn was one, ran back and forth from the water barrel, carrying the filled buckets and splashing the contents on the flames. the fire was now at its height. "all ready for the rescue!" ordered the manager. "up with the ladder and get after the girls, paul. mr. sneed, you're in on this." up the ladder climbed paul, and with an axe he began chopping away at the roof. this was the place prepared beforehand, and ruth and alice were to be drawn up through the hole that went down into the secret room where the money box had been found. "quick!" cried paul, as he made the splinters fly. this was only for the effect, as the section on the roof was all ready to come away. "hurry up, sneed!" called the young fellow. "it's getting pretty hot here. we'll have to follow each other closely down the ladder." "we can't get away from here any too soon for me," the other answered. "this is the worst yet." in another moment the secret room was exposed. ruth and alice were in it, a little afraid, after all, that something might happen. "come on!" cried paul reaching down his hands. alice climbed up on a chair in the room, and paul lifted her out on the roof. then mr. sneed did the same for ruth. putting the girls over their shoulders, in the manner in which firemen make rescues, the two started down the ladder. in spite of mr. sneed's fear, nothing happened. the rescue went off finely, and even those not taking part in it applauded as it came to a close and ruth and alice, who were supposed to have fainted, were revived. then their parts ended, for that particular scene, but the barn continued to burn, as was intended, and soon it was a glowing heap of embers and ashes. the work of the bucket brigade had not been successful, nor had it been intended that it should be. the final scenes of the play--away from the fire--were made, and then the players could rest. "i hope it's a success," said the manager, with a sigh. "we have worked hard enough over it." and a few days later word came back from new york, whither the film had been sent, that it was a great success, and one of the best dramas the comet company had ever put over. the scenes where alice and ruth were rescued were particularly fine. * * * * * "well, i wonder what sort of 'stunts' we'll have to do next, ruth?" remarked alice as they were in their room in the old farm house one morning, about a week after the barn fire. "there is no telling," was the answer. "mr. pertell has some plans, but i don't believe they are ready yet." "yes they are, my dears!" exclaimed mr. devere, as he entered the room. "we have just received word that the entire company will spend some months in the backwoods, getting pictures of winter scenes." "oh, the woods in winter!" cried alice. "i'll just love that; won't you, ruth?" "i think i shall. but i do hope we won't have so much excitement as we've had here." whether they did or did not may be learned by reading the next volume of this series, to be called: "the moving picture girls snowbound; or, the proof on the film." happy days followed at oak farm, for after the hard work of the season mr. pertell decided to give his company a little vacation. and the apgars were happy, too, for the foreclosure proceedings were stopped by the satisfying of the mortgage with uncle isaac's money. mrs. delamont sent on for rex iii, and alice bade the fine animal good-bye rather sadly, for she had grown very fond of him. "come on," said paul to her one day, "we'll take a walk, and maybe we can find another dog." "not like rex, though," laughed alice, as she set off with the young fellow. and now, for a time, we will take leave of the moving picture girls. the end the janice day series by helen beecher long _ mo, cloth, illustrated, and colored jacket_ a series of books for girls which have been uniformly successful. janice day is a character that will live long in juvenile fiction. every volume is full of inspiration. there is an abundance of humor, quaint situations, and worth-while effort, and likewise plenty of plot and mystery. an ideal series for girls from nine to sixteen. janice day, the young homemaker janice day at poketown the testing of janice day how janice day won the mission of janice day the nan sherwood series by annie roe carr _ mo, cloth, illustrated, and colored jacket_ in annie roe carr we have found a young woman of wide experience among girls--in schoolroom, in camp and while traveling. she knows girls of to-day thoroughly--their likes and dislikes--and knows that they demand almost as much action as do the boys. and she knows humor--good, clean fun and plenty of it. nan sherwood at pine camp or the old lumberman's secret nan sherwood at lakeview hall or the mystery of the haunted boathouse nan sherwood's winter holidays or rescuing the runaways nan sherwood at rose ranch or the old mexican's treasure nan sherwood at palm beach or strange adventures among the orange groves copyright (c) by lidija rangelovska. moral deliberations in modern cinema sst edition sam vaknin, ph.d. editing and design: lidija rangelovska lidija rangelovska a narcissus publications imprint, skopje not for sale! non-commercial edition. © copyright lidija rangelovska. all rights reserved. this book, or any part thereof, may not be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission from: lidija rangelovska - write to: palma@unet.com.mk or to vaknin@link.com.mk visit the author archive of dr. sam vaknin in "central europe review": http://www.ce-review.org/authorarchives/vaknin_archive/vaknin_main.htm l visit sam vaknin's united press international (upi) article archive -click here! philosophical musings and essays http://samvak.tripod.com/culture.html malignant self love - narcissism revisited http://samvak.tripod.com/ created by: lidija rangelovska republic of macedonia c o n t e n t s i. the talented mr. ripley ii. the truman show iii. the matrix iv. shattered v. titanic vi. being john malkovich vii. dreamcatcher - the myth of destructibility viii. the author ix. about "after the rain" the talented mr. ripley by: sam vaknin "the talented mr. ripley" is an hitchcockian and blood-curdling study of the psychopath and his victims. at the centre of this masterpiece, set in the exquisitely decadent scapes of italy, is a titanic encounter between ripley, the aforementioned psychopath protagonist and young greenleaf, a consummate narcissist. ripley is a cartoonishly poor young adult whose overriding desire is to belong to a higher - or at least, richer - social class. while he waits upon the subjects of his not so hidden desires, he receives an offer he cannot refuse: to travel to italy to retrieve the spoiled and hedonistic son of a shipbuilding magnate, greenleaf senior. he embarks upon a study of junior's biography, personality, likes and hobbies. in a chillingly detailed process, he actually assumes greenleaf's identity. disembarking from a luxurious cunard liner in his destination, italy, he "confesses" to a gullible textile-heiress that he is the young greenleaf, travelling incognito. thus, we are subtly introduced to the two over-riding themes of the antisocial personality disorder (still labelled by many professional authorities "psychopathy" and "sociopathy"): an overwhelming dysphoria and an even more overweening drive to assuage this angst by belonging. the psychopath is an unhappy person. he is besieged by recurrent depression bouts, hypochondria and an overpowering sense of alienation and drift. he is bored with his own life and is permeated by a seething and explosive envy of the lucky, the mighty, the clever, the have it alls, the know it alls, the handsome, the happy - in short: his opposites. he feels discriminated against and dealt a poor hand in the great poker game called life. he is driven obsessively to right these perceived wrongs and feels entirely justified in adopting whatever means he deems necessary in pursuing this goal. ripley's reality test is maintained throughout the film. in other words - while he gradually merges with the object of his admiring emulation, the young greenleaf - ripley can always tell the difference. after he kills greenleaf in self-defense, he assumes his name, wears his clothes, cashes his checks and makes phone calls from his rooms. but he also murders - or tries to murder - those who suspect the truth. these acts of lethal self-preservation prove conclusively that he knows who he is and that he fully realizes that his acts are parlously illegal. young greenleaf is young, captivatingly energetic, infinitely charming, breathtakingly handsome and deceivingly emotional. he lacks real talents - he know how to play only six jazz tunes, can't make up his musical mind between his faithful sax and a newly alluring drum kit and, an aspiring writer, can't even spell. these shortcomings and discrepancies are tucked under a glittering facade of non-chalance, refreshing spontaneity, an experimental spirit, unrepressed sexuality and unrestrained adventurism. but greenleaf jr. is a garden variety narcissist. he cheats on his lovely and loving girlfriend, marge. he refuses to lend money - of which he seems to have an unlimited supply, courtesy his ever more disenchanted father - to a girl he impregnated. she commits suicide and he blames the primitiveness of the emergency services, sulks and kicks his precious record player. in the midst of this infantile temper tantrum the rudiments of a conscience are visible. he evidently feels guilty. at least for a while. greenleaf jr. falls in and out of love and friendship in a predictable pendulous rhythm. he idealizes his beaus and then devalues them. he finds them to be the quiddity of fascination one moment - and the distilled essence of boredom the next. and he is not shy about expressing his distaste and disenchantment. he is savagely cruel as he calls ripley a leach who has taken over his life and his possessions (having previously invited him to do so in no uncertain terms). he says that he is relieved to see him go and he cancels off-handedly elaborate plans they made together. greenleaf jr. maintains a poor record of keeping promises and a rich record of violence, as we discover towards the end of this suspenseful, taut yarn. ripley himself lacks an identity. he is a binary automaton driven by a set of two instructions - become someone and overcome resistance. he feels like a nobody and his overriding ambition is to be somebody, even if he has to fake it, or steal it. his only talents, he openly admits, are to fake both personalities and papers. he is a predator and he hunts for congruence, cohesion and meaning. he is in constant search of a family. greenleaf jr., he declares festively, is the older brother he never had. together with the long suffering fiancee in waiting, marge, they are a family. hasn't greenleaf sr. actually adopted him? this identity disturbance, which is at the psychodynamic root of both pathological narcissism and rapacious psychopathy, is all-pervasive. both ripley and greenleaf jr. are not sure who they are. ripley wants to be greenleaf jr. - not because of the latter's admirable personality, but because of his money. greenleaf jr. cultivates a false self of a jazz giant in the making and the author of the great american novel but he is neither and he bitterly knows it. even their sexual identity is not fully formed. ripley is at once homoerotic, autoerotic and heteroerotic. he has a succession of homosexual lovers (though apparently only platonic ones). yet, he is attracted to women. he falls desperately in love with greenleaf's false self and it is the revelation of the latter's dilapidated true self that leads to the atavistically bloody scene in the boat. but ripley is a different -and more ominous - beast altogether. he rambles on about the metaphorical dark chamber of his secrets, the key to which he wishes to share with a "loved" one. but this act of sharing (which never materializes) is intended merely to alleviate the constant pressure of the hot pursuit he is subjected to by the police and others. he disposes with equal equanimity of both loved ones and the occasional prying acquaintance. at least twice he utters words of love as he actually strangles his newfound inamorato and tries to slash an old and rekindled flame. he hesitates not a split second when confronted with an offer to betray greenleaf sr., his nominal employer and benefactor, and abscond with his money. he falsifies signatures with ease, makes eye contact convincingly, flashes the most heart rending smile when embarrassed or endangered. he is a caricature of the american dream: ambitious, driven, winsome, well versed in the mantras of the bourgeoisie. but beneath this thin veneer of hard learned, self-conscious and uneasy civility - lurks a beast of prey best characterized by the dsm iv (diagnostic and statistics manual): "failure to conform to social norms with respect to lawful behaviour, deceitfulness as indicated by repeated lying, use of aliases, or conning others to personal profit or pleasure, impulsivity or failure to plan ahead... reckless disregard for safety of self or others ...(and above all) lack of remorse." (from the criteria of the antisocial personality disorder). but perhaps the most intriguing portraits are those of the victims. marge insists, in the face of the most callous and abusive behaviour, that there is something "tender" in greenleaf jr. when she confronts the beguiling monster, ripley, she encounters the fate of all victims of psychopaths: disbelief, pity and ridicule. the truth is too horrible to contemplate, let alone comprehend. psychopaths are inhuman in the most profound sense of this compounded word. their emotions and conscience have been amputated and replaced by phantom imitations. but it is rare to pierce their meticulously crafted facade. they more often than not go on to great success and social acceptance while their detractors are relegated to the fringes of society. both meredith and peter, who had the misfortune of falling in deep, unrequited love with ripley, are punished. one by losing his life, the other by losing ripley time and again, mysteriously, capriciously, cruelly. thus, ultimately, the film is an intricate study of the pernicious ways of psychopathology. mental disorder is a venom not confined to its source. it spreads and affects its environment in a myriad surreptitiously subtle forms. it is a hydra, growing one hundred heads where one was severed. its victims writhe and as abuse is piled upon trauma - they turn to stone, the mute witnesses of horror, the stalactites and stalagmites of pain untold and unrecountable. for their tormentors are often as talented as mr. ripley is and they are as helpless and as clueless as his victims are. the truman show by: sam vaknin "the truman show" is a profoundly disturbing movie. on the surface, it deals with the worn out issue of the intermingling of life and the media. examples for such incestuous relationships abound: ronald reagan, the cinematic president was also a presidential movie star. in another movie ("the philadelphia experiment") a defrosted rip van winkle exclaims upon seeing reagan on television ( years after his forced hibernation started): "i know this guy, he used to play cowboys in the movies". candid cameras monitor the lives of webmasters (website owners) almost hours a day. the resulting images are continuously posted on the web and are available to anyone with a computer. the last decade witnessed a spate of films, all concerned with the confusion between life and the imitations of life, the media. the ingenious "capitan fracasse", "capricorn one", "sliver", "wag the dog" and many lesser films have all tried to tackle this (un)fortunate state of things and its moral and practical implications. the blurring line between life and its representation in the arts is arguably the main theme of "the truman show". the hero, truman, lives in an artificial world, constructed especially for him. he was born and raised there. he knows no other place. the people around him - unbeknownst to him - are all actors. his life is monitored by cameras and broadcast live to the world, hours a day, every day. he is spontaneous and funny because he is unaware of the monstrosity of which he is the main cogwheel. but peter weir, the movie's director, takes this issue one step further by perpetrating a massive act of immorality on screen. truman is lied to, cheated, deprived of his ability to make choices, controlled and manipulated by sinister, half-mad shylocks. as i said, he is unwittingly the only spontaneous, non-scripted, "actor" in the on-going soaper of his own life. all the other figures in his life, including his parents, are actors. hundreds of millions of viewers and voyeurs plug in to take a peep, to intrude upon what truman innocently and honestly believes to be his privacy. they are shown responding to various dramatic or anti-climactic events in truman's life. that we are the moral equivalent of these viewers-voyeurs, accomplices to the same crimes, comes as a shocking realization to us. we are (live) viewers and they are (celluloid) viewers. we both enjoy truman's inadvertent, non-consenting, exhibitionism. we know the truth about truman and so do they. of course, we are in a privileged moral position because we know it is a movie and they know it is a piece of raw life that they are watching. but moviegoers throughout hollywood's history have willingly and insatiably participated in numerous "truman shows". the lives (real or concocted) of the studio stars were brutally exploited and incorporated in their films. jean harlow, barbara stanwyck, james cagney all were forced to spill their guts in cathartic acts of on camera repentance and not so symbolic humiliation. "truman shows" is the more common phenomenon in the movie industry. then there is the question of the director of the movie as god and of god as the director of a movie. the members of his team - technical and non-technical alike - obey christoff, the director, almost blindly. they suspend their better moral judgement and succumb to his whims and to the brutal and vulgar aspects of his pervasive dishonesty and sadism. the torturer loves his victims. they define him and infuse his life with meaning. caught in a narrative, the movie says, people act immorally. (in)famous psychological experiments support this assertion. students were led to administer what they thought were "deadly" electric shocks to their colleagues or to treat them bestially in simulated prisons. they obeyed orders. so did all the hideous genocidal criminals in history. the director weir asks: should god be allowed to be immoral or should he be bound by morality and ethics? should his decisions and actions be constrained by an over-riding code of right and wrong? should we obey his commandments blindly or should we exercise judgement? if we do exercise judgement are we then being immoral because god (and the director christoff) know more (about the world, about us, the viewers and about truman), know better, are omnipotent? is the exercise of judgement the usurpation of divine powers and attributes? isn't this act of rebelliousness bound to lead us down the path of apocalypse? it all boils down to the question of free choice and free will versus the benevolent determinism imposed by an omniscient and omnipotent being. what is better: to have the choice and be damned (almost inevitably, as in the biblical narrative of the garden of eden) - or to succumb to the superior wisdom of a supreme being? a choice always involves a dilemma. it is the conflict between two equivalent states, two weighty decisions whose outcomes are equally desirable and two identically-preferable courses of action. where there is no such equivalence - there is no choice, merely the pre-ordained (given full knowledge) exercise of a preference or inclination. bees do not choose to make honey. a fan of football does not choose to watch a football game. he is motivated by a clear inequity between the choices that he faces. he can read a book or go to the game. his decision is clear and pre-determined by his predilection and by the inevitable and invariable implementation of the principle of pleasure. there is no choice here. it is all rather automatic. but compare this to the choice some victims had to make between two of their children in the face of nazi brutality. which child to sentence to death - which one to sentence to life? now, this is a real choice. it involves conflicting emotions of equal strength. one must not confuse decisions, opportunities and choice. decisions are the mere selection of courses of action. this selection can be the result of a choice or the result of a tendency (conscious, unconscious, or biological-genetic). opportunities are current states of the world, which allow for a decision to be made and to affect the future state of the world. choices are our conscious experience of moral or other dilemmas. christoff finds it strange that truman - having discovered the truth - insists upon his right to make choices, i.e., upon his right to experience dilemmas. to the director, dilemmas are painful, unnecessary, destructive, or at best disruptive. his utopian world - the one he constructed for truman - is choice-free and dilemma-free. truman is programmed not in the sense that his spontaneity is extinguished. truman is wrong when, in one of the scenes, he keeps shouting: "be careful, i am spontaneous". the director and fat-cat capitalistic producers want him to be spontaneous, they want him to make decisions. but they do not want him to make choices. so they influence his preferences and predilections by providing him with an absolutely totalitarian, micro-controlled, repetitive environment. such an environment reduces the set of possible decisions so that there is only one favourable or acceptable decision (outcome) at any junction. truman does decide whether to walk down a certain path or not. but when he does decide to walk - only one path is available to him. his world is constrained and limited - not his actions. actually, truman's only choice in the movie leads to an arguably immoral decision. he abandons ship. he walks out on the whole project. he destroys an investment of billions of dollars, people's lives and careers. he turns his back on some of the actors who seem to really be emotionally attached to him. he ignores the good and pleasure that the show has brought to the lives of millions of people (the viewers). he selfishly and vengefully goes away. he knows all this. by the time he makes his decision, he is fully informed. he knows that some people may commit suicide, go bankrupt, endure major depressive episodes, do drugs. but this massive landscape of resulting devastation does not deter him. he prefers his narrow, personal, interest. he walks. but truman did not ask or choose to be put in his position. he found himself responsible for all these people without being consulted. there was no consent or act of choice involved. how can anyone be responsible for the well-being and lives of other people - if he did not choose to be so responsible? moreover, truman had the perfect moral right to think that these people wronged him. are we morally responsible and accountable for the well-being and lives of those who wrong us? true christians are, for instance. moreover, most of us, most of the time, find ourselves in situations which we did not help mould by our decisions. we are unwillingly cast into the world. we do not provide prior consent to being born. this fundamental decision is made for us, forced upon us. this pattern persists throughout our childhood and adolescence: decisions are made elsewhere by others and influence our lives profoundly. as adults we are the objects - often the victims - of the decisions of corrupt politicians, mad scientists, megalomaniac media barons, gung-ho generals and demented artists. this world is not of our making and our ability to shape and influence it is very limited and rather illusory. we live in our own "truman show". does this mean that we are not morally responsible for others? we are morally responsible even if we did not choose the circumstances and the parameters and characteristics of the universe that we inhabit. the swedish count wallenberg imperilled his life (and lost it) smuggling hunted jews out of nazi occupied europe. he did not choose, or helped to shape nazi europe. it was the brainchild of the deranged director hitler. having found himself an unwilling participant in hitler's horror show, wallenberg did not turn his back and opted out. he remained within the bloody and horrific set and did his best. truman should have done the same. jesus said that he should have loved his enemies. he should have felt and acted with responsibility towards his fellow human beings, even towards those who wronged him greatly. but this may be an inhuman demand. such forgiveness and magnanimity are the reserve of god. and the fact that truman's tormentors did not see themselves as such and believed that they were acting in his best interests and that they were catering to his every need - does not absolve them from their crimes. truman should have maintained a fine balance between his responsibility to the show, its creators and its viewers and his natural drive to get back at his tormentors. the source of the dilemma (which led to his act of choosing) is that the two groups overlap. truman found himself in the impossible position of being the sole guarantor of the well-being and lives of his tormentors. to put the question in sharper relief: are we morally obliged to save the life and livelihood of someone who greatly wronged us? or is vengeance justified in such a case? a very problematic figure in this respect is that of truman's best and childhood friend. they grew up together, shared secrets, emotions and adventures. yet he lies to truman constantly and under the director's instructions. everything he says is part of a script. it is this disinformation that convinces us that he is not truman's true friend. a real friend is expected, above all, to provide us with full and true information and, thereby, to enhance our ability to choose. truman's true love in the show tried to do it. she paid the price: she was ousted from the show. but she tried to provide truman with a choice. it is not sufficient to say the right things and make the right moves. inner drive and motivation are required and the willingness to take risks (such as the risk of providing truman with full information about his condition). all the actors who played truman's parents, loving wife, friends and colleagues, miserably failed on this score. it is in this mimicry that the philosophical key to the whole movie rests. a utopia cannot be faked. captain nemo's utopian underwater city was a real utopia because everyone knew everything about it. people were given a choice (though an irreversible and irrevocable one). they chose to become lifetime members of the reclusive captain's colony and to abide by its (overly rational) rules. the utopia came closest to extinction when a group of stray survivors of a maritime accident were imprisoned in it against their expressed will. in the absence of choice, no utopia can exist. in the absence of full, timely and accurate information, no choice can exist. actually, the availability of choice is so crucial that even when it is prevented by nature itself - and not by the designs of more or less sinister or monomaniac people - there can be no utopia. in h.g. wells' book "the time machine", the hero wanders off to the third millennium only to come across a peaceful utopia. its members are immortal, don't have to work, or think in order to survive. sophisticated machines take care of all their needs. no one forbids them to make choices. there simply is no need to make them. so the utopia is fake and indeed ends badly. finally, the "truman show" encapsulates the most virulent attack on capitalism in a long time. greedy, thoughtless money machines in the form of billionaire tycoon-producers exploit truman's life shamelessly and remorselessly in the ugliest display of human vices possible. the director indulges in his control-mania. the producers indulge in their monetary obsession. the viewers (on both sides of the silver screen) indulge in voyeurism. the actors vie and compete in the compulsive activity of furthering their petty careers. it is a repulsive canvas of a disintegrating world. perhaps christoff is right after al when he warns truman about the true nature of the world. but truman chooses. he chooses the exit door leading to the outer darkness over the false sunlight in the utopia that he leaves behind. the matrix by: sam vaknin it is easy to confuse the concepts of "virtual reality" and a "computerized model of reality (simulation)". the former is a self-contained universe, replete with its "laws of physics" and "logic". it can bear resemblance to the real world or not. it can be consistent or not. it can interact with the real world or not. in short, it is an arbitrary environment. in contrast, a model of reality must have a direct and strong relationship to the world. it must obey the rules of physics and of logic. the absence of such a relationship renders it meaningless. a flight simulator is not much good in a world without aeroplanes or if it ignores the laws of nature. a technical analysis program is useless without a stock exchange or if its mathematically erroneous. yet, the two concepts are often confused because they are both mediated by and reside on computers. the computer is a self-contained (though not closed) universe. it incorporates the hardware, the data and the instructions for the manipulation of the data (software). it is, therefore, by definition, a virtual reality. it is versatile and can correlate its reality with the world outside. but it can also refrain from doing so. this is the ominous "what if" in artificial intelligence (ai). what if a computer were to refuse to correlate its internal (virtual) reality with the reality of its makers? what if it were to impose its own reality on us and make it the privileged one? in the visually tantalizing movie, "the matrix", a breed of ai computers takes over the world. it harvests human embryos in laboratories called "fields". it then feeds them through grim looking tubes and keeps them immersed in gelatinous liquid in cocoons. this new "machine species" derives its energy needs from the electricity produced by the billions of human bodies thus preserved. a sophisticated, all-pervasive, computer program called "the matrix" generates a "world" inhabited by the consciousness of the unfortunate human batteries. ensconced in their shells, they see themselves walking, talking, working and making love. this is a tangible and olfactory phantasm masterfully created by the matrix. its computing power is mind boggling. it generates the minutest details and reams of data in a spectacularly successful effort to maintain the illusion. a group of human miscreants succeeds to learn the secret of the matrix. they form an underground and live aboard a ship, loosely communicating with a halcyon city called "zion", the last bastion of resistance. in one of the scenes, cypher, one of the rebels defects. over a glass of (illusory) rubicund wine and (spectral) juicy steak, he poses the main dilemma of the movie. is it better to live happily in a perfectly detailed delusion - or to survive unhappily but free of its hold? the matrix controls the minds of all the humans in the world. it is a bridge between them, they inter-connected through it. it makes them share the same sights, smells and textures. they remember. they compete. they make decisions. the matrix is sufficiently complex to allow for this apparent lack of determinism and ubiquity of free will. the root question is: is there any difference between making decisions and feeling certain of making them (not having made them)? if one is unaware of the existence of the matrix, the answer is no. from the inside, as a part of the matrix, making decisions and appearing to be making them are identical states. only an outside observer - one who in possession of full information regarding both the matrix and the humans - can tell the difference. moreover, if the matrix were a computer program of infinite complexity, no observer (finite or infinite) would have been able to say with any certainty whose a decision was - the matrix's or the human's. and because the matrix, for all intents and purposes, is infinite compared to the mind of any single, tube-nourished, individual - it is safe to say that the states of "making a decision" and "appearing to be making a decision" are subjectively indistinguishable. no individual within the matrix would be able to tell the difference. his or her life would seem to him or her as real as ours are to us. the matrix may be deterministic - but this determinism is inaccessible to individual minds because of the complexity involved. when faced with a trillion deterministic paths, one would be justified to feel that he exercised free, unconstrained will in choosing one of them. free will and determinism are indistinguishable at a certain level of complexity. yet, we know that the matrix is different to our world. it is not the same. this is an intuitive kind of knowledge, for sure, but this does not detract from its firmness. if there is no subjective difference between the matrix and our universe, there must be an objective one. another key sentence is uttered by morpheus, the leader of the rebels. he says to "the chosen one" (the messiah) that it is really the year , though the matrix gives the impression that it is . this is where the matrix and reality diverge. though a human who would experience both would find them indistinguishable - objectively they are different. in one of them (the matrix), people have no objective time (though the matrix might have it). the other (reality) is governed by it. under the spell of the matrix, people feel as though time goes by. they have functioning watches. the sun rises and sets. seasons change. they grow old and die. this is not entirely an illusion. their bodies do decay and die, as ours do. they are not exempt from the laws of nature. but their awareness of time is computer generated. the matrix is sufficiently sophisticated and knowledgeable to maintain a close correlation between the physical state of the human (his health and age) and his consciousness of the passage of time. the basic rules of time - for instance, its asymmetry - are part of the program. but this is precisely it. time in the minds of these people is program-generated, not reality-induced. it is not the derivative of change and irreversible (thermodynamic and other) processes out there. their minds are part of a computer program and the computer program is a part of their minds. their bodies are static, degenerating in their protective nests. nothing happens to them except in their minds. they have no physical effect on the world. they effect no change. these things set the matrix and reality apart. to "qualify" as reality a two-way interaction must occur. one flow of data is when reality influences the minds of people (as does the matrix). the obverse, but equally necessary, type of data flow is when people know reality and influence it. the matrix triggers a time sensation in people the same way that the universe triggers a time sensation in us. something does happen out there and it is called the matrix. in this sense, the matrix is real, it is the reality of these humans. it maintains the requirement of the first type of flow of data. but it fails the second test: people do not know that it exists or any of its attributes, nor do they affect it irreversibly. they do not change the matrix. paradoxically, the rebels do affect the matrix (they almost destroy it). in doing so, they make it real. it is their reality because they know it and they irreversibly change it. applying this dual-track test, "virtual" reality is a reality, albeit, at this stage, of a deterministic type. it affects our minds, we know that it exists and we affect it in return. our choices and actions irreversibly alter the state of the system. this altered state, in turn, affects our minds. this interaction is what we call "reality". with the advent of stochastic and quantum virtual reality generators - the distinction between "real" and "virtual" will fade. the matrix thus is not impossible. but that it is possible - does not make it real. the shattered identity by: sam vaknin read these essays first: the habitual identity death, meaning, and identity fact and truth dreams - the metaphors of mind i. exposition in the movie "shattered" ( ), dan merrick survives an accident and develops total amnesia regarding his past. his battered face is reconstructed by plastic surgeons and, with the help of his loving wife, he gradually recovers his will to live. but he never develops a proper sense of identity. it is as though he is constantly ill at ease in his own body. as the plot unravels, dan is led to believe that he may have murdered his wife's lover, jack. this thriller offers additional twists and turns but, throughout it all, we face this question: dan has no recollection of being dan. dan does not remember murdering jack. it seems as though dan's very identity has been erased. yet, dan is in sound mind and can tell right from wrong. should dan be held (morally and, as a result, perhaps legally as well) accountable for jack's murder? would the answer to this question still be the same had dan erased from his memory only the crime -but recalled everything else (in an act of selective dissociation)? do our moral and legal accountability and responsibility spring from the integrity of our memories? if dan were to be punished for a crime he doesn't have the faintest recollection of committing - wouldn't he feel horribly wronged? wouldn't he be justified in feeling so? there are many states of consciousness that involve dissociation and selective amnesia: hypnosis, trance and possession, hallucination, illusion, memory disorders (like organic, or functional amnesia), depersonalization disorder, dissociative fugue, dreaming, psychosis, post traumatic stress disorder, and drug-induced psychotomimetic states. consider this, for instance: what if dan were the victim of a multiple personality disorder (now known as "dissociative identity disorder")? what if one of his "alters" (i.e., one of the multitude of "identities" sharing dan's mind and body) committed the crime? should dan still be held responsible? what if the alter "john" committed the crime and then "vanished", leaving behind another alter (let us say, "joseph") in control? should "joseph" be held responsible for the crime "john" committed? what if "john" were to reappear years after he "vanished"? what if he were to reappear years after he "vanished"? what if he were to reappear for a period of days - only to "vanish" again? and what is dan's role in all this? who, exactly, then, is dan? ii. who is dan? buddhism compares man to a river. both retain their identity despite the fact that their individual composition is different at different moments. the possession of a body as the foundation of a self-identity is a dubious proposition. bodies change drastically in time (consider a baby compared to an adult). almost all the cells in a human body are replaced every few years. changing one's brain (by transplantation) - also changes one's identity, even if the rest of the body remains the same. thus, the only thing that binds a "person" together (i.e., gives him a self and an identity) is time, or, more precisely, memory. by "memory" i also mean: personality, skills, habits, retrospected emotions - in short: all long term imprints and behavioural patterns. the body is not an accidental and insignificant container, of course. it constitutes an important part of one's self-image, self-esteem, sense of self-worth, and sense of existence (spatial, temporal, and social). but one can easily imagine a brain in vitro as having the same identity as when it resided in a body. one cannot imagine a body without a brain (or with a different brain) as having the same identity it had before the brain was removed or replaced. what if the brain in vitro (in the above example) could not communicate with us at all? would we still think it is possessed of a self? the biological functions of people in coma are maintained. but do they have an identity, a self? if yes, why do we "pull the plug" on them so often? it would seem (as it did to locke) that we accept that someone has a self-identity if: (a) he has the same hardware as we do (notably, a brain) and (b) he communicates his humanly recognizable and comprehensible inner world to us and manipulates his environment. we accept that he has a given (i.e., the same continuous) self-identity if (c) he shows consistent intentional (i.e., willed) patterns ("memory") in doing (b) for a long period of time. it seems that we accept that we have a self-identity (i.e., we are self-conscious) if (a) we discern (usually through introspection) long term consistent intentional (i.e., willed) patterns ("memory") in our manipulation ("relating to") of our environment and (b) others accept that we have a self-identity (herbert mead, feuerbach). dan (probably) has the same hardware as we do (a brain). he communicates his (humanly recognizable and comprehensible) inner world to us (which is how he manipulates us and his environment). thus, dan clearly has a self-identity. but he is inconsistent. his intentional (willed) patterns, his memory, are incompatible with those demonstrated by dan before the accident. though he clearly is possessed of a self-identity, we cannot say that he has the same self-identity he possessed before the crash. in other words, we cannot say that he, indeed, is dan. dan himself does not feel that he has a self-identity at all. he discerns intentional (willed) patterns in his manipulation of his environment but, due to his amnesia, he cannot tell if these are consistent, or long term. in other words, dan has no memory. moreover, others do not accept him as dan (or have their doubts) because they have no memory of dan as he is now. interim conclusion: having a memory is a necessary and sufficient condition for possessing a self-identity. iii. repression yet, resorting to memory to define identity may appear to be a circular (even tautological) argument. when we postulate memory - don't we already presuppose the existence of a "remembering agent" with an established self-identity? moreover, we keep talking about "discerning", "intentional", or "willed" patterns. but isn't a big part of our self (in the form of the unconscious, full of repressed memories) unavailable to us? don't we develop defence mechanisms against repressed memories and fantasies, against unconscious content incongruent with our self-image? even worse, this hidden, inaccessible, dynamically active part of our self is thought responsible for our recurrent discernible patterns of behaviour. the phenomenon of posthypnotic suggestion seems to indicate that this may be the case. the existence of a self-identity is, therefore, determined through introspection (by oneself) and observation (by others) of merely the conscious part of the self. but the unconscious is as much a part of one's self-identity as one's conscious. what if, due to a mishap, the roles were reversed? what if dan's conscious part were to become his unconscious and his unconscious part - his conscious? what if all his conscious memories, drives, fears, wishes, fantasies, and hopes - were to become unconscious while his repressed memories, drives, etc. - were to become conscious? would we still say that it is "the same" dan and that he retains his self-identity? not very likely. and yet, one's (unremembered) unconscious - for instance, the conflict between id and ego - determines one's personality and self-identity. the main contribution of psychoanalysis and later psychodynamic schools is the understanding that self-identity is a dynamic, evolving, ever-changing construct - and not a static, inertial, and passive entity. it casts doubt over the meaningfulness of the question with which we ended the exposition: "who, exactly, then, is dan?" dan is different at different stages of his life (erikson) and he constantly evolves in accordance with his innate nature (jung), past history (adler), drives (freud), cultural milieu (horney), upbringing (klein, winnicott), needs (murray), or the interplay with his genetic makeup. dan is not a thing - he is a process. even dan's personality traits and cognitive style, which may well be stable, are often influenced by dan's social setting and by his social interactions. it would seem that having a memory is a necessary but insufficient condition for possessing a self-identity. one cannot remember one's unconscious states (though one can remember their outcomes). one often forgets events, names, and other information even if it was conscious at a given time in one's past. yet, one's (unremembered) unconscious is an integral and important part of one's identity and one's self. the remembered as well as the unremembered constitute one's self-identity. iv. the memory link hume said that to be considered in possession of a mind, a creature needs to have a few states of consciousness linked by memory in a kind of narrative or personal mythology. can this conjecture be equally applied to unconscious mental states (e.g. subliminal perceptions, beliefs, drives, emotions, desires, etc.)? in other words, can we rephrase hume and say that to be considered in possession of a mind, a creature needs to have a few states of consciousness and a few states of the unconscious - all linked by memory into a personal narrative? isn't it a contradiction in terms to remember the unconscious? the unconscious and the subliminal are instance of the general category of mental phenomena which are not states of consciousness (i.e., are not conscious). sleep and hypnosis are two others. but so are "background mental phenomena" - e.g., one holds onto one's beliefs and knowledge even when one is not aware (conscious) of them at every given moment. we know that an apple will fall towards the earth, we know how to drive a car ("automatically"), and we believe that the sun will rise tomorrow, even though we do not spend every second of our waking life consciously thinking about falling apples, driving cars, or the position of the sun. yet, the fact that knowledge and beliefs and other background mental phenomena are not constantly conscious - does not mean that they cannot be remembered. they can be remembered either by an act of will, or in (sometimes an involuntary) response to changes in the environment. the same applies to all other unconscious content. unconscious content can be recalled. psychoanalysis, for instance, is about re-introducing repressed unconscious content to the patient's conscious memory and thus making it "remembered". in fact, one's self-identity may be such a background mental phenomenon (always there, not always conscious, not always remembered). the acts of will which bring it to the surface are what we call "memory" and "introspection". this would seem to imply that having a self-identity is independent of having a memory (or the ability to introspect). memory is just the mechanism by which one becomes aware of one's background, "always-on", and omnipresent (all-pervasive) self-identity. self-identity is the object and predicate of memory and introspection. it is as though self-identity were an emergent extensive parameter of the complex human system - measurable by the dual techniques of memory and introspection. we, therefore, have to modify our previous conclusions: having a memory is not a necessary nor a sufficient condition for possessing a self-identity. we are back to square one. the poor souls in oliver sacks' tome, "the man who mistook his wife for a hat" are unable to create and retain memories. they occupy an eternal present, with no past. they are thus unable to access (or invoke) their self-identity by remembering it. their self-identity is unavailable to them (though it is available to those who observe them over many years) - but it exists for sure. therapy often succeeds in restoring pre-amnesiac memories and self-identity. v. the incorrigible self self-identity is not only always-on and all-pervasive - but also incorrigible. in other words, no one - neither an observer, nor the person himself - can "disprove" the existence of his self-identity. no one can prove that a report about the existence of his (or another's) self-identity is mistaken. is it equally safe to say that no one - neither an observer, nor the person himself - can prove (or disprove) the non-existence of his self-identity? would it be correct to say that no one can prove that a report about the non-existence of his (or another's) self-identity is true or false? dan's criminal responsibility crucially depends on the answers to these questions. dan cannot be held responsible for jack's murder if he can prove that he is ignorant of the facts of his action (i.e., if he can prove the non-existence of his self-identity). if he has no access to his (former) self-identity - he can hardly be expected to be aware and cognizant of these facts. what is in question is not dan's mens rea, nor the application of the mcnaghten tests (did dan know the nature and quality of his act or could he tell right from wrong) to determine whether dan was insane when he committed the crime. a much broader issue is at stake: is it the same person? is the murderous dan the same person as the current dan? even though dan seems to own the same body and brain and is manifestly sane - he patently has no access to his (former) self-identity. he has changed so drastically that it is arguable whether he is still the same person - he has been "replaced". finally, we can try to unite all the strands of our discourse into this double definition: it would seem that we accept that someone has a self-identity if: (a) he has the same hardware as we do (notably, a brain) and, by implication, the same software as we do (an all-pervasive, omnipresent self-identity) and (b) he communicates his humanly recognizable and comprehensible inner world to us and manipulates his environment. we accept that he has a specific (i.e., the same continuous) self-identity if (c) he shows consistent intentional (i.e., willed) patterns ("memory") in doing (b) for a long period of time. it seems that we accept that we have a specific self-identity (i.e., we are self-conscious of a specific identity) if (a) we discern (usually through memory and introspection) long term consistent intentional (i.e., willed) patterns ("memory") in our manipulation ("relating to") of our environment and (b) others accept that we have a specific self-identity. in conclusion: dan undoubtedly has a self-identity (being human and, thus, endowed with a brain). equally undoubtedly, this self-identity is not dan's (but a new, unfamiliar, one). such is the stuff of our nightmares - body snatching, demonic possession, waking up in a strange place, not knowing who we are. without a continuous personal history - we are not. it is what binds our various bodies, states of mind, memories, skills, emotions, and cognitions - into a coherent bundle of identity. dan speaks, drinks, dances, talks, and makes love - but throughout that time, he is not present because he does not remember dan and how it is to be dan. he may have murdered jake - but, by all philosophical and ethical criteria, it was most definitely not his fault. titanic, or a moral deliberation by: sam vaknin the film "titanic" is riddled with moral dilemmas. in one of the scenes, the owner of star line, the shipping company that owned the now-sinking unsinkable, joins a lowered life-boat. the tortured expression on his face demonstrates that even he experiences more than unease at his own conduct. prior to the disaster, he instructs the captain to adopt a policy dangerous to the ship. indeed, it proves fatal. a complicating factor was the fact that only women and children were allowed by the officers in charge into the lifeboats. another was the discrimination against third class passengers. the boats sufficed only to half the number of those on board and the first class, high society passengers were preferred over the low-life immigrants under deck. why do we all feel that the owner should have stayed on and faced his inevitable death? because we judge him responsible for the demise of the ship. additionally, his wrong instructions - motivated by greed and the pursuit of celebrity - were a crucial contributing factor. the owner should have been punished (in his future) for things that he has done (in his past). this is intuitively appealing. would we have rendered the same judgement had the titanic's fate been the outcome of accident and accident alone? if the owner of the ship could have had no control over the circumstances of its horrible ending - would we have still condemned him for saving his life? less severely, perhaps. so, the fact that a moral entity has acted (or omitted, or refrained from acting) in its past is essential in dispensing with future rewards or punishments. the "product liability" approach also fits here. the owner (and his "long arms": manufacturer, engineers, builders, etc.) of the titanic were deemed responsible because they implicitly contracted with their passengers. they made a representation (which was explicit in their case but is implicit in most others): "this ship was constructed with knowledge and forethought. the best design was employed to avoid danger. the best materials to increase pleasure." that the titanic sank was an irreversible breach of this contract. in a way, it was an act of abrogation of duties and obligations. the owner/manufacturer of a product must compensate the consumers should his product harm them in any manner that they were not explicitly, clearly, visibly and repeatedly warned against. moreover, he should even make amends if the product failed to meet the reasonable and justified expectations of consumers, based on such warrants and representations. the payment should be either in kind (as in more ancient justice systems) or in cash (as in modern western civilization). the product called "titanic" took away the lives of its end-users. our "gut justice" tells us that the owner should have paid in kind. faulty engineering, insufficient number of lifeboats, over-capacity, hubris, passengers and crew not drilled to face emergencies, extravagant claims regarding the ship's resilience, contravening the captain's professional judgement. all these seem to be sufficient grounds to the death penalty. and yet, this is not the real question. the serious problem is this : why should anyone pay in his future for his actions in the past? first, there are some thorny issues to be eliminated. such as determinism: if there is no free will, there can be no personal responsibility. another is the preservation of personal identity: are the person who committed the act and the person who is made to pay for it - one and the same? if the answer is in the affirmative, in which sense are they the same, the physical, the mental? is the "overlap" only limited and probabilistic? still, we could assume, for this discussion's sake, that the personal identity is undeniably and absolutely preserved and that there is free will and, therefore, that people can predict the outcomes of their actions, to a reasonable degree of accuracy and that they elect to accept these outcomes prior to the commission of their acts or to their omission. all this does not answer the question that opened this paragraph. even if there were a contract signed between the acting person and the world, in which the person willingly, consciously and intelligently (=without diminished responsibility) accepted the future outcome of his acts, the questions would remain: why should it be so? why cannot we conceive of a world in which acts and outcomes are divorced? it is because we cannot believe in an a-causal world. causality is a relationship (mostly between two things, or, rather, events, the cause and the effect). something generates or produces another. therefore, it is the other's efficient cause and it acts upon it (=it acts to bring it about) through the mechanism of efficient causation. a cause can be a direct physical mechanism or an explanatory feature (historical cause). of aristotle's four causes (formal, material, efficient and final), only the efficient cause creates something distinguishable from itself. the causal discourse, therefore, is problematic (how can a cause lead to an effect, indistinguishable from itself?). singular paradigmatic causal statements (event a caused event b) differ from general ones (event a causes event b). both are inadequate in dealing with mundane, routine, causal statements because they do not reveal an overt relation between the two events discussed. moreover, in daily usage we treat facts (as well as events) as causes. not all the philosophers are in agreement regarding factual causation. davidson, for instance, admits that facts can be relevant to causal explanations but refuses to accept them as reasons. acts may be distinct from facts, philosophically, but not in day-to-day regular usage. by laymen (the vast majority of humanity, that is), though, they are perceived to be the same. pairs of events that are each other's cause and effect are accorded a special status. but, that one follows the other (even if invariably) is insufficient grounds to endow them with this status. this is the famous "post hoc, ergo propter hoc" fallacy. other relations must be weighed and the possibility of common causation must be seriously contemplated. such sequencing is, conceptually, not even necessary: simultaneous causation and backwards causation are part of modern physics, for instance. time seems to be irrelevant to the status of events, though both time and causation share an asymmetric structure (a causes b but b does not cause a). the direction (the asymmetry) of the causal chain is not of the same type as the direction (asymmetry) of time. the former is formal, the latter, presumably, physical, or mental. a more serious problem, to my mind, is the converse: what sets apart causal (cause and effect) pairs of events from other pairs in which both member-events are the outcomes of a common cause? event b can invariably follow event a and still not be its effect. both events could have been caused by a common cause. a cause either necessitates the effect, or is a sufficient condition for its occurrence. the sequence is either inevitable, or possible. the meaninglessness of this sentence is evident. here, philosophers diverge. some say (following hume's reasoning and his constant conjunction relation between events) that a necessary causal relation exists between events when one is the inevitable outcome (=follows) the other. others propound a weaker version: the necessity of the effect is hypothetical or conditional, given the laws of nature. put differently: to say that a necessitates (=causes) b is no more than to say that it is a result of the laws of nature that when a happens, so does b. hempel generalized this approach. he said that a statement of a fact (whether a private or a general fact) is explained only if deduced from other statements, at least one of which is a statement of a general scientific law. this is the "covering law model" and it implies a symmetry between explaining and predicting (at least where private facts are concerned). if an event can be explained, it could have been predicted and vice versa. needless to say that hempel's approach did not get us nearer to solving the problems of causal priority and of indeterministic causation. the empiricists went a step further. they stipulated that the laws of nature are contingencies and not necessary truths. other chains of events are possible where the laws of nature are different. this is the same tired regularity theory in a more exotic guise. they are all descendants of hume's definition of causality: "an object followed by another and where all the objects that resemble the first are followed by objects that resemble the second." nothing in the world is, therefore, a causal necessity, events are only constantly conjoined. regularities in our experience condition us to form the idea of causal necessity and to deduce that causes must generate events. kant called this latter deduction "a bastard of the imagination, impregnated by experience" with no legitimate application in the world. it also constituted a theological impediment. god is considered to be "causa sui", his own cause. but any application of a causal chain or force, already assumes the existence of a cause. this existence cannot, therefore, be the outcome of the use made of it. god had to be recast as the uncaused cause of the existence of all things contingent and his existence necessitated no cause because he, himself, is necessary. this is flimsy stuff and it gets even flimsier when the issue of causal deviance is debated. a causal deviance is an abnormal, though causal, relation between events or states of the world. it mainly arises when we introduce intentional action and perception into the theory of causation. let us revert to the much-maligned owner of the sinking titanic. he intended to do one thing and another happened. granted, if he intended to do something and his intention was the cause of his doing so - then we could have said that he intentionally committed an act. but what if he intended to do one thing and out came another? and what if he intended to do something, mistakenly did something else and, still, accidentally, achieved what he set out to do? the popular example is if someone intends to do something and gets so nervous that it happens even without an act being committed (intends to refuse an invitation by his boss, gets so nervous that he falls asleep and misses the party). are these actions and intentions in their classical senses? there is room for doubt. davidson narrows down the demands. to him, "thinking causes" (causally efficient propositional attitudes) are nothing but causal relations between events with the right application of mental predicates which ascribe propositional attitudes supervening the right application of physical predicates. this approach omits intention altogether, not to mention the ascription of desire and belief. but shouldn't have the hapless owner availed his precious place to women and children? should not he have obeyed the captain's orders (=the marine law)? should we succumb to laws that put our lives at risk (fight in a war, sink with a ship)? the reason that women and children are preferred over men is that they represent the future. they are either capable of bringing life to the world (women) - or of living longer (children). societal etiquette reflects the arithmetic of the species, in this (and in many another) case. but if this were entirely and exclusively so, then young girls and female infants would have been preferred over all the other groups of passengers. old women would have been left with the men, to die. that the actual (and declared) selection processes differed from our theoretical exercise says a lot about the vigorousness and applicability of our theories - and a lot about the real world out there. the owner's behaviour may have been deplorable - but it, definitely, was natural. he put his interests (his survival) above the concerns of his society and his species. most of us would have done the same under the same circumstances. the owner of the ship - though "newly rich" - undoubtedly belonged to the first class, upper crust, cream of society passengers. these were treated to the lifeboats before the passengers of the lower classes and decks. was this a morally right decision? for sure, it was not politically correct, in today's terms. class and money distinctions were formally abolished three decades ago in the enlightened west. discrimination between human beings in now allowed only on the basis of merit (=on the basis of one's natural endowments). why should we think one basis for discrimination preferable to another? can we eliminate discrimination completely and if it were possible, would it have been desirable? the answers, in my view, are that no basis of discrimination can hold the moral high ground. they are all morally problematic because they are deterministic and assign independent, objective, exogenous values to humans. on the other hand, we are not born equal, nor do we proceed to develop equally, or live under the same circumstances and conditions. it is impossible to equate the unequal. discrimination is not imposed by humans on an otherwise egalitarian world. it is introduced by the world into human society. and the elimination of discrimination would constitute a grave error. the inequalities among humans and the ensuing conflicts are the fuel that feeds the engines of human development. hopes, desires, aspirations and inspiration are all the derivatives of discrimination or of the wish to be favoured, or preferred over others. disparities of money create markets, labour, property, planning, wealth and capital. mental inequalities lead to innovation and theory. knowledge differentials are at the heart of educational institutions, professionalism, government and so on. osmotic and diffusive forces in human society are all the results of incongruences, disparities, differences, inequalities and the negative and positive emotions attached to them. the passengers of the first class were preferred because they paid more for their tickets. inevitably, a tacit portion of the price went to amortize the costs of "class insurance": should anything bad happen to this boat, persons who paid a superior price will be entitled to receive a superior treatment. there is nothing morally wrong with this. some people get to sit in the front rows of a theatre, or to travel in luxury, or to receive superior medical treatment (or any medical treatment) precisely because of this reason. there is no practical or philosophical difference between an expensive liver transplant and a place in a life boat. both are lifesavers. a natural disaster is no great equalizer. nothing is. even the argument that money is "external" or "accidental" to the rich individual is weak. often, people who marry for money considerations are judged to be insincere or worse (cunning, conspiring, evil). "he married her for her money", we say, as though the she-owner and the money were two separate things. the equivalent sentence: "he married her for her youth or for her beauty" sounds flawed. but youth and beauty are more temporary and transient than money. they are really accidental because the individual has no responsibility for or share in their generation and has no possibility to effect their long-term preservation. money, on the other hand, is generated or preserved (or both) owing to the personality of its owner. it is a better reflection of personality than youth, beauty and many other (transient or situation-dependent) "character" traits. money is an integral part of its owner and a reliable witness as to his mental disposition. it is, therefore, a valid criterion for discrimination. the other argument in favour of favouring the first class passengers is their contribution to society. a rich person contributes more to his society in the shorter and medium term than a poor person. vincent van gogh may have been a million times more valuable to humanity, as a whole, than his brother theo - in the long run. but in the intermediate term, theo made it possible for vincent and many others (family, employees, suppliers, their dependants and his country) to survive by virtue of his wealth. rich people feed and cloth poor people directly (employment, donations) and indirectly (taxation). the opposite, alas, is not the case. yet, this argument is flawed because it does not take time into account. we have no way to predict the future with any certainty. each person carries the marshall's baton in his bag, the painter's brush, the author's fables. it is the potential that should count. a selection process, which would have preferred theo to vincent would have been erroneous. in the long run, vincent proved more beneficial to human society and in more ways - including financially - then theo could have ever been. being john malkovich by: dr. sam vaknin a quintessential loser, an out-of-job puppeteer, is hired by a firm, whose offices are ensconced in a half floor (literally. the ceiling is about a metre high, reminiscent of taniel's hallucinatory alice in wonderland illustrations). by sheer accident, he discovers a tunnel (a "portal", in internet-age parlance), which sucks its visitors into the mind of the celebrated actor, john malkovich. the movie is a tongue in cheek discourse of identity, gender and passion in an age of languid promiscuity. it poses all the right metaphysical riddles and presses the viewers' intellectual stimulation buttons. a two line bit of dialogue, though, forms the axis of this nightmarishly chimerical film. john malkovich (played by himself), enraged and bewildered by the unabashed commercial exploitation of the serendipitous portal to his mind, insists that craig, the aforementioned puppet master, cease and desist with his activities. "it is my brain" - he screams and, with a typical american finale, "i will see you in court". craig responds: "but, it was i who discovered the portal. it is my livelihood". this apparently innocuous exchange disguises a few very unsettling ethical dilemmas. the basic question is "whose brain is it, anyway"? does john malkovich own his brain? is one's brain - one's property? property is usually acquired somehow. is our brain "acquired"? it is clear that we do not acquire the hardware (neurones) and software (electrical and chemical pathways) we are born with. but it is equally clear that we do "acquire" both brain mass and the contents of our brains (its wiring or irreversible chemical changes) through learning and experience. does this process of acquisition endow us with property rights? it would seem that property rights pertaining to human bodies are fairly restricted. we have no right to sell our kidneys, for instance. or to destroy our body through the use of drugs. or to commit an abortion at will. yet, the law does recognize and strives to enforce copyrights, patents and other forms of intellectual property rights. this dichotomy is curious. for what is intellectual property but a mere record of the brain's activities? a book, a painting, an invention are the documentation and representation of brain waves. they are mere shadows, symbols of the real presence - our mind. how can we reconcile this contradiction? we are deemed by the law to be capable of holding full and unmitigated rights to the products of our brain activity, to the recording and documentation of our brain waves. but we hold only partial rights to the brain itself, their originator. this can be somewhat understood if we were to consider this article, for instance. it is composed on a word processor. i do not own full rights to the word processing software (merely a licence), nor is the laptop i use my property - but i posses and can exercise and enforce full rights regarding this article. admittedly, it is a partial parallel, at best: the computer and word processing software are passive elements. it is my brain that does the authoring. and so, the mystery remains: how can i own the article - but not my brain? why do i have the right to ruin the article at will - but not to annihilate my brain at whim? another angle of philosophical attack is to say that we rarely hold rights to nature or to life. we can copyright a photograph we take of a forest - but not the forest. to reduce it to the absurd: we can own a sunset captured on film - but never the phenomenon thus documented. the brain is natural and life's pivot - could this be why we cannot fully own it? wrong premises inevitably lead to wrong conclusions. we often own natural objects and manifestations, including those related to human life directly. we even issue patents for sequences of human dna. and people do own forests and rivers and the specific views of sunsets. some scholars raise the issues of exclusivity and scarcity as the precursors of property rights. my brain can be accessed only by myself and its is one of a kind (sui generis). true but not relevant. one cannot rigorously derive from these properties of our brain a right to deny others access to them (should this become technologically feasible) - or even to set a price on such granted access. in other words, exclusivity and scarcity do not constitute property rights or even lead to their establishment. other rights may be at play (the right to privacy, for instance) - but not the right to own property and to derive economic benefits from such ownership. on the contrary, it is surprisingly easy to think of numerous exceptions to a purported natural right of single access to one's brain. if one memorized the formula to cure aids or cancer and refused to divulge it for a reasonable compensation - surely, we should feel entitled to invade his brain and extract it? once such technology is available - shouldn't authorized bodies of inspection have access to the brains of our leaders on a periodic basis? and shouldn't we all gain visitation rights to the minds of great men and women of science, art and culture - as we do today gain access to their homes and to the products of their brains? there is one hidden assumption, though, in both the movie and this article. it is that mind and brain are one. the portal leads to john malkovich's mind - yet, he keeps talking about his brain and writhing physically on the screen. the portal is useless without jm's mind. indeed, one can wonder whether jm's mind is not an integral part of the portal - structurally and functionally inseparable from it. if so, does not the discoverer of the portal hold equal rights to john malkovich's mind, an integral part thereof? the portal leads to jm's mind. can we prove that it leads to his brain? is this identity automatic? of course not. it is the old psychophysical question, at the heart of dualism - still far from resolved. can a mind be copyrighted or patented? if no one knows what is the mind - how can it be the subject of laws and rights? if jm is bothered by the portal voyagers, the intruders - he surely has legal recourse, but not through the application of the rights to own property and to benefit from it. these rights provide him with no remedy because their subject (the mind) is a mystery. can jm sue craig and his clientele for unauthorized visits to his mind (trespassing) - if he is unaware of their comings and goings and unperturbed by them? moreover, can he prove that the portal leads to his mind, that it is his mind that is being visited? is there a way to prove that one has visited another's mind? (see: "on empathy"). and if property rights to one's brain and mind were firmly established - how will telepathy (if ever proven) be treated legally? or mind reading? the recording of dreams? will a distinction be made between a mere visit - and the exercise of influence on the host and his / her manipulation (similar questions arise in time travel)? this, precisely, is where the film crosses the line between the intriguing and the macabre. the master puppeteer, unable to resist his urges, manipulates john malkovich and finally possesses him completely. this is so clearly wrong, so manifestly forbidden, so patently immoral, that the film loses its urgent ambivalence, its surrealistic moral landscape and deteriorates into another banal comedy of situations. dreamcatcher - the myth of destructibility by: dr. sam vaknin read these essays first: the habitual identity death, meaning, and identity being john malkovich "shattered" identity more film reviews - here! in the movie "dreamcatcher", four childhood friends, exposed to an alien, disguised as a retarded child, develop psychic powers. years later they reunite only to confront a vicious extraterrestrial life-form. only two survive but they succeed to eradicate the monster by incinerating it and crushing its tiny off-spring underfoot. being mortal ourselves, we cannot conceive of an indestructible entity. the artifacts of popular culture - thrillers, action and sci-fi films, video games, computer viruses - assume that all organisms, organizations and automata possess fatal vulnerabilities. medicine and warfare are predicated on a similar contention. we react with shock and horror when we are faced with "resistant stains" of bacteria or with creatures, machines, or groups able to survive and thrive in extremely hostile environments. destruction is multi-faceted. even the simplest system has a structure and performs functions. if the spatial continuity or arrangement of an entity's structure is severed or substantially transformed - its functions are usually adversely affected. direct interference with a system's functionality is equally deleterious. we can render a system dysfunctional by inhibiting or reversing any stage in the complex processes involved - or by preventing the entity's communication with its environs. another method of annihilation involves the alteration of the entity's context - its surroundings, its codes and signals, its interactive patterns, its potential partners, friends and foes. finding the lethal weaknesses of an organism, an apparatus, or a society is described as a process of trial and error. but the outcome is guaranteed: mortal susceptibility is assumed to be a universal trait. no one and nothing is perfectly immune, utterly invulnerable, or beyond extermination. yet, what is poison to one species is nectar to another. water can be either toxic or indispensable, depending on the animal, the automaton, or the system. scorching temperatures, sulfur emissions, ammonia or absolute lack of oxygen are, to some organisms, the characteristics of inviting habitats. to others, the very same are deadly. can we conceive of an indestructible thing - be it unicellular or multicellular, alive or robotic, composed of independent individuals or acting in perfect, centrally-dictated unison? can anything be, in principle, eternal? this question is not as outlandish as it sounds. by fighting disease and trying to postpone death, for instance, we aspire to immortality and imperishability. some of us believe in god - an entity securely beyond ruin. intuitively, we consider the universe - if not time and space - to be everlasting, though constantly metamorphosing. what is common to these examples of infinite resilience is their unbounded and unparalleled size and might. lesser objects are born or created. since there has been a time, prior to their genesis, in which they did not exist - it is easy to imagine a future without them. even where the distinction between individual and collective is spurious their end is plausible. true, though we can obliterate numerous "individual" bacteria - others, genetically identical, will always survive our onslaught. yet, should the entire earth vanish - so would these organisms. the extinction of all bacteria, though predicated on an unlikely event, is still thinkable. but what about an entity that is "pure energy", a matrix of fields, a thought, immaterial yet very real, omnipresent and present nowhere? such a being comes perilously close to the divine. for if it is confined to certain space - however immense - it is perishable together with that space. if it is not - then it is god, as perceived by its believers. but what constitutes "destruction" or "annihilation"? we are familiar with death - widely considered the most common form of inexistence. but some people believe that death is merely a transformation from one state of being to another. sometimes all the constituents of a system remain intact but cease to interact. does this amount to obliteration? and what about a machine that stops interacting with its environment altogether - though its internal processes continue unabated. is it still "functioning"? it is near impossible to say when a "live" or "functioning" entity ceases to be so. death is the form of destruction we are most acquainted with. for a discussion of death and the human condition - read this death, meaning, and identity t h e a u t h o r shmuel (sam) vaknin curriculum vitae click on blue text to access relevant web sites - thank you. born in in qiryat-yam, israel. served in the israeli defence force ( - ) in training and education units. education graduated a few semesters in the technion - israel institute of technology, haifa. ph.d. in philosophy (major : philosophy of physics) - pacific western university, california. graduate of numerous courses in finance theory and international trading. certified e-commerce concepts analyst. certified in psychological counselling techniques. full proficiency in hebrew and in english. business experience to founder and co-owner of a chain of computerized information kiosks in tel-aviv, israel. to senior positions with the nessim d. gaon group of companies in geneva, paris and new-york (noga and aprofim sa): - chief analyst of edible commodities in the group's headquarters in switzerland. - manager of the research and analysis division - manager of the data processing division - project manager of the nigerian computerized census - vice president in charge of rnd and advanced technologies - vice president in charge of sovereign debt financing to represented canadian venture capital funds in israel. to general manager of ipe ltd. in london. the firm financed international multi-lateral countertrade and leasing transactions. to co-founder and director of "mikbats - tesuah", a portfolio management firm based in tel-aviv. activities included large-scale portfolio management, underwriting, forex trading and general financial advisory services. to present free-lance consultant to many of israel's blue-chip firms, mainly on issues related to the capital markets in israel, canada, the uk and the usa. consultant to foreign rnd ventures and to governments on macro-economic matters. president of the israel chapter of the professors world peace academy (pwpa) and (briefly) israel representative of the "washington times". to co-owner and director of many business enterprises: - the omega and energy air-conditioning concern - avp financial consultants - handiman legal services total annual turnover of the group: million usd. co-owner, director and finance manager of costi ltd. - israel's largest computerized information vendor and developer. raised funds through a series of private placements locally, in the usa, canada and london. to publisher and editor of a capital markets newsletter distributed by subscription only to dozens of subscribers countrywide. in a legal precedent in - studied in business schools and law faculties across israel - was tried for his role in an attempted takeover of israel's agriculture bank. was interned in the state school of prison wardens. managed the central school library, wrote, published and lectured on various occasions. managed the internet and international news department of an israeli mass media group, "ha-tikshoret and namer". assistant in the law faculty in tel-aviv university (to prof. s.g. shoham). to financial consultant to leading businesses in macedonia, russia and the czech republic. collaborated with the agency of transformation of business with social capital. economic commentator in "nova makedonija", "dnevnik", "izvestia", "argumenti i fakti", "the middle east times", "makedonija denes", "the new presence", "central europe review" , and other periodicals and in the economic programs on various channels of macedonian television. chief lecturer in courses organized by the agency of transformation, by the macedonian stock exchange and by the ministry of trade. to economic advisor to the government of the republic of macedonia and to the ministry of finance. to present senior business correspondent for united press international (upi) web and journalistic activities author of extensive websites in psychology ("malignant self love") - an open directory cool site philosophy ("philosophical musings") economics and geopolitics ("world in conflict and transition") owner of the narcissistic abuse announcement and study list and the narcissism revisited mailing list (more than members) owner of the economies in conflict and transition study list. editor of mental health disorders and central and eastern europe categories in web directories (open directory, suite , search europe). columnist and commentator in "the new presence", united press international (upi), internetcontent, ebookweb and "central europe review". publications and awards "managing investment portfolios in states of uncertainty", limon publishers, tel-aviv, "the gambling industry", limon publishers., tel-aviv, "requesting my loved one - short stories", yedioth aharonot, tel-aviv, "the macedonian economy at a crossroads - on the way to a healthier economy" (with nikola gruevski), skopje, "malignant self love - narcissism revisited", narcissus publications, prague and skopje, , , the narcissism series - e-books regarding relationships with abusive narcissists (skopje, - ) "the exporters' pocketbook", ministry of trade, republic of macedonia, skopje, "the suffering of being kafka" (electronic book of hebrew short fiction, prague, ) "after the rain - how the west lost the east", narcissus publications in association with central europe review/ceenmi, prague and skopje, winner of numerous awards, among them the israeli education ministry prize (literature) , the rotary club award for social studies ( ) and the bilateral relations studies award of the american embassy in israel ( ). hundreds of professional articles in all fields of finances and the economy and numerous articles dealing with geopolitical and political economic issues published in both print and web periodicals in many countries. many appearances in the electronic media on subjects in philosophy and the sciences and concerning economic matters. contact details: palma@unet.com.mk vaknin@link.com.mk my web sites: economy / politics: http://ceeandbalkan.tripod.com/ psychology: http://samvak.tripod.com/index.html philosophy: http://philosophos.tripod.com/ poetry: http://samvak.tripod.com/contents.html return after the rain how the west lost the east the book this is a series of articles written and published in - in macedonia, in russia, in egypt and in the czech republic. how the west lost the east. the economics, the politics, the geopolitics, the conspiracies, the corruption, the old and the new, the plough and the internet - it is all here, in colourful and provocative prose. from "the mind of darkness": "'the balkans' - i say - 'is the unconscious of the world'. people stop to digest this metaphor and then they nod enthusiastically. it is here that the repressed memories of history, its traumas and fears and images reside. it is here that the psychodynamics of humanity - the tectonic clash between rome and byzantium, west and east, judeo-christianity and islam - is still easily discernible. we are seated at a new year's dining table, loaded with a roasted pig and exotic salads. i, the jew, only half foreign to this cradle of slavonics. four serbs, five macedonians. it is in the balkans that all ethnic distinctions fail and it is here that they prevail anachronistically and atavistically. contradiction and change the only two fixtures of this tormented region. the women of the balkan - buried under provocative mask-like make up, retro hairstyles and too narrow dresses. the men, clad in sepia colours, old fashioned suits and turn of the century moustaches. in the background there is the crying game that is balkanian music: liturgy and folk and elegy combined. the smells are heavy with muskular perfumes. it is like time travel. it is like revisiting one's childhood." the author sam vaknin is the author of malignant self love - narcissism revisited and after the rain - how the west lost the east. he is a columnist for central europe review and ebookweb , a united press international (upi) senior business correspondent, and the editor of mental health and central east europe categories in the open directory and suite . until recently, he served as the economic advisor to the government of macedonia. visit sam's web site at http://samvak.tripod.com [illustration] the science of animal locomotion (zoopraxography) an electro-photographic investigation of consecutive phases of animal movements by eadweard muybridge executed and published under the auspices of the university of pennsylvania description of the apparatus results of the investigation diagrams prospectus list of subscribers eadweard muybridge university of pennsylvania philadelphia or henrietta street, covent garden london animal locomotion. (zoopraxography.) introductory. in , the author of the present work at sacramento, california, commenced an investigation with the object of illustrating by photography some phases of animal movements. in that year his experiments were made with a famous horse--occident, owned by senator stanford--and photographs were made, which illustrated several phases of action while the horse was trotting at full speed, laterally, in front of the camera. the experiments were desultorily continued; but it was not until that the results of any of them were published. in the meanwhile he devised an automatic electro-photographic apparatus, for the purpose of making consecutive photographic exposures at _regulated_ intervals of time or of distance. some of the results of his experiments with this apparatus, which illustrated successive phases of the action of horses while walking, trotting, galloping, &c., were published in , with the title of "the horse in motion." copies of these photographs were deposited the same year in the library of congress at washington, and some of them found their way to berlin, london, paris, vienna, &c., where they were commented upon by the journals of the day. in , during a lecture on "the science of animal locomotion in its relation to design in art," given at the royal institution (see _proceedings_ of the royal institution of great britain, march , ), he exhibited the results of some of his experiments made during a few antecedent years at palo alto, california; when he, with the zoopraxiscope and an oxy-hydrogen lantern, projected on the wall a synthesis of many of the actions he had analysed. it may not be considered irrelevant if he repeats what he on that occasion said in his analysis of the quadrupedal walk:-- "so far as the camera has revealed, these successive foot fallings are invariable, and are probably common to all quadrupeds.... "it is also highly probable that these photographic investigations--which were executed with wet collodion plates, with exposures not exceeding in some instances the one five-thousandth part of a second--will dispel many popular illusions as to the gait of a horse, and that future and more exhaustive experiments, with the advantages of recent chemical discoveries, will completely unveil to the artist all the visible muscular action of men and animals during their most rapid movements.... "the employment of automatic apparatus for the purpose of obtaining a regulated succession of photographic exposures is too recent for its value to be properly understood, or to be generally used for scientific experiment. at some future time the explorer for hidden truths will find it indispensable for his investigations." in , the university of pennsylvania, with an enlightened exercise of its functions as a contributor to human knowledge, instructed the author to make, under its auspices, a comprehensive investigation of "animal locomotion" in the broadest significance of the words. a diagram of the studio and the arrangement of the apparatus used for this purpose is here given. [illustration] tt represents the track along which the model m was caused to move. b is the background, divided into spaces of centimetres square for the purpose of measurement. l, a horizontal battery of electro-photographic cameras, parallel to the line of motion (at a distance of metres or about feet therefrom), for a series of lateral exposures. r, a vertical battery of electro-photographic cameras, at right angles to the lateral battery, for a series of _rear_ foreshortenings. f, a horizontal battery of electro-photographic cameras, at any suitable angle to the lateral battery for a series of _front_ foreshortenings. o, the position of the electric batteries, a chronograph for recording the time intervals of exposures, and other apparatus used in the investigation. a clock-work apparatus, set in motion at the will of the operator, distributed a series of electric currents, and synchronously effected consecutive exposures in each of the three batteries of cameras. the intervals of exposures were recorded by the chronograph, and divided into thousandths of a second. these intervals could be varied at will from seventeen one-thousandth parts of a second to several seconds. the task of making the original negatives was completed in ; the remaining years have been devoted to the preparation of the work for publication. [illustration: lateral elevation of some consecutive phases of action by representative horses. each line illustrates the successive fallings of the feet during a single stride. after the last phase illustrated, the feet, during continuous motion, will revert practically to their position in the first phase. the comparative distances of the feet from each other or from the ground are not drawn to scale; and, in any event, would be merely approximate for the succeeding stride. in the conjectural stride no. , phase is very doubtful, phases and seem probable in a very long stride.] description of the plates. the results of this investigation are =seven hundred and eighty-one sheets of illustrations=, containing more than , figures of men, women, and children, animals and birds, actively engaged in walking, galloping, flying, working, jumping, fighting, dancing, playing at base-ball, cricket, and other athletic games, or other actions incidental to every-day life, which illustrate motion or the play of muscles. these sheets of illustrations are conventionally called "plates." each plate illustrates the successive phases of a single action, photographed with automatic electro-photographic apparatus at regulated and accurately recorded intervals of time, _consecutively_ from one point of view; or, _consecutively_ and _synchronously_ from _two_, or from _three_ points of view. =each plate is complete in itself without reference to any other plate.= when the complete series of twelve consecutive exposures, from each of the three points of view, are included in one plate, the arrangement is usually thus:-- +-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+--+--+--+ | | | | | | | | | | | | | laterals. | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | +-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+--+--+--+ | | | | | | | | | | | | | rear foreshortenings from | | | | | | | | | | | | | points of view on the same | | | | | | | | | | | | | vertical line, at an angle | | | | | | | | | | | | | of ° from the laterals. +-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+--+--+--+ | | | | | | | | | | | | | front foreshortenings from | | | | | | | | | | | | | points of view on the same | | | | | | | | | | | | | horizontal plane, at suitable | | | | | | | | | | | | | angles from the laterals. +-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+--+--+--+ the plates are not _photographs_ in the common acceptation of the word, but are printed in permanent ink, from gelatinised copper-plates, by the new york photo-gravure company, on thick linen plate-paper. the size of the paper is × centimetres-- × inches, and the printed surface varies from × to × centimetres-- × to × inches. the number of figures on each plate varies from to . to publish so great a number of plates as one undivided work was considered unnecessary, for each subject tells its own story; and inexpedient, for it would defeat the object which the university had in view, and limit its acquisition to large libraries, wealthy individuals, or institutions where it would be beyond the reach of many who might desire to study it. it has, therefore, been decided to issue a series of one hundred plates, which number, for the purposes of publication, will be considered as a "copy" of the work. these one hundred plates will probably meet the requirements of the greater number of the subscribers. in accordance with this view is issued the following _prospectus_ animal locomotion, an electro-photographic investigation of consecutive phases of animal movements, by eadweard muybridge. - . published under the auspices of the university of pennsylvania. _exclusively by subscription._ consisting of a series of one hundred plates, at a subscription price of one hundred dollars for the united states, or twenty guineas for great britain; or the equivalent of twenty guineas in the gold currency of other countries in europe. this will be for austria, two hundred and ten florins; belgium, france, italy, and switzerland, five hundred and twenty-five francs; germany, four hundred and twenty marks; holland, two hundred and fifty guilders. the plates are enclosed in a strong, canvas-lined, full american-russia leather portfolio. for the purpose of placing all of the subscribers upon an equal footing in regard to cost, a copy of the work will be sent in the portfolio, and packed between boards, to any well-established institution, or to any subscriber, properly endorsed, to any city in central or western europe, or in the united states. freight charges paid, if so requested, to the railway station, with the understanding that the subscription price is remitted within one week of the day of the arrival of the work at the station. custom duties, or any other expenses, if any, at the cost of the subscriber. additional plates in any required number will be supplied to the subscriber at the same proportionate rate; these, however, must be ordered at the same time as the subscription plates. the plates will be supplied exclusively to subscribers. it was considered inadvisable to make an _arbitrary_ selection of the one hundred plates offered to subscribers, and with the object of meeting, as far as possible, their diverse requirements, they are invited to make their own selection, either from the subjoined list of subjects, or from a detailed catalogue, which will be forwarded free of expense to every subscriber. the following are the numbers of plates published of each class of subjects, from which the subscriber's selection can be made:-- plates published. men, draped " pelvis cloth " nude women, draped " transparent drapery and semi-nude " nude children, draped " nude movements of a man's hand abnormal movements, men and women, nude and semi-nude horses walking, trotting, galloping, jumping, &c. mules, oxen, dogs, cats, goats, and other domestic animals lions, elephants, buffaloes, camels, deer, and other wild animals pigeons, vultures, ostriches, eagles, cranes, and other birds ---- total number of plates containing more than , figures. =should the selection be made from the catalogue, it will be advisable to give the author permission to change any one of the selected plates for any other illustrating the same action, if, in his judgment, the substituted plate illustrates that action with a better model, or in a more perfect manner than the one selected.= =with regard to the selection of plates, however, it has been found by experience that unless any special subject or plate is required it will be more satisfactory to the subscriber if he gives the author general instructions as to the class of subjects desired and to leave the specific selection to him.= many of the large libraries and art or science institutions in america and in europe have subscribed for, and have now in their possession, a complete series of the seven hundred and eighty-one plates, the subscription price for which is five hundred dollars in the united states, one hundred guineas in great britain for the complete series, in eight full american-russia leather portfolios, or if bound in eleven volumes, each plate _hinged_, full american-russia leather, five hundred and fifty dollars in the united states, one hundred and ten guineas in great britain; or its equivalent for any city in central or western europe. subscribers who wish to make use of these plates for the promotion or diffusion of knowledge, or for artistic or scientific purposes, will be afforded facilities for acquiring working copies by special arrangement with the author. valedictory. this is not exactly the place nor the time for the author to express his obligations and thanks to those gentlemen who have assisted him in his labours, but it affords a perhaps not inappropriate opportunity for him to pay a tribute of gratitude to his recently deceased friend m. meissonier, without whose enthusiastic encouragement it is probable the present work would never have been undertaken. in he invited his friends to attend an illustrated lecture given in his studio by the author, and then referring to a full knowledge of a subject being necessary for it to be truthfully or satisfactorily translated by the artist, declared how much his own impression of a horse's motion had been changed after having carefully studied its consecutive phases. attention need not be directed to the modifications in the expression of animal movements now progressing in the works of the painter and the sculptor. the investigations of the author are so well known, and so generally recognised as affording the only basis of truthful interpretation or accurate criticism of animal movement, that it is unnecessary to quote from the many elaborate reviews of "animal locomotion," which have been published in the american, english, french, and german scientific, artistic, and other journals. for the value of the present work to the general student of nature and the lover of art, no less than to the artist and the archæologist, the physiologist and the anatomist, it is with much pride and gratitude that he refers to the annexed list of some of his european subscribers. e. m. henrietta street, covent garden, london, _august _. subscribers. the general or departmental libraries of the following universities. amsterdam andrews, st. basel berlin bern bologna bonn breslau bruxelles edinburgh erlangen freiburg genève genova glasgow göttingen griefswald halle heidelberg innsbrück jena kiel königsberg leiden leipzig liège louvain münchen napoli oxford padova pisa prag roma rostock strassburg torino tübingen utrecht wien würzburg zürich imperial, national, or royal academies of fine arts. amsterdam antwerpen berlin bern birmingham bologna breslau bruxelles budapest dresden düsseldorf firenzi frankfurt genova gent leipzig liège london manchester milano münchen napoli paris praha roma (_de france_) sheffield torino venezia wien zürich architectural institute, münchen herkomer school of art, bushey art museums. amsterdam berlin budapest archÆological institutes and museums. dresden griefswald heidelberg königsberg leipzig prag rostock strassburg wien würzburg zürich industrial art and science museums. berlin dublin edinburgh kensington paris wien industrial art schools. amsterdam breslau budapest frankfurt nürnberg zürich libraries. the royal library, windsor castle birmingham, free public edinburgh, advocates' glasgow, mitchell free liverpool, free public london, british museum manchester, free public nottingham, free public paris, national library anatomical institutes. bern breslau freiburg halle innsbrück kiel königsberg leipzig münchen pisa prag rostock tübingen würzburg zürich royal colleges of surgeons. edinburgh london physiological institutes. basel berlin bern bologna bonn breslau bruxelles erlangen freiburg genova göttingen griefswald halle heidelberg innsbrück jena kiel königsberg leipzig louvain münchen napoli prag rostock strassburg torino tübingen wien würzburg zürich veterinary institutes. alfort bern berlin dresden anthropological museums. dresden firenze ethnological, natural history, and zoological institutes and museums. amsterdam bruxelles freiburg kiel leiden liège napoli paris rostock physical institutes. basel bologna bruxelles genève heidelberg padova prag roma rostock utrecht polytechnic high schools. berlin firenze wien zürich colleges. charterhouse clifton dublin (trinity) eton owens rossall wellington royal porcelain manufactories. berlin dresden artistic, literary or scientific clubs. düsseldorf, _malkesten_ glasgow, _western_ london, _athenæum_ rome, _internazionale_ * * * * * agricultural high school of berlin faculty of medicine of paris faculty of physicians and surgeons of glasgow psychological institute of leipzig royal college of physicians, edinburgh royal institution, edinburgh royal dublin society royal society of london the names and works of the following subscribers are so well known that the academical, university, and other honourable distinctions appertaining to them are omitted, they being entirely unnecessary:-- artists, _architects, painters, and sculptors_. albano, salvatore l'allemand, sigmund alma-tadema, l. armitage, e. barabino, nicolo becker, carl begas, reinhold benczur, gyula berger, julius behrens, peter birch, chas. b. boehm, sir j. edgar bonnat, léon boughton, geo. h. bouguereau, w. a. braith, anton brandt, josef von brausewetter, otto bridgman, f. a. brock, thos. canneel carland, onorato carolus-durand cavallucci, c. jacopo cavelier, p. j. charlton, john clay, sir arthur coleman, chas. caryl coleman, enrico colin, paul conti, tito costa, giovanni crowe, eyre dalou, jules dannat, w. t. davinet, e. davis, h. w. b. defregger, franz von detaille, edouard dicksee, frank diez, rob. diez, wm. drion, prosper dubois, paul ebner, l. eisenmenger, august ende, herm ewald, ernst faed, thomas falguiere fildes, luke ford, e. onslow fremiet, m. frith, w. p. gallegos, josé garnier, charles gehrts, joh. gelli, edouardo gérôme, jean léon gilbert, alfred gilbert, sir john goodall, fredk. gordigiani, michele gow, andrew c. grosse, th. grützner, eduard guignard, gaston gysis, n. haüser, o. hebert, ernesto herkomer, hubert hess, anton higgins, a. hübner, eduard hunt, holman janssen, pet. kampf, arthur kaulbach, f. a. von kips, a. kirchbach, fr. klein-chevalier knaus, ludwig knight, ridgway knille, otto koehler, robert kopf, joseph kowalski, a. von kroner, ch. kruse, max kuehl, g. kühn, h. leighton, sir frederick lenbach, franz r. von linton, sir james d. löfftz, ludwig r. von long, edwin lotz, carl lucas, seymour luthmer, f. macwhirter, john marks, h. stacy marshall, w. calder maurier, george du max, gabriel meeks, eugene meissonier menzel meyerheim, paul millais, sir john e. miller, ferdinand r. von molkenbaer, h. b. g. moore, henry morelli, d. morot, aimé muller, carl munkacsy, mich. de murgatroyd, j. mützel, g. nieper, ludw. orchardson, w. q. otto, heinrich ouless, w. w. papperitz, georg parsons, alfred passini, ludwig piglhein, bruno portaels powers, longworth poynter, e. j. prell, h. preyer, ernest puvis, de chavennes richmond, w. b. rivalta, augusto riviere, briton robert-fleury, tony rodin, a. roll roth, ch. rümann, wilh. sant, james sarti, diego schaper, f. schill, adolf schilling, johannes severn, arthur siemering, r. six, j. sommer stieler, eugen von story, w. w. sturgess, john süs, wilh. swan, john m. taylor, edw. r. teschendorf, e. thiersch, fredk. thoma, hans thornycroft, hamo uhde, f. von vibert, j. g. vinea, francesco vriendt, de jules vuillefroy, f. de wagner, alex. watts, george f. weeks, e. l. weishaupt, victor wells, hy. t. werner, a. von whistler, j. mcneil woolner, thos. zimmermann, ernst zügel, h. archÆologists, men of letters, authors of art works, etc. ball, valentine berndorf, otto berlepsch, h. e. von bullen, george coleman, alexander dickson, wm. p. donnelly, genl. duhn, f. von duplessis, georges eaton, fredk. a. evans, john falke, j. graf, t. t. hirschfeld, gustav holmes, richard r. kekulé, prof. klein, wilhelm körte, g. michaelis, ad. muntz, eugene obreen, fr. d. o. overbeck, johannes pietsch, ludwig preuner, a. pulszky, karoli ruskin, john sambuy, conte ernesto di schrieber, th. sittl, k. smith, genl. sir r. m. sutton, chas. w. tedder, hy. r. thode, h. treu, georg webster, h. a. wolff, albert physiologists. albertoni, pietro albini aubert, h. bernstein, j. biedermann, w. du bois-reymond brown-séquard ewald, r. exner, sigmund fano, giulio fick, a. gaule, j. goltz, f. grützner, p. heidenhain, r. hensen, v. hering, ewald hermann, l. kries, j. kronecker, h. kühne, w. landois, l. luciani, luigi ludwig, c. marey, e. j. masoin, e. meissner, g. miescher, f. moleschott, senator j. mosso, a. munk, hermann pettigrew, j. bell pflüger, e. rosenthal, i. schiff, m. slosse, a. vintschgau, m. von voit, c. von anatomists. braune, wilh. brunn, a. von cleland, john eisler, p. flemming, w. hasse, c. henke, w. j. humphry, g. m. kölliker marshall, john rabl romiti roux, w. rückert, j. schwalbe, g. stieda, l. stöhr, ph. strasser, h. thanhoffer, l. von van beneden, edouard virchow, hans wiedersheim anthropologists, biologists, paleontologists, zoologists, etc. acland, sir h. w. barrier, gustave blochmann, f. bowman, sir wm. brandt, k. e. carpenter, p. herbert darwin, francis flower, w. h. galton, francis günther, albert hartog, marcus haughton, saml. hollis, w. a. huxley, t. h. jensink, f. a. kerbert, c. lankester, e. ray lubbock, sir john mantegazza, senator meyer, a. b. milne-edwards mivart, st. george müllenhoff müller, max newton, alfred owen, sir richard pasteur, l. romanes, geo. j. schmidt, emil schütz sorby, h. c. swinhoe, chas. van wulverhorst virchow, rudolf weismann, august wundt, w. yseux zittell, c. a. von physicists, etc. abney, capt. w. de w. bellati blazerna, pietro bramwell, sir fredk. bunsen, r. ditscheiner, l. glaisher, james hagenbach-bischoff helmholtz, h. von huggins, wm. julius, v. a. mach, e. matthiessen, l. moss, rich. j. quincke, georg righi, augusto rousseau, e. soret, c. tissandier, gaston thomson, sir wm. vogel, h. w. weber, h. f. * * * * * moltke, count von portland, the duke of wharncliffe, the earl of .......... transcriber's note: every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as possible. the author spelled greifswald as griefswald, innsbruck as innsbrück and häuser as haüser in this text. these spellings have been retained. oe ligatures have been expanded. italic text has been marked with _underscores_. bold text has been marked with =equals signs=. the nurserymatograph [illustration: the nurserymatograph passed by the board of film nonsensers] the nurserymatograph by a lawyer with interludicrousness by a parson and sillystrations by a serjeant-major london: john lane, the bodley head new york: john lane company. mcmxxi. printed in great britain by r. clay and sons, ltd., brunswick street, stamford street, s.e. , and bungay, suffolk. don't use tallow candles in your machine. pharaoh's lean kine ate the fat kine. sparkes' oxetylene kine- matic lantern. ------ sack the lot! but you must have them on the carpet first. and you have no carpet. so buy a kine-mat your money returned if we are not satisfied with it. _by the same author_ film-face. the story of a kinematograph actress. . encyclopÆdia kinematica. vols. . turning the handle. practical hints to operators. . the kinematograph foretold. an exhaustive digest of all prophetic utterances regarding the kinematograph, from the birth of amram to the death of mrs. beeton. vols. folio. .[a] nebula or occultation. a poetical fragment on the shooting of a kinematograph star. . how a kinematograph picture is produced the audience. this is often deaf, and as often wishes it were. it pays large money for uncomfortable seats, smoke-laden atmosphere, and peppermint scenery. it also pays an entertainment tax, and wonders why it is so called. the front seats applaud the dashing hero, and are surprised at his coldness, forgetting that he can't hear, oh! the names of the players. these are perhaps more important than the audience, and involve the expenditure of much fine gold to determine whether artie applin is artie applin's name or a pseudonymous inexactitude appropriated to the corporation financing the undertaking. the answer is in the negative, usually. the palace. of this there are two kinds. first, the disused theatre, known as de luxe, on the _lucus a non lucendo_ principle, it being steeped in quintessence of cimmerian gloom and warmed by diminutive red lights marked exit. the other kind is the disused barn, known as the gem; of which the brilliance is all outside, and the inside reminds one of the apocalyptic sardine stone. the machine and operator. these are two hands with but a single handle, which is turned, but which does not produce the music above referred to. the operator is a skilled labourer. his work consists in lighting the lamp, fixing the film, and turning the handle. this last is very difficult to perform properly: for not only does the operator have to keep time to the music above referred to, but he must be most careful that the villain does not get caught before his pursuers arrive, and that none of the characters escape from the screen. [illustration: _the villain must not get caught too soon._] the film. everyone knows what a film is and how the photographs are taken, so it is unnecessary to say anything on this point. it may not, however, be generally known that all films are transparent in varying degrees, and that the picture which appears on the screen is caused by the light from the lantern passing through, or being obstructed by, the film. that which is dark on the film thus becomes dark on the screen, and that which is light on the screen is represented by that which is light on the film. this throws a great deal of light on things otherwise dark. the apparent movement of the players is produced by the turning of the before-mentioned handle. the leading lady's smile. this elusive abstraction is part of the stock-in-trade of the management. its cost to the lady is merely the trouble to contract certain risible muscles, but the contract itself is more precious than rubies. the rippling smile of golden corn is as nothing to the golden smile of a rippling actress. it cuts ice. it are the goods. it is it some. introductory essay on the intellectual, moral, and psychological value of the kinematograph as an effective aid to the education of young children; or, what's the good of it? we have no sympathy with those who maintain that the merely visual presentment of presentations as presently presented conveys a more lasting impression to a child's mind than the same thing expressed in more technical treatment. it is as easy, we hold, to teach a child his multiplication table by _saying_ "twice two are four" as by _writing_ this questionable statement on a black-board or white sheet. but we venture to assert, and are prepared to uphold with all the strength and vigour of our arms--being thereto in duty bound by the nature of our obligations as members of a civilized community striving incessantly to banish from the four corners of the earth those outrageous transgressions against[b]--where were we?--oh, yes. we say that it _is_ easier to teach a child by means of short pithy sentences than by long-winded and involved dittoes. which would a child--which would you--rather learn, and which would you find easier: the whole of "paradise lost," or the following kinematic summary:-- . garden of eden. . eve steals apple. . adam shares. . both expelled from garden. it has been thought by many eminent scholastic and preceptual authorities that this is ( ) a good summary; ( ) theologically sound; ( ) simple; ( ) expressed with some quantity of jerk. and it has been further pointed out that another of its hidden merits is the ease with which it can be explained. not a word in it but will be quite familiar to the youngest scholar: with two possible exceptions. "expelled" (which means "driven out") might be unfamiliar to a child of two; and "apple" (at _d._ a lb.) might be a forbidden fruit to a child of one or one and a half. q.e.d., therefore. we may regard it as proven that the kinematograph has come to stay. _hinc illae lacrimae_: because, after all, it destroys eyesight and thus defeats its own purposes; for a blind person attending a kinematograph performance must be a _real_ enthusiast. [illustration: "_eminent scholastic and preceptual authorities._"] footnotes: [a] probably a misprint for . [b] extract from old ms. (probably of guildhall speech). the children's hour humpty dumpty the building of the wall. a strike. a settlement. humpty dumpty arrives, and after several ineffectual attempts to climb, rolls up to the top, where he seats himself. a gust of wind blows him off, dislodging one brick. he falls. he breaks. he pulls himself together. he has some pull. he applies for summons against balbus, builder of the wall, for contributory negligence. to which balbus replies with a cross-summons for trespass and nuisance. humpty dumpty is asked his age. . nuisance held to be proved. nasal organs likewise held. judge willing to grant injunction, but thinks con-junction would be more useful after such a dis-junction. king's proctor intervenes with statement of royal interest in plaintiff. very old friend of family. elicited that squadron of cavalry had been sent out to assist. humpty dumpty discharged with yellow stains on clothing. balbus bound over not to break the pieces. simple simon the pieman makes the pies. ingredients carefully concealed. the pieman's crest: bacillus botulorum rampantibus. s. simon starts off for his unwilling walk, and meets pieman. his mouth waters. he is penniless. his eyes water. he is hankeyless. his nose waters. he accosts the pieman, who respectfully asks to be allowed a private view of the colour of his money. no money forthcomes. a passing policeman arrests s. simon for attempting to obtain goods under false pretences. the case is heard. pies produced. pies heard. magistrate orders court to be cleared and sterilized. adjourned sitting. simple simon is proved to be an undischarged bankrupt. discharged accordingly. pieman bound over to keep the pies. he pleads for mercy. the pieman's nightmare. procession of dogs, cats, horses, and rats, headed by the pied piper. the pieman's coat-of-arms: on a field sanguinary semée de melton mowbray proper, a microbe vert, armed cap-à-pie. see-saw, margery daw miss margery daw's home in thibet. her boudoir. with inimitable nonchalance she lights a cigarette. she turns pale. she dies. she disappears from history. interior of see-saw factory in honolulu. visitor sees see-saws. he sees saws. he sees saucy girls. he sees sore hands. a class is being instructed on the distribution of weight. he waits and sees. jenny at work with the weight and see-saw. the foreman arrives and recriminates. jenny responds in kind, unkindly. foreman retires hurt. [illustration: _jenny in the slave market._] slave market at jamaica. jenny on sale, labelled "slow." wealthy turk is successfully sold, and buys her, being partial to sloe jin. together they execute a turkish trot. (inset, a turkish execution.) jenny in her new master's harem. (censored.) jennina out walking, clothed in voluminous tarboosh. her glad eye. she is faster than was thought. her master catches her eye, intended for a young turk, and throws it back. night. darkness. exterior of harem. a sack descends, falling into river with long, dull, lingering splash. ding dong bell a large bell rings itself. grandsire triples. its grandsire doubles. a well is dug. well, well! j. green, a very small boy, throws a dead cat into the well. it bobs. t. stout, another very small boy, sits fishing on the edge of the well. after some hours he pulls out aforesaid cat. cat goes (or should go) into the hunt. the royal society for the prevention of cruelty to animals invokes the majesty of the law (which is a hass), and attempts to crush j. green, ætat . (inset, johnny's sister feeding johnny's chicken.) the royal humane society awards medal and certificate to t. stout, who is much moved. (inset, tommy's mother getting tommy's tea.) the galled jade winces, and the large bell is unrung in stedman triples instead. interval of ten years but don't waste time go out and buy a cup of bovril it is not the cup that cheers; it is you who applaud the contents. curly-locks curly-locks and another washing dishes. tender passages. the passages become dark. another penny is placed in gas-meter. twenty years later. c. locks sues unnamed defendant for breach of promise. many letters are put in and read. first letter:-- "my ownest curly-girly, leave the hurly-burly of washing dishes. be my little wifey quick as saying knifey. loving wishes." her reply:--"is this a definitive offer?" next letter:-- "googly-woogle, let the swine feed themselves when you are mine. you shall sit on silken seats eating choicest sweety-meats." her answer:-- "once already i've asked you is it a prop.? reply to my solicitor." the jury disagree. they return to court and ask judge if plaintiff may be directed to raise her veil. (sensation in court.) she does so. judge faints. jury retire hastily. verdict unanimously for defendant, with a rider to the effect that he has had a lucky escape. plaintiff fined _s._ _d._ for malicious persecution, and recommended to have mercy on all men by keeping visor lowered. doctor foster mountain scenery in gloucestershire. rain falls. curtain falls. foster, the medical student, in his laboratory, cultivating bacteria, surrounded by stills, alembics, crucibles, etc. his retorts uncourteous when bitten by tame streptococcus. (inset, his pet blue-eyed staphylococcus begging for gelatine.) secretary of state for war arrives with his staff. foster seizes the staff, which forthwith blossoms. he is invited to accept a commission. he demands ½ per cent. selection committee at war office doubt foster's skill. he produces pocket-knife and amputates serjeant-major's leg. he amputates both his own arms. he is accepted, and gazetted major-general. proceeding to gloucester in charge of ambulance column, he is caught in above-mentioned rain. he steps out of his daimler into a puddle. he sinks to the waist. he is hauled out with improvised crane. he resolves not to revisit gloucester. being quite armless, he is allowed to indict district council for illegal detention. judge remarks that "he who comes into equity must come with clean hands." as general foster has no hands, and as they would be dirty if he had, case is dismissed, and he is struck off the rolls-royce. the man in the moon tycho brahe in his observatory. his telescope (by dollond) brings the moon so close that the man therefrom slides down the barrel. tycho is astonied some. the checking of chronometers--(inset, the pagoda at kew)--shows that the visitor, travelling by summer time, has arrived too early. he asks for ordnance map of norfolk. t. brahe replies "sur-vey victis." the man from moon journeys southwards. he arrives at pampeluna, his cousin. he is hospitably entertained with pease porridge. [illustration: "_he burns his mouth._"] porridge being made from o t meal, he burns his mouth. he does the obvious, remarking that some fools would have kept it in. the gentility of his bringing up is questioned. sic transit. he is called to the bar. he orders a split soda. his cousin runs out. he is run in, for treatment which is not of the nature and quality demanded. one pussyfoot makes one rude. ascending in a paravane, he is assumed, as a balloonatic, to be incapable of managing his affairs, with costs on the high court scale, and the custody of the weights thereunto belonging. the man in the moon is deceitful upon the weights. he is altogether lighter than alimony. the fireproof curtain is lowered at least once during each chapter in accordance with instructions from the ministry of wealth shortly to be established. you will not, however, be invited to invest your savings, as by that time you will not have any. therefore, now, while the cash is hot in your pocket (or your stocking), take a stroll down ludgate hill, and see other and more useful curtains (and carpets, too). might sir william treloar be described as a "carpet knight"? no, he is a baronet; and though there may be scions of many a genealogical tree higher there is only one treloar. tom, tom, the piper's son a peaceful farmyard in macedonia. a herd of swine is collecting pearls in silk purses. swine are more precious in the balkans than good women. thomas, the greek, arrives. he is not a jew. he despises jewellery and loves pork. he steals a pig. (inset, the squeal thereof.) thomas retires to a shady nook and consumes the pig. he regrets it. so does the pig. crackling is heard. tom's father, with his pipe. pipe goes out. father goes in. (this is a striking scene.) thomas descends the street roaring. he is in real pain. mumm is not the word. action for assault and barratry, thomas _v._ pater. judge rules that plaintiff has saved his bacon, and defendant is let off with a fine for being accessory after the fat. old king cole exterior view of royal palace. interior of same--dining hall, piping room, bowling alley, fiddling saloon. queen cole's allotment. (inset, a few vegetables grown by the princess anthracite.) the king calls for his pipe. no reply. boy in street is heard calling "paiper." exit the king to buy one. the king calls for his bowl. no reply. he takes from adjacent peg his bowler, which he dons. the king calls for his three fiddlers. no reply. eventually enter three fiddles with low bows. the king picks one up, and begins to play. many dogs come about him, and sit around howling. a crowd arrives, kneeling, and praying him to desist. not having a crown on, the king borrows half-a-crown from each member of the congregation. this is apt to confound a fellow kneeling, so they rise. the king thus assisting them to rise is hailed as king borwick i., afterwards altered, on better acquaintance, to king borrowit. having the fiddlers hanged on lamp-posts leads to misprision of trees on the green. but the king can do no wrong. he goes to write, and is left alone. taffy was a welshman mountain scenery in wales. cricket at criccieth. stoolball at llyngwllws. taffy at school, stealing marbles from playmates, while they steal a march on him. the welsh marches. taffy arrives at my house, and makes guarded enquiries as to location of larder. his questions parried. we retire to sleep. next morning. taffy missing. leg of beef ditto. i go to taffy's residence, and find him in bed. only available ornament in bedroom, bones, marrow, . this i hurl at his head, and make tracks. applying at police station for protection against taffy's murderous intentions, i am examined as to causes precedent. it is suggested that legs of beef are unusual joints to purchase at _s._ _d._ a week. dislike the suggestion, and propose to walk out in dudgeon. dudgeon aforesaid discounted by slipping on banana-skin. uncontrollable food controller accuses me of hoarding food. i refer him to taffy, but he has hidden the goods in a teacup labelled "bullo." chorus of welsh bards, "alas! my poor brother." a letter of appreciation to the author of this book picture palace mansions, buckingham, st april, . gentlemen, _i am desirous of informing you that, if sir james brownton-cricht, m.d., ever reported to the lunacy commissioners that i attempted to take my life there was not the slightest truth in the rumour, until i read your book._ _yours faithfully_, joseph miller, _junr._ specimens of kinematic pedagogy languages french a garden. my aunt. she meets the gardener, who introduces his aunt to her. my mother and father arrive with the gardener's mother and father. they mutually interrogate regarding the localization of a missing pen. they divide up into search parties, chanting "where is the pen of the gardener's aunt?" alas! if only there were an answer, it would lead to the next question, "where is my chardenal?" latin enter mr. pickford (not mary's father), bearing a large table in six cases. the consignee removes all the cases, and the table is declined. a lord walks across the screen. he looks like a war lord. he is declined. a boy and a master come in. the boy deprives the master of his e'es. they go out together botanizing, and find consonant stems; and here endeth the lesson. italian un leone and una. una feels il. the doctor asks what is the matter. uno, she says, and takes eno. she gets lo, but pluralizes with gli. so do i. enter dante dreaming of rossetti. he meets beatrice (when on holliday) and thinks it a divine comedy, till he finds she doesn't cary. german a dachshund across the screen walked has. a butcher him met has. he a sausage becomes, and the customers the rine watch. c'est magnifique, mais ce n'est pas lager. greek delos, samos, and the wooden one, disputing as to homer's birthplace. the swan of avon (follow me, leda!) claims to have laid two eggs which produced the dove of peace and a homer pigeon. pi. eta. internal irregularities. the middle voice. the temporal augment, per cent., or the perfect reduplication. mu. kata. on the tiles. the attic dialect, heard when alpha beta. o phi. hebrew aleph ben jonson enters very very softly. he is of no value as a vocalist. his bosom friend, ayin, makes the sound of a subdued and home-sick calf. together they irregularize many verbs, and play havoc with vowels. they juggle with pronominal suffixes, but, being true israelites without guile, they make something out of it. their children play in the talmud and chew targum. arabic the screen is far to sheik, and the auditorium becomes a desert. the pianist plays "the camels are coming," and mahmoud el ibrahim, who has been badly jehad, is placed as an alko ran. arrival of kismet at mecca. the magic carpet. the bashaw of ten tails. the cat of nine ditto. gum arabic. chewing ditto. shaking the spearmint. shorthand a pitman duploying to the left in fours. he encounters a grammalogue, from which, after a bloody struggle, he removes the vowels. he takes the third place, and crosses the line. he continues to march forward with sinuous curves, making a sharp angle round amen corner. chinese confucius at home. he invents pictureless kinematographs and featureless films. he calls on ming, who has but wun lung. go hang, says ming. this causes confucion. so he returns to ping pong. [illustration: "_this causes confucion._"] russian [illustration: "_they hunt the wily samovar._"] vodka, disguised as a bolshevik, is in love with popoffski. in siberia they hunt the wily samovar. they find a russian toffee mine, and thereout suck they no small advantage. they come to pskoff, but remain at prague; and live happily until vodka climbs up the lenin poland falls off. assyrian sennacherib folded up like a wolf. he unfolds, and his cuneiform is seen to be that of a man-headed lion. his pal assurbani meets him in his chariot, arrow drawn to head. they conjugate the permansive of ittanafal, and recite the numerals as far as ninety-nineveh. spanish onions. chestnuts. sancho panza and his servantes. a don approaches on a mule, slowly. sancho sizes him up as a keen sahib, and enquires "quien sabe?" they play matador, pompadour, and toreador. the dago is then shown another door, and a bull-fight ensues. when will the day go? hindustani the plains, with hilly tails. jubbul, pore fellow, attends the delhi durbar in sanskrit character, but finds it difficult to keep his place. as his character must change with his position, he is hard put to it. slinging the bat. pawning the rooty. the towers of silence. bukhing up to pass the parsees. pas par ici à paris. suttee. sikh itur ad astrachan. nepaul plus ultramarine. welmanism i have found it. a vast, colossal, even terrifying discovery, is mine. descendant of a hundred earls; more mutton-headed than the sheep which daily entangle themselves in my motor; with no hope (save the telephone service); i now see empires at my feet. i nearly missed it for four years, with trembling hands have i opened my paper--only to dash it with fury into the grate as my eyes caught the hated word. i changed my paper until i had to change my stationer. one day i bought the parish magazine of st. sous without. could it be possible? my lips were dry, so that i could not turn the pages. i sucked an acidulated drop. like a bank clerk counting bradburys and fishers, or like the autumn, i turned the leaves, and scanned them with a feverish zeal. it was not there! renaissance in a moment my mind was made up. my hand went to my breast-pocket--my bank book (also made up). i wrote a postcard, sent a telegram, a special messenger, carter paterson, and went myself in a cab. as i entered the vast institute i threw into the area the bottle of medicine i had that morning purchased for this effect. the home of efficiency i was flung into a lift; whirled aloft; flung out. i rose from my hands and knees, and found myself in the presence of a small boy wearing the ribbons of every known and unknown order. "sign please," he demanded. i found my cheque-book open on the desk. i signed. i saved myself by catching the basement landing. five men followed bearing literature. a new world i opened the first pamphlet. my head swelled immediately. development had begun to commence starting already. i wrote a letter to the _daily whale_. it was not published. i knew myself upon the path to greatness. my horizon was enlarged. i discarded my glasses and led from a singleton. while shaving i invented a lock for motor-cars and a solution of the irish problem; i unravelled the russian tangle and elaborated a new tango; i designed a rat-proof barn and went to breakfast. amongst my fellows an enormous crowd at the tube station. i read one sentence from pamphlet , and i was seated in the train; another sentence and the train started. i called at the bank of england, and informed a very gentlemanly young fellow that my income would soon be £ , a year by the welmanometer. he was superficially interested, and i was conducted to the vaults. i was presented with a spade. i have not known an idle moment since. "thou shalt do no murder" george teaching in sunday school. he is snubbed by the lady superintendent. he becomes tired of life. [illustration: "_shoots the salesman._"] he buys a revolver, and shoots the salesman. as he goes home he shoots two policemen and an apple woman. too easy. he exchanges the revolver for winchester repeating rifle. he hires an aeroplane to circle above his house. as people watch it, from his bedroom window he picks off twenty-three. he tires. he purchases two pennyworth of rat-poison. he visits the kitchen of a large hotel, and very unostentatiously drops the poison in the soup. deaths due to misadventure. he sets fire to the grand theatre. , persons burned to death alive. on his way home, carrying a cubic foot of dynamite, he is arrested. (sensation.) he drops the parcel and escapes. he is tracked. he is sighted. (more sensation.) he eludes pursuit, and is never recaptured. he lives happily ever after, and still retains a warm spot in his heart for the lady who helped to teach him how to live. more kinematic pedagogy geology the crust of the earth. the crumb. a plio scene. an eo scene. laminated strata of neolithic oolite. sandstone. sugar stone. plum stone. outcrop of turnips in wealden clay. fly in amber. flyin machine. prehistoric man on the rocks. author also on the rocks. arrival of a megalokinemastodontichthyosaurus. his jaw breaks. the camera breaks. political economy relation between wages and work. comparison impossible. the wealth of the individual. n/s nil. the wealth of nations. adam shame. specimens of bimetallic coinage. paper currents. their raison d'être. king charles i. demanding supplies. ministry of food supplying demands. not half. foreign exchanges. germany's low-water mark. francness on the bourse. the rouble trouble. millionaires playing with agricultural returns, or baccarrot. science fair science frowning on an humble birth. her deeper frown on sulphuretted hydrogen. demonstrator upsets nitric acid. specific gravity of class upset. the torricellian vacuum. cleaning the vacuum. (inset, the vacuum cleaner; can be used for the head.) the wet-and-dry bulb. johnson's hydrometer. converting a pussyfoot into liquid measure with caustic soda water. electrolysis. analysis. paralysis. book-keeping a double cash column marches through the double entry. it reads the journal. a post office. the ledger is posted. it is put on the scales, but won't balance. it is returned to drawer for re-check. while books are in the drawer they cannot be kept. when they are posted they cannot be retained. therefore book-keeping is impossible. archÆology the temple of leonidas in valparaiso. a papyrus is discovered. it is found to be dated b.c. , and written in scotch. sinn feiners at work deciphering. the finding of the key. the document is a recipe for utilizing the sharpenings of pencils to make iron joists. a limited company is formed to exploit the process. present address, carey street. numismatics specimens of various rare coins. a sovereign. two sovereigns. a half-sovereign. obverse. reverse. perverse. coins not quite so rare. a half-crown. it is given away in error between two threepenny-bits. a sixpence. it goes bang. a small coin is shown, which gradually recedes into the borderland between visibility and invisibility. it is then seen to be a far thing. alcoholism a field of potatoes in full ear. one of the old guard at waterloo (station). he is conscribed. ten years later: not yet promoted. twenty years after: he is a private still. he distils a potato by suction. he becomes intoxicated by the protuberance of his own pomposity. he tries to say truly rural. he attempts to uphold the british constitution. he walks across a chalk mark. hic transit. philately a stampede. enter an ardent collector wiping the perforation. he forges ahead, but is discovered by absence of watermark. his duplicate marches in like a lamb from mint source. he is in rare condition, having been surcharged with a plate number. he is absolutely used up. post mortem. verger white, detective verger white and his pet tortoise ermyntrude. white is playing the trombone, while ermyntrude is running up and down the curtains. [illustration: "_a client arrives._"] a client arrives. white puts away the trombone, tells his client what he has come for, and the name of the person who committed the burglary with violence. the client agrees, noting subconsciously that white has a habit of flapping his left ear when thinking deeply. white takes the case. it is a case of whiskey, which the client has thoughtfully provided. he turns up a file of the quiver, and reads through the postal guide. he finds what he wants. he calls ermyntrude and starts off. he takes a taxicab to waterloo, and goes by train to richmond. he returns to hammersmith, takes a motor-bus to barnes, and train back to waterloo. having thus thrown off his pursuers, he walks to vauxhall, followed by ermyntrude. he secures assistance from local police and fire brigade, and between them they arrest the supposititious criminal--a blind paralytic. white is rewarded with the freedom of tooting bee and a complimentary dinner at the stag, kennington. responding to the toast of "our greatest detective," he returns the compliment by tooting on the trombone. he remains under the table, flapping his left ear, while ermyntrude sleeps coiled up in the instrument. the topical budget life in the navy. by a soldier the ratings at their work. the sailor sailing the boat. midshipman finding the centre of the ship. boatswain balancing himself to prevent the boat swaying. purser collecting purses. assistant paymaster assisting the paymaster. paymaster paying officers in their own coin. the lootnant looting. the first lootnant saluting. the commodore commodoring. post captain delivering the mails. admiral with his baton and broom. flying the blue peter. popular sport. whole crew paraded to watch. peter, a young lady-bird, is first dipped in sulphate of copper. a rope is attached to the maintopgallant staysail, while the other end is fastened to peter's leg. the band plays "o for the wings of a dove," and peter is prodded with a marlin-spike till he flies. weighing the lead. the cook brings his scales on to the bridge. the sailors swing the lead in turn, endeavouring to lodge it on the scales. only the oldest sailors can do it properly, as it requires much knack. when it settles on the scales it is weighed by a waiter. splicing the mainbrace. (this is one of the pair worn by the captain, and often bursts under the strain of responsibility.) the two ends are unravelled, adjusted, twisted, intertwined, and finally wrapped round and round with sailors' yarn. very telling. shivering the timbers. the carpenters parade with adzes and belaying pins. the timber is pinned to the running blocks. carpenters remove their hose. cold water is turned on to the timber from the hose. if the temperature is too high, it is almost impossible to make the timbers shiver. the topical budget life in the army. by a sailor physical jerks. the doctor in his dispensary. the army enters one by one. each man is recorded as a , then examined with an empty stethoscope without lenses. he is told he has a tendency to appendicitis, and is given a bottle of n.y.d. as he leaves the room he jerks the physic through the porthole. hence the name. chewing the rag. (all soldiers do it.) rags of various kinds. the serjeant-major's. the a.s.c. (more usual). the rag before chewing. it looks _something_ like a ration. group of old sweats chewing the same. enter orderly officer: "any complaints?" he vanishes. chewing is resumed, but the rag is never consumed. duck-shoving. (pastime invented by drake.) a pair of white ducks is tethered to the last post. each soldier has a drum, which he tries to beat with a duck's drumstick. as soon as one soldier seizes a duck, another soldier pushes the duck away. the game is played with great fierceness, and causes much amusement, especially to the ducks. drawing rations. a huge pair of ration pinchers advances on the purser. a tin of bully is extracted, sounding like a gramophone. an officer intervenes with the remark: "you can't have that; this is a pickle day." he whistles. the tin returns to store. a case of rum is pinched. the officer smiles. he knows it is lime-juice. square-pushing. this sport requires much secrecy, and no soldier will tell you how _he_ does it. the youngest recruit is sent for the key of the square. the older soldiers don special boots for the function. mounted services wear special spurs, whose rowels sound like an harp. the order is then given, "on the hands, down," and the square is pushed. the older birds slope off. thrilling adventures round the north pole the expedition starts. josie. frank ashburningham. the mascot (a giraffe). the ship sails from stoke newington. portions of the crowd which sees them off. passing the hebrides. off plymouth sound. the mountains of maughan. sunrise on popocatapetl. icebergs off bombay. moonlight effects on streatham common. mascot dies of tonsilitis. first glimpses of unknown land. closer acquaintance proves it to be greenland. josie maintains it is iceland. the thermometer falls lower than the mercury, which therefore boils under atmospheric pressure. mascot dies of beri-beri. crossing the ice. (note the tracks of josie's high heels.) a barrier. it is removed. a snow-drift. it is removed. mascot dies of trench feet. warm clothing a necessity. good old thermos. more ice. the aneroid measures only , miles from the pole. forward! mascot dies of misfeasance. josie has a touch of sunstroke. they proceed under great difficulties. the rigour of the north. nearing the pole. cutting it short. four miles further. mascot dies of aniline. waiting for day-break. the start of the last lap. sighting the pole. arrival at the pole. the scotsman comes to greet them, and asks for a pinch of snuff. mascot dies of erudition. the return to blighty. the polyphonic clothing company, ltd barking road, fife economy the godiva gown. heard but not seen. health the concho corset. be concave where now convex. hosiery our unmendable stockings. unwashable. untearable. unmentionable. sold in tins with camel-hair brush. one application lasts for years. garters embroidered silk, with phonograph attachment. boots. try our gondola shoes for ease and comfort. room for luggage within weight allowed to second-class passengers. scooters extra. hooters unnecessary. hats. hats. hats. may be worn at angle guaranteed to go into any ordinary-sized taxi. opaque. indestructible. grow real flowers which change with season. special terms for vegetables and exotics. lingerie the last word in femininity: therefore noisy. so constructed that the rustling distinctly articulates the name of each garment. be distinguÉ. wearers of our clothing are heard every day in all the papers. see police reports. our great new feature scenes from modern life the cabinet at work inventing a form to be filled in. the red tape worm (_toenia rubescens_) in great form. its bite poisons with formic acid. h.m. stationery office printing forms. standing committee sitting on forms. [illustration: _the crushing chamber for humorists._] the lower classes learning to count measles. a lesson in defence against offensive tactics. the casual ward computing death duties. the crushing chamber for humorists. mother of twenty (all under five) trying to remember children's names and ages. the upper classes. how to evade the law. what is a hundred pounds? what is six months in gaol? quids or quod? advantages of wealth. circumventing the inquisition. the reformation. forms for bankrupts. the i.o. diform. the abstruser forms. chloroform. end of the performance. transformation scene. the international correspondence college for post-graduate diplomas in form-filling. the principal. the secretary. forming fours. forty-seven thousand of the students. lectures. exposition of form by maud o' that ilk. formula for same. kinematic mathematics arithmetic decimals seated round the multiplication table. they perform evolutions and involutions, till one is transformed by a duodenary ulcer. an escape of gas. they find the scenty meter, and measure it with a rule of three feet. they practice. they share stocks out of all proportion. enter a herring and a half, which they decide to pendle bury. music dramatis personæ: major c.; a miner; and a common cord. the dominant personality of the major resolves the miner into such a dire state that he needs a dire tonic. in less than a diminished second his whole tone is raised. (double sharp work, what?) he takes a breve rest, quavering with a minimum of divergent emotion in the effort to be natural. _eheu fugue asses!_ they nearly forte, but the discord was inverted by the major's apologiatura, which was as handsomely chromatic as his socks. algebra enter a fraction. (censored, as too vulgar.) problem plays and multinomial theorems are added to and subtracted from him, when a quadratic (half mulatto, half white) arrives, and removes his brackets. this reduces him to tears and lowest terms, and he is rapidly factorized. treating the absurd with sum series-ness, he regains his expansion, permuting his functions to accord with the senary. the equation, like justice, is satisfied. building the bricklayer enters an inn and pays his footing with a flemish bond. he takes a header through the window, and is carried off on a stretcher, being unable to keep the perpends. the template filled with trench mortar. the bricklayer on the scaffold. his last moments. he falls into a putlog hole. tying knots in a tiebeam. the falling eaves. eaves dropping. geometry (euclid i. .) scene, an isosceles triangle. enter the two angles at the base. they build a bridge of asses. (this is unnecessary, but usual.) they have a tug-of-war. neither can move the other. therefore they are equal. (euclid i. .) scene, a triangle. enter the three sides. two of these are carrying a large grater. they are therefore greater than the other side. (euclid i. .) enter a policeman, model of rectitude, representing a given straight line. his hollowed rearward hand receives a coin. he is squared. (euclid i. .) scene, a right-angled triangle. enter a.b., an hypotenuse. he makes his claim. enter two other sides, jachin and boaz. they square up. a.b. knocks both down, proving that he is equal to both of them together. preface[c] the object of this book is to show the educational possibilities of the kinematograph, as applied to almost any subject. it does not pretend to exhaustiveness, though it will be found somewhat exhausting. several examples are given of the way in which pedagogic methods should be used, though many matters have been left severely alone. [illustration: "_the way in which pedagogic methods should be used._"] before a child walks unaided, he runs. before he runs he crawls. let him therefore crawl through his kinematic alphabet (omitted from this book) before proceeding to the abstruser kinematic nursery rhymes (which will give him a good groundwork in kinematic law). thence he will skim through kinematic languages, kinematic mathematics, and certain kinematic sciences; and so on to kinematic art, kinematic politics, and kinematic medicine (which form the subject of a separate work).[d] footnotes: [c] apparently misplaced. [d] see vol. ii. of this work, "the donkimatograph," by pr. apsnot. the poor ye have always a snowstorm. a ragged woman holding a bundle (presumably a fatherless child). she sits on the embankment steps. a policeman moves her on. she moves on. she goes to the front door of the hotel splendide. she sees the lights within. she is turned away. she goes to the hotel magnifical. she sees the warmth on the window-panes. she is repulsed again. she moves on. she goes into the strand and begs from the passers-by. a few give her small coins, many give her nothing. a policeman moves her on. she goes to the police station. she is turned away. she goes to her home in park lane, and writes a cheque to pay her bridge debts. deathbreath the crook a bent elderly man seated at a table covered with chemical apparatus. men stand round in gas-masks, for his breath is death. [illustration] as his men watch, deathbreath drinks from a small bottle. he immediately vanishes. a crook rushes forward. suddenly he throws up his arms and falls. deathbreath reappears, with arm outstretched, as from punching someone. "i have discovered the secret of invisibility." he disappears again. (film continues for ten minutes, showing nothing.) another episode of deathbreath the crook next week. what a drink is worth caste roaring pete mr. beerbohm irving. tootsie wootsie miss portia bordeaux. the medicine man whiskey wilson (special engagement). medicine man's squaw mme. glouglou chianti. cowboys, indians, beer. dead dog gulch (film aborts.) dead dog (film aborts.) dead dog gulch, mining settlement (film aborts.) (after several scenes and incidents have passed too quickly for contemplation,) bar full of cowboys. enter roaring pete, slouching, head forward, chin projecting, a shooting iron in each hand, bowie between his teeth, swords stuck in his puttees. he is hailed with shouts and cocktails. the medicine man, an old indian, stands on sidewalk, scratching his head with great earnestness and a piece of tile. he looks at bar; smacks his lips; points; evidently intends entering to obtain fire water. [illustration: "what a drink is worth." _the caste._] he stands with hand on latch, ruminating. a picture of home rises before him--his old squaw sitting wistfully in wigwam, grasping old hatchet. he at once enters. tootsie wootsie, the saloon-keeper's daughter, comes into saloon: golden hair down to waist, and riding costume. she rushes to roaring pete. roaring pete rushes to her. enter medicine man, who gets embraced between them. loud curses. much gun-play. exit medicine man. counter, chairs, tables, bottles, hats, boots, and curses, follow him. boot hits him in rear. he bolts with boot. he swears revenge. [illustration: _young chief's speech_] seeing red indian encampment. medicine man beating drum. galloping ponies, firing winchesters and automatics. ring of stern faces. background, ring of roses. medicine man harangues; shows boot; shows mark where it hit him. excited execrations. young chief advances, obviously saying "wow!" desperate attention secured at this unusual beginning. he outlines his plan--a night raid to capture paleface squaw. before he finishes, indians dash for ponies and gallop into the night. tootsie wootsie discovered undressing. she removes her blouse. she removes her riding sk---- (film aborts.) tootsie in her dressing-gown, about to say her guileless prayer. hideous face at window. she screams and shoots. face shouts with pained surprise. it is roaring pete. "what have i done?" tootsie dashes to window and hurls herself out. as she leaves the sill-- (film aborts.) the start dark figures stealing through the bushes. they appear to be searching for something. chief stubs his toe. mentions it. tomahawked immediately by medicine man. fierce rustle of excitement (heard in gallery) as they catch sight of tootsie kneeling by roaring pete. medicine man says "charge!" tomahawks young chief for asking "how much?" capture of tootsie wootsie proposal that she be allowed to dress is vetoed by unanimous tomahawk. tootsie wootsie struggles madly to keep her dressing-gown round her. their one mistake medicine man reaches through window and collars a gollywog. child screams and appears at window. indians vamoose with tootsie wootsie, mount their horses, and vanish into the dawn. child rushes out in nightshirt to sheriff's house. shakes him. fails to wake him. seizes brandy bottle and puts it to his lips. sheriff wakes at once. while he is taking a pull, child explains. "indians taken my golly." as sheriff leaps out of bed-- (film aborts.) cowboys mounting as they gallop off. sheriff takes child on pommel, and dashes off into the afternoon. the indian encampment a war dance. tootsie wootsie lying bound. she is placed on a pile of faggots. young brave with torch. medicine man, with sacrificial knife uplifted, addresses her: "will you marry me?" tootsie simpers: "this is so sudden." medicine man infuriated. he executes a primordial dance. he repeats: "will you marry me?" tootsie wootsie breaks her bonds, throws her arms about him, and whispers "yes, dear." howls of rage. medicine man steps back. his squaw hits him with blunt hatchet. another young chief steps forward, waving captured gollywog. medicine man seizes it; holds it by off hand; waves minatory knife. tootsie wootsie screams again, "spare poor golly, and i will release thee." medicine man demands it in writing. the same, continued papyrus and stylo produced. tootsie wootsie is about to sign when medicine man crumples into heap. cowboys appear on galloping ponies. much gun-play. much cursing. wild melée. child seizes gollywog. indian seizes tootsie wootsie, and hurls her over cliff. she falls approximately two miles, when-- (film aborts.) ... roaring pete, struggling towards dropped flask. he reaches it. it is empty. he gets up in a rage. he feels himself. "what's the good of being wounded when the flask's empty?" he dashes for pony and lights out for anywhere. as he passes foot of precipice, someone falls on his head. falls off. he rubs his head with curses and quirt, and examines the missile. it is tootsie wootsie. (sensation in the front seats.) second part follows immediately a lovers' quarrel "please explain how you come to be so far distant from home in your night attire." tootsie wootsie walks off the screen in a huff. third part of this thrilling serial, monday, tuesday, and wednesday, next week. ringing the changes buncle spends a week-end in mexico. he joins a revolution. he wins. as a reward he is shown the ancient aztec temples. he enters the cortes, and is initiated into the mysteries. poking the hontas. mounting the zuma. an old priestess tells him a secret. he retires with a ruddy blush. an old priest gives him a phial, explaining that it contains the liquor of creation, enabling the owner to create what he wills. the yarn licks creation. at brighton station. a crowd. no seats. buncle creates an armchair. seats himself. angry exclamations. porter politely requests him to move. he refuses. more politeness. inspector fetched. indicates distinction between heavy goods traffic and passengers' luggage. buncle rises. as porter embraces chair, buncle changes it into a bag of soot. the train arrives. buncle seats himself in train, and creates an outsize newfoundland dog. inspector objects. tries to seize dog, which becomes a toy pomeranian. inspector grasps air. he sees the pom, and grabs. pom becomes hedgehog. inspector utters cursory remarks and returns to platform. while he examines his hands, hedgehog becomes giraffe, which affectionately licks his ear. [illustration: _the giraffe licks the inspector's ear._] inspector desperate. he summons whole station staff, who proceed to drive giraffe away. it becomes an old woman of garrulous type, who prettily thanks them for their courtesy, but appeals to police for protection. as friendly constable shepherds her through crowd, she incontinently becomes a steam-roller. the crowd dissipates, while the steam-roller calmly changes to a child's perambulator. as the officials approach, this becomes an aeroplane, which rises with soft purring as train bears buncle away to preston park. in the woolly west ten cowboys rounding up cattle for branding into essence; one is used as the brand. nine cowboys cattle-punching; one is used as the punch. eight cowboys sitting round the camp-fire; one is used as fuel. seven cowboys putting on spurs; one is used to test them. six cowboys forming a settlement; one is used as the settlement. five cowboys squatting; one is used to squat upon. four cowboys pegging out a claim; one is used as the peg. three cowboys playing poker; one is used as the poker. two cowboys blazing a trail; one is used as the trail. one cowboy poses for a kinematograph. and that is more than sufficient. [illustration: "_three cowboys playing poker_"] the kinematic golf championship brade climbing holly-tree to recover lost club. secretary demurs. it is pointed out that this is exhibition play. something tears. exhibition expected. it is only braid. tailor summoned hastily. fardon's drive. fardon the ages now. its journey well begun. it strikes a toompty. then rolls on. he holes a five in one. teeing off the caddy. a spoon shot. a pull. very hot. a dead stymie. poor little thing! humanity prevails. military honours. dormy one. brade haz 'ard luck in a hazard. he digs. "having no spade, partner?" bunker replaced by onlookers. several onlookers replaced in bunker. casual water. pulling fardon out of a well without penalty. one up and the deuce to pay. brade plays puff-ball in mistake for golf-ball. bystanders appreciably thinning. overtaking a foursome. a threesome. loathesome. the end of the game. part of the ritual of golf. panorama of moving figures running off for gin and ginger. the sunningdale arms. arm in arm. links. unlinked. "not stopping this side of virginia water." three problem plays i.--should she have worn them? lady gertrude seated at breakfast table. eggs, ham, bacon, kidneys, kippers, etc. lady gertrude helps herself to all except the last. sir anthony enters late. she glares at him while he seats himself. butler offers him everything in turn, but each dish is waved away by lady gertrude. at last he seizes a kipper on his fork. he takes one bite. it is snatched away by lady gertrude and thrown at the cat. he takes a piece of toast, but is unable to secure margarine or marmalade. he breakfasts. at the front door. sir anthony stands waiting. hunting garb complete, except that he wears black trousers instead of white breeches. a friend arrives on horseback, and indicates, "coming to the meet in those?" sir anthony jerks thumb in direction of lady gertrude, and points to his trousers. (solution in next week's local paper.) ii.--should they have gone? angelina elopes with edwin. angelina's father pursues them, but fails to overtake them until they are married. angelina's mother arrives and bursts into tears. a snowstorm. no conveyance available except tandem bicycle with sidecar and trailer. edwin has hired this, and proposes to start directly after lunch. angelina's father and mother implore. edwin declines. angelina is neutral. finding, however, that trailer is certain to get unfastened by vibration, and that no one can possibly remain seated in sidecar, edwin agrees to take passengers. they start. trailer slips off backwards down long hill. sidecar falls over precipice. edwin and angelina reach their destination, but find that old birds are missing. angelina suggests half-heartedly that edwin should go back and search. edwin declines. they enter hotel, and live happily ever afterwards. (solution in next week's local paper.) iii.--was the price too high? percy, the millionaire's son and heir. he falls in love with rebecca, daughter of a multi-millionaire. percy's father had once been in love with rebecca's mother. percy's mother had several times been in love with rebecca's father. nobody knew this except the press. percy tells his father of his love-affair. father is furious. he sends for his lawyer, his will, his banker, and his tobacconist. he tells percy that if he marries rebecca, all his money shall go to the home for diseased and incurable kimonos. percy asks to be allowed to think it over. percy tells rebecca. her father declares that when she marries percy he will give him as a wedding present twenty million dollars. percy thinks it over. he goes to his father. he makes the grand refusal. "father, i love her. i will pay your price." his father accordingly alters his will. (solution in next week's local paper.) peeps at the forces during the war i.--with the red cross in hari-kari. how it is done. making the patient red. making him cross. the hospital orderly. his tenderness. how he treats all my comrades. dosing the troops with p.u.o. surgical instruments being shipped for hari-kari. view of hari-kari. interiors. [illustration: _view of hari-kari_] ii.--with the knuts in brazil. how they grow. the colonel. his chestnuts. mrs. colonel, a hard knut to crack. company officer shelling out deferred pay nuts. other species. conquerors. winning the war. piling up ammunition. monkeying with shells. the serjeant-major's aunt sally. a shy one. cokernuts. or cigars. iii.--with the w.a.a.c.'s in the west the waacs' work. madame tussaud. sealing waacs. disciplinary action, or whacking the waac. toilet waccessories. the honey-comb. honeymoons. german bees distributing honey. german shells distributing waacs. the waacs asleep. peace at last. iv.--with the y.m.c.a. in mesopotamia. the red triangle. making the note-paper. giving it to the troops. "you had a sheet last week." making the tea. tracking the tea-leaf. searching for sugar. needing the nestlé. the piano at work. ditto in play. in off the red triangle. the motto: "closed." v.--with the chinese in chingford. the chinese g.o.c.-in-c., general meno savvy. some of his wives. his pig-tail. his blandness. chinese sports. an opium den. faro. moses. pulling the walthamstow. epping the zeppelin. throwing the leytonstone. vi.--with the wrens at peckham. coming through the rye. regimental march, "robin adair." in birdcage walk. drinking canary seed. the wings of a squadron. fluffy. egging her on. the nestlé season. shutting down hatches. getting the bird. vii.-with the scentinels at opoponax. picking the buds. a blooming swindle. the smell of the ocean. the smell of salonika. catching it hot, bouquet de bulgarie. ottoman olfactives working at a hose. atta rose. johann maria inventing a highly sensitive nose. the lily of the val de travers. fishing for frangipanni. back petalling. the eau b.e. [illustration: "_a highly sensitive nose._"] viii.--with the derbyites in the dardanelles. sighting land. landing sites. achi baba. a close shave. a brush with the machine guns. napoo. shampoo. epsom salts. up the straits. round tattenham corner. lighting the k lighters. fighting the b lighters. turks trotting. bulgars bulging. armenians with harmoniums. cossacks in cassocks. giving 'em dardanell. tales of travellers ananias and sapphira munchausen plotting to become great explorers. ananias determines to discover the north pole. sapphira insists on finding the south seas. they finally decide to fit out two expeditions, and to communicate by wireless telephony. ananias buys his outfit. he is thin, but when clothed, entire staff cannot get him through doorway. sleighs. icepicks. toothpicks. thermos flasks. electric radiators. "label everything munchausen, and send to my hotel." ten pantechnicons convey the goods to hotel. sapphira buys her outfit. five hundred sh! a thousand you know whats. other garments in proportion. she is much thinner when garbed for her expedition, but chases shop-walker for suggesting a dripping-pan. ice-cream machines. hammocks. palanquins. canoes. "label everything munchausen, and send to my hotel." twenty-seven pantechnicons convey the goods to hotel. street blocked. hotel refuses to accept delivery. the munchausens arrive. goods dumped in doorway. people in hotel cannot get out. mountaineering parties arranged. one party falls in road, and is run over by traction engine. other parties entangled in ropes of yet other parties. lucky blow of ice-pick catches sapphira in rear. the start. one small boy on otherwise deserted quay listens to speeches from the two different boats. [illustration: "_the start._"] beautiful scenery near north pole. ananias unpacks. large quantities of ladies' light summer clothing. puts all on, in a rage, and appears on deck. captain puts him in irons. beautiful scenery in south seas. sapphira unpacks. large quantities of arctic garments. puts them on, raging, and cannot turn round in cabin. is hauled on deck by steam crane through skylight. captain puts her in irons. both explorers suddenly remember wireless telephone. air fuses all along the line. both ships catch fire. arrival at port. boats meeting. ananias finds affinity and tells the tale. sapphira finds affinity and tells the tale. as the boats pass they see one another. sapphira falls on her affinity's neck. breaks it. with one scornful glance she throws herself into the sea, swamping a liner with the wash. ananias cries out in astonishment, "my wife!" he is thereupon knocked overboard by his affinity. he is washed on to a high cliff by his wife's wash. sapphira tries to follow. causes a landslide. they roll in each other's arms to the beach. the boats steam away, while passengers throw everything portable at them and fire at them with syphons and signal guns. both are left lying. next week. ananias and sapphira in sport. opinions of the press. "good."--_athenæum._ "an excellent book for serious thinkers ... showing a thorough grasp of every subject it deals with. what especially pleases us is the absence of all attempt at humour."--_scotsman._ "should go far ... as far as possible."--_church times._ "the areopagitica filled a lacuna in english literature which had not previously been noticed. milton in his blindness saw what others, better equipped with visual organs, had failed to perceive. what was his reward? is not his monumental work the text-book for all encyclopædists of the areopagus?... but it is a trifle heavy. even q. h. flaccus opined that it was dulce to desipere in loco. sometimes one feels the need of a lighter work, which makes a less severe tax on the cerebellular tissue. this is it."--_daily telegraph._ "rotten."--g. s. b. in _extenso_. "teachers will welcome this volume, as it proves clearly how superfluous is the didactician."--_schoolmaster._ "these scribblers just have got it in once. it eats. they are some shakes."--_american review._ "receiving orders daily."--_stubbs' gazette. after this you will want to know why all this nonsense has been written by a supposed englishman, and why it has ever been published. yet you will perhaps admit that it is at least something to take a common or garden nursery rhyme and a rare or hothouse kinematograph, and weld them together coherently, so as to expose the hidden immorality of the former, and to turn the searchlight of the latter towards truth. in away the human body is acted upon similarly by such a corrective as beecham's pills, which cleanse the system of impurities and so enlighten and enliven all vital functions. it is not bad taste to make such a comparison, although it sounds something like an advertisement; and it need only be added that a box of the aforesaid pills is frequently stated to be worth more than half-a-ton of coal, and more than three times as much as a lawyer's pre-war opinion. [illustration: _turning the searchlight towards truth._] publishers' announcements. messrs. carpe and diem respectfully spring the following list of spring publications. spiritualism. "bow-wow." by colley (a posthumous work). "charred embers, or my excursion to the other world." by donum boyle. "the deacon's arch." by n. evil feminine. tragedy. "the great strike." by the popular author of "the fight that failed." religion. "mutual trust: a discussion on the ethical and historical effects of the interchange of hats between bishops and leading nonconformists." by professor keating, ll.d. "the modern man's bible." buyer and muttonley. a ruthless excision of all dogmatic texts, their places being filled by extracts from "tom bull." poetry. "russia, or the prophet here." by fortuna waugh. a new venture in cheap fiction, published on thin paper suitable for shaving purposes. price _s._ net. "did he?" by jove. horticulture. "foxe's book of tomatoes." revised and authoritative edition. the melticooker breakfast, lunch, tea, dinner, supper, and accounts, all cooked at once. it just won't bath baby. [illustration: _the melticooker_] thomas' desecrated soup if you are landed in the soup see that it bears our trade-mark. popular with politicians. send for our blue-book. tureen, with life-belt, given away to every purchaser. the army ironmongery stores drills. drills. drills. drills of all kinds. squad drills, hair drills, pack drills, square drills, tendrils, spandrils. why is your income not £ , a year [illustration: _£ , a year_] write to us for free prospectus. no security. we show great interest. absolute secrecy. even your left hand will not know what your note of hand commits you to. moss and moss, sheenies walk, chelsea. a thought for to-day it is well known that diseases of various kinds are contracted by frequenting crowded theatres. try our scentrifugal drops and stand alone. powerful, effective. no one can approach our success. you score three for a clear board. attendants powerless. [illustration: "_stand alone._"] the housing problem solved tin tanks for tommies. discharged soldiers should write to us for list of model dwellings in corrugated iron. sent in sections on the instalment system. you pay one shilling and receive one chimney. your next shilling secures the roof; the next the chicken-run; and so on. a child can erect or dismantle. (inset, child dismantling at inopportune moment.) * * * * * transcriber's notes: punctuation errors repaired. page , "absoletely" changed to "absolutely" (absolutely used up) [illustration: with a grinding crash the earth on which joe stood went out from under him.] the moving picture boys at panama or stirring adventures along the great canal by victor appleton contents chapter i to the rescue ii on the brink iii a surprise iv a delayed letter v another surprise vi something queer vii in new york viii off for panama ix the little box x the secret conference xi along the canal xii almost an accident xiii in the jungle xiv in dire peril xv in culebra cut xvi the collision xvii the emergency dam xviii the big slide xix joe's plight xx at gatun dam xxi mr. alcando's absence xxii a warning xxiii the flashlight xxiv the tick-tick xxv mr. alcando disappears the moving picture boys at panama chapter i to the rescue with a series of puffs and chugs a big, shiny motor cycle turned from the road into the graveled drive at the side of a white farmhouse. two boys sat on the creaking saddles. the one at the front handle bars threw forward the clutch lever, and then turned on the power sharply to drive the last of the gases out of the twin cylinders. the motor cycle came to a stop near a shed, and the two lads, swinging off, looked at each other for a moment. "some ride, that!" observed one. "you had her going then, blake!" "just a little, joe--yes. it was a nice level stretch, and i wanted to see what she could do." "you didn't let her out to the full at that; did you?" "i should say not!" answered the one who had ridden in front, and guided the steed of steel and gasoline. "she'll do better than ninety miles an hour on the level; but i don't want to ride on her when she's doing it." "nor i. well, it was a nice little run, all right. funny, though, that we didn't get any mail; wasn't it?" "it sure was. i think somebody must be robbing the post-office, for we ought to have had a letter from mr. hadley before this," and he laughed at his own joke. "yes," agreed joe, "and i ought to have had one from--" he stopped suddenly, and a blush suffused the tan of his cheeks. "might as well say it as think it," broke in blake with another laugh that showed his white, even teeth. "hasn't mabel written to you this week?" "what if she hasn't?" fired back joe. "oh, nothing. only--" "only i suppose you are put out because you haven't had a postcard from birdie lee!" challenged joe. "oh, well, have it your own way," and blake, with a shrug of his broad shoulders, began to wheel the motor cycle into the shed. "no, but it is queer; isn't it?" went on joe. "here we've been back from the flood district over two weeks now, and we haven't had a line from mr. hadley. he promised to write, too, and let us know what sort of moving pictures he might be in line for next. our vacation will soon be over, and we don't want to be idle." "that's right," agreed his chum. "there's no money in sitting around, when the film isn't running. oh, well, i suppose mr. hadley has been so busy that he hasn't had time to make his plans. "besides," blake went on, "you know there was a lot of trouble over the mississippi flood pictures--reels of film getting lost, and all that--to say nothing of the dangers our friends ran. birdie lee said she'd never forget what they suffered." "i don't blame her. well, maybe they haven't got straightened out enough yet to feel like writing. but it sure is nice here, and i don't mind if we stay another week or so," and he looked up the pleasant valley, on one side of which was perched the farmhouse where the two moving picture boys had been spending their vacation. "it sure is nice," agreed blake. "and it's lots more fun since we got this motor cycle," for they had lately invested in the powerful vehicle on which they had made many trips about the surrounding country. as blake went to put the machine in the shed, which their farmer-landlord had allowed them to use, joe turned to glance back along the road they had come. the farmhouse was set up on a little hill, above the road, and a glimpse of the highway could be had for a long distance. it was the sight of something coming along this thoroughfare that attracted joe's attention. "what are you looking at?" asked blake, returning after having put away the motor cycle. "that horse and buggy. looks to me as though that horse was feeling his oats, and that the fellow driving him didn't know any more about handling the reins than the law allows." "that's right, joe. if he doesn't look out he'll have an upset, or a runaway." the vehicle in question was a light buggy; drawn by a particularly large and spirited horse. seated in the carriage, as the boys could see from their point of vantage, were two men. who they were could not be distinguished at that distance, but the carriage was rapidly coming nearer. "there he goes!" suddenly cried joe. as his chum spoke blake saw that one of the reins had parted, probably because the driver pulled on it too hard in trying to bring the restive steed down to a walk. once the spirited horse felt that he was no longer under control, save by one line, which was worse than none, he sprang forward, and at once began to gallop, pulling after him the light carriage, which swayed from side to side, threatening every moment to collapse, overturn, or at least be torn loose from the horse. "there he goes!" yelled joe again. "i should say so!" agreed blake. "there are going to be some doings soon!" this was evident, for the horse was running away, a fact not only apparent in itself, but heralded by the looks on the faces of the two occupants of the carriage, and by their frightened cries, which the wind easily carried to the watching joe duncan and blake stewart. on the road below them, and past the boys, swept the swaying carriage in a cloud of dust. as it was momentarily lost to sight behind a grassy knoll, blake cried: "the broken bridge, joe! the broken bridge! they're headed right for it!" "that's right!" exclaimed his chum. "how can we stop them?" once having recognized the danger, the next thought that came to the minds of blake and joe, trained for emergencies, was how to avert it. they looked at each other for a second, not to gain a delay, but to decide on the best possible plan of saving the imperiled men. "the broken bridge," murmured blake again. "that horse will never be able to make the turn into the temporary road, going at the speed he is!" "no, and he's probably so frightened that he'll not try it," agreed joe. "he'll crash right through the barrier fence, and--" he did not finish his sentence, but blake knew what his chum meant. about half a mile beyond the farmhouse the road ran over a bridge that spanned a deep and rocky ravine. about a week before there had been an accident. weakened by the passing of a heavy traction threshing engine, it had been broken, and was ruled unsafe by the county authorities. accordingly the bridge had been condemned and partially torn down, a new structure being planned to replace it. but this new bridge was not yet in place, though a frail, temporary span, open only to foot passengers and very light vehicles, had been thrown across the ravine. the danger, though, was not so much in the temporary bridge, as in the fact that the temporary road, connecting with it, left the main and permanent highway at a sharp curve. persons knowing of the broken bridge made allowances for this curve, and approached along the main road carefully, to make the turn safely into the temporary highway. but a maddened horse could not be expected to do this. he would dash along the main road, and would not make the turn. or, if he did, going at the speed of this one, he would most certainly overturn the carriage. the main highway was fenced off a short distance on either side of the broken bridge, but this barrier was of so frail a nature that it could not be expected to stop a runaway. "he'll crash right through it, run out on the end of the broken bridge and----" once more joe did not finish. "we've got to do something!" cried blake. "yes, but what?" asked joe. "we've got to save them!" cried blake again, as he thought of the two men in the carriage. he had had a glimpse of their faces as the vehicle, drawn by the frenzied horse, swept past him on the road below. one of the men he knew to be employed in the only livery stable of central falls, on the outskirts of which he and joe were spending their holiday. the other man was a stranger. blake had only seen that he was a young man, rather good-looking, and of a foreign cast of countenance. blake had momentarily put him down for an italian. "the motor cycle!" suddenly cried joe. "what?" asked blake, only half comprehending. "we might overtake them on the motor cycle!" repeated his chum. a look of understanding came into blake's eyes. "that's right!" he cried. "why didn't i think of that before, instead of standing here mooning? i wonder if we've got time?" "we'll make time!" cried joe grimly. "get her out, and we'll ride for all we're worth. it'll be a race, blake!" "yes. a race to save a life! lucky she's got plenty of gas and oil in her." "yes, and she hasn't had a chance to cool down. run her out." blake fairly leaped toward the shed where he had wheeled the motor cycle. in another instant he and joe were trundling it down the gravel walk to the road. as they reached the highway they could hear, growing fainter and fainter, the "thump-thud," of the hoofs of the runaway horse. joe held the machine upright while blake vaulted to the forward saddle and began to work the pedals to start the motor. the cylinders were still hot from the recent run, and at the first revolution the staccato explosions began. "jump up!" yelled blake in his chum's ear--shouting above the rattle and bang of the exhaust, for the muffler was open. joe sprang to leather, but before he was in his seat blake was letting in the friction clutch, and a moment later, at ever gathering speed, the shining motor cycle was speeding down the road to the rescue. would joe and blake be in time? chapter ii on the brink "what--what's your plan, blake?" yelled joe into his chum's ear, as he sat behind him on the jolting second saddle of the swaying motor cycle. "what do you mean?" demanded blake, half turning his head. "i mean how are you going to stop that runaway, or rescue those fellows?" "i haven't thought, yet, but if we can get ahead of the horse we may be able to stop him before he gets to the road-barrier or to the dangerous turn." "that's right!" panted joe, the words being fairly jolted out of him. "head him off--i see!" "hold fast!" exclaimed blake, as the conductor does when a trolley car goes around a curve. "hold fast!" there was need of the advice, for a little turn in the road was just ahead of them and blake intended to take it at almost top speed. bumping, swaying, jolting, spitting fire and smoke, with a rattle, clatter and bang, on rushed the motor cycle on its errand of rescue. "hark!" cried joe, close to blake's ear, "listen!" "can't, with all this racket!" yelled back blake, for he had opened the throttle to gain a little increase of power. "what's the matter?" "i thought i heard the horse." "hearing him won't do any good," observed blake grimly. "we've got to see him and get ahead!" and he turned on a little more gasoline. while blake and joe are thus speeding to the rescue of the men in the runaway, we will take a few moments to tell our new readers something about the boys who are to figure prominently in this story. joe duncan and blake stewart were called the "moving picture boys," for an obvious reason. they took moving pictures. with their curious box-like cameras, equipped with the thousand feet of sensitive celluloid film, and the operating handle, they had risen from the ranks of mere helpers to be expert operators. and now they were qualified to take moving pictures of anything from a crowd, shuffling along the street, to a more complicated scene, such as a flood, earthquake or volcanic eruption. and, incidentally, i might mention that they had been in all three of these last situations. the first volume of this series is called "the moving picture boys," and in that i introduced to you blake and joe. they worked on adjoining farms, and one day they saw a company of moving picture actors and actresses come to a stream, near where they were, to take a "movie drama." naturally blake and joe were interested at once, and making the acquaintance of mr. calvert hadley, who was in charge of the taking of the play, or "filming it," as the technical term has it, the two boys were given an opportunity to get into the business. they went to new york, and began the study of how moving pictures are taken, developed from the films, the positives printed and then, through the projecting machine, thrown on the screen more than life size. the process is an intricate one, and rather complicated, involving much explanation. as i have already gone into it in detail in my first book of this series, i will not repeat it here. those of you who wish to know more about the "movies" than you can gain by looking at the interesting pictures in some theater, are respectfully referred to the initial volume. joe and blake were much interested in the film theatrical company. my former readers will well remember some members of that organization--c.c. piper, or "gloomy," as he was called when not referred to as just "c.c."; birdie lee, a pretty, vivacious girl; mabel pierce, a new member of the company; henry robertson, who played juvenile "leads"; miss shay, and others in whom you are more or less interested. after various adventures in new york city, taking films of all sorts of perilous scenes, joe and blake went out west, their adventures there being told in the volume of that name. they had their fill of cowboys and indians, and, incidentally, were in no little danger. afterward they went to the pacific coast, thence to the jungle, where many stirring wild animal scenes were obtained, and afterward they had many adventures in earthquake land. there they were in great danger from tremors of the earth, and from volcanoes, but good luck, no less than good management, brought them home with whole skins, and with their cases filled with rare films. having finished in the land of uncertainty, the work assigned to them by mr. hadley and his associates, joe and blake had gone for their vacation to the farm of mr. hiram baker, near central falls. but their intention of enjoying a quiet stay was rudely interrupted. for not long after they had arrived, and were resting quietly under a cherry tree in the shade, mr. ringold, with whom they were also associated in moving picture work, called them up on the long distance telephone to offer them a most curious assignment. this was to go to the flooded mississippi valley, and get moving pictures of the "father of waters" on one of "his" annual rampages. of course blake and joe went, and their adventures in the flood fill the volume immediately preceding this one. and now they had returned, anticipating a second session of their vacation. they had brought a motor cycle with which to go about the pretty country surrounding central falls. "for," reasoned blake, "we haven't much time left this summer, and if we want to enjoy ourselves we'll have to hustle. a motor cycle is the most hustling thing i know of this side of an automobile, and we can't afford that yet." "i'm with you for a motor cycle," joe had said. so one was purchased, jointly. it was on returning from a pleasant ride that our heroes had seen the runaway with which we are immediately concerned. they were now speeding after the maddened horse dragging the frail carriage, hoping to get ahead of and stop the animal before it either crashed into the frail barrier, and leaped into the ravine, or upset the vehicle in trying to make the turn into the temporary road. "there he is!" suddenly cried blake. the motor cycle, bearing the two chums, had made the curve in the road successfully and was now straightened up on a long, level stretch. and yet not so long, either, for not more than a quarter of a mile ahead was another turn, and then came the bridge. "i see him!" answered joe. "can you make it?" "i'm going to!" declared blake, closing his lips firmly. every little bump and stone in the road seemed magnified because of the speed at which they were moving. but blake held the long handles firmly, and, once the curve was passed, he turned the rubber grip that let a little more gasoline flow into the carbureter to be vaporized and sprayed into the cylinders, where the electric spark exploded it with a bang. "we--are--going--some!" panted joe. "got--to!" assented blake, grimly. on swayed the thundering, rattling motor cycle. the carriage top had either been let down, or some of the supports had broken, and it had fallen, and the boys could now plainly see the two men on the seat. they had not jumped, but they had evidently given up trying to make the horse stop by pulling on the one rein, for the animal was speeding straight down the center of the road. "we aren't catching up to him very fast!" howled joe into blake's ear, and he had to howl louder than usual, for they were then passing along a portion of the road densely shaded by trees. in fact the branches of the trees met overhead in a thick arch, and it was like going through a leafy tunnel. this top bower of twigs and branches threw back the noise of the explosions of the motor cycle, and made an echo, above which it was almost impossible to make one's voice heard. "look out!" suddenly cried blake. "hold fast!" at first joe imagined that his chum was going to make another curve in the road, but none was at hand. then, as blake watched his chum's right hand, he saw him slowly turn the movable rubber handle that controls the gasoline supply. blake was turning on more power, though now the machine was running at a higher rate than joe or blake had ever traveled before. with a jump like that of a dog released from the leash, the motor cycle seemed to spring forward. indeed joe must needs hold on, and as he was not so favorably seated as was his chum, it became a matter of no little trouble to maintain a grip with his legs and hands. "we--sure--are--going--some!" muttered joe. but he did not open his mouth any more. it was too dangerous at the speed they had attained. a jolt over a stone, or a bit of wood, might send his teeth through his tongue if he parted his jaws. so he kept quiet. ahead of them the carriage swayed and swerved. the horse was a speedy one, but no creature of bone, blood, muscles and sinews can distance a fire-spitting and smoke-eating machine like a motor cycle. the distance was gradually being cut down. but now, just ahead of them, was the curve, immediately beyond which was the broken bridge, and also the temporary one, shunting off at a sharp angle from the main highway. "look out! hold on!" once more cried blake, speaking in quick tones. for a moment joe wondered at the added caution, and then he sensed what blake was about to do. to one side of them stretched a level field. the road made a slight detour about it, just before meeting the ravine, and by crossing this field it was possible for the boys to reach the bridge ahead of the swaying carriage. but at the speed they were now running it was dangerous, and risky in the extreme, to run across the uneven meadow. blake, however, evidently was going to chance it. "hold fast!" he cried once more, and joe had no more than time to take a firmer grip on the bar in front of him, and to cling with his legs to the foot supports and saddle, than they were off the road, and into the green field. the fence had been taken down to allow for the storage of bridge-building material in the meadow. "now we'll get him!" cried blake, but he spoke too soon. for the motor cycle had not gone ten feet into the uneven field, jolting, swaying and all but throwing off the moving picture boys, than the sound of the explosions suddenly ceased, and the machine began to slacken speed. with a quickness that was added to by the rough nature of the ground, the motor cycle slowed up and stopped. "what's the matter?" cried joe, putting down his feet to support the machine. "something's busted--gasoline pipe, i guess!" cried blake. "come on! we've got to run for it!" the accident had occurred only a short distance from the road. together the two chums, leaping clear of the motor cycle, made for it on the run. but they were too late. they had a glimpse of the runaway horse dashing straight at the fence barrier. the next moment there was a splintering crash, and he was through it. "oh!" cried blake. the thunder of the horse's hoofs on what was left of the wooden approach to the broken bridge drowned his words. then the animal, with a leap, disappeared over the jagged edges of the planks. the boys expected to see the carriage and the two occupants follow, but to their intense surprise, the vehicle swayed to one side, caught somehow on one of the king beams of the bridge and hung there. "come on!" cried blake, increasing his speed; "we've got a chance of saving them yet!" chapter iii a surprise they reached--only just in time--the broken and collapsed carriage with its two front wheels mere twisted and splintered spokes. the moving picture boys reached it, and with strong and capable hands pulled it back from the brink of the ravine, over which it hung. in the depths below the horse lay, very still and quiet. "pull back!" directed blake, but joe needed no urging. a slight difference--inches only--meant safety or death--terrible injury at best, for the ravine was a hundred feet deep. but those few inches were on the side of safety. so evenly was the carriage poised, that only a little strength was needed to send it either way. but joe and blake pulled it back on the unwrecked portion of the bridge approach. the two men were still on the seat, but it had broken in the middle, pitching them toward the center, and they were wedged fast. hank duryee, the town livery driver, did not seem to be hurt, though there was an anxious look on his face, and he was very pale, which was unusual for him. as for the other man he seemed to have fainted. his eyes were closed, but his swarthy complexion permitted little diminution in his color. there was a slight cut on his head, from which had trickled a little blood that ran down to his white collar. "easy, boys!" cautioned hank, and his voice rasped out in the quiet that succeeded the staccato noise from the motor cycle. "go easy now! a touch'll send us down," and he gazed shudderingly into the depths below. "we've got you," blake assured him, as he and joe drew still farther back on the platform of the bridge what was left of the carriage. as they did so one of the rear wheels collapsed, letting the seat down with a jerk. "oh!" gasped hank, and a tremor seemed to go through the insensible frame of the other. "it's all right," blake assured the livery stable driver. "you can't fall far." "not as far as down--there," and hank pointed a trembling finger into the depths of the ravine. "can you get out--can you walk?" asked joe. "yes. i'm more scared than hurt," hank made answer. "how about him?" asked blake, motioning to the other occupant of the carriage. "only a little cut on the head, where he banged, up against the top irons, i guess. a little water will fetch him around. my! but that was a close shave!" he staggered out on the broken bridge. his legs were unsteady, through weakness and fear, but not from any injury. "how did it happen?" asked joe. "horse got scared at something--i don't know what--and bolted. i didn't want to take him out--he's an old spitfire anyhow, and hasn't been driven in a week. but this feller was in a hurry," and he nodded toward the unconscious man, "and i had to bring him out with rex--the only horse in the stable just then. "i said i was afraid we'd have a smash-up, and we did. the line busted near baker's place, and--well, here we are." "better here than--down there," observed joe in a low voice. "that's right," agreed hank. "now let's see what we can do for him. hope he isn't much hurt, though i don't see how he could be." "who is he?" asked blake, but the livery stable driver did not answer. he was bending back the bent frame of the dashboard to more easily get out the swarthy man. joe and blake, seeing what he was trying to do, helped him. soon they were able to lift out the stranger, but there was no need of carrying him, for he suddenly opened his eyes, straightened up and stood on his feet, retaining a supporting hand on hank's shoulder. "where--where are we?" he asked, in a dazed way. "did we fall?" he spoke with an accent that at once told blake and joe his nationality--spanish, either from mexico or south america. "we're all right," put in hank. "these young fellows saved us from going over into the gulch. it was a narrow squeak, though." "ah!" the man uttered the exclamation, with a long sigh of satisfaction and relief. then he put his hand to his forehead, and brought it away with a little blood on it. "it is nothing. it is a mere scratch and does not distress me in the least," he went on, speaking very correct english, in his curiously accented voice. he appeared to hesitate a little to pick out the words and expressions he wanted, and, often, in such cases, the wrong words, though correct enough in themselves, were selected. "i am at ease--all right, that is to say," he went on, with a rather pale smile. "and so these young men saved us--saved our lives? is that what you mean, señor--i should say, sir?" and he quickly corrected his slip. "i should say they did!" exclaimed hank with an air of satisfaction. "old rex took matters into his own hands, or, rather legs, and we were just about headed for kingdom come when these fellows pulled us back from the brink. as for rex himself, i guess he's gone where he won't run away any more," and leaning over the jagged edge of the bridge the stableman looked down on the motionless form of the horse. rex had, indeed, run his last. "it is all so--so surprising to me," went on the stranger. "it all occurred with such unexpected suddenness. one moment we are driving along as quietly as you please, only perhaps a trifle accentuated, and then--presto! we begin to go too fast, and the leather thong breaks. then indeed there are things doing, as you say up here." he smiled, trying, perhaps, to show himself at his ease. he was rapidly recovering, not only from the fright, but from the effects of the blow on the head which had caused the cut, and rendered him unconscious for a moment. "it sure was a narrow squeak," declared hank again. "i don't want any closer call. i couldn't move to save myself, i was so dumbfounded, and the carriage would have toppled down in another, second if you boys hadn't come along and hauled it back." "we saw you pass mr. baker's house," explained blake, "and we came after you on the motor cycle. tried to get ahead of you, but the old machine laid down on us." "but we got here in time," added joe. "you did indeed! i can not thank you enough," put in the spaniard, as joe and blake both classed him. "you have saved my life, and some day i hope not only to repay the favor, but to show how grateful i am in other ways. i am a stranger in this part of your fine country, but i expect to be better acquainted soon. but where is our horse?" he asked quickly, not seeming to understand what had happened. "how are we to continue our journey?" and he looked at his driver. "we're at the end of it now, in more ways than one," hank answered, with a smile. "you're just where you wanted to go, though not in the style i calculated on taking you." "but i do not comprehend, sir," said the spaniard, in rather puzzled accents. "i have engaged you to take me to a certain place. there is an accident. we go through a fence with a resounding crash--ah! i can hear that smash yet!" and he put his hands to his ears in a somewhat dramatic manner. "then everything is black. our horse disappears, and--" "he's down there, if you want to know _where_ he disappeared to," broke in hank, practically. "it is no matter--if he is gone," went on the spaniard. "but i do not comprehend--assimilate--no, comprehend--that is it. i do not comprehend what you mean when you say we are at our journey's end." "i'll tell you," exclaimed hank, as he glanced at joe and blake in a manner that caused them to wonder. "you said you wanted to find--" "pardon me--my card, gentlemen!" and the stranger extended a rectangle of white on which was engraved the name _vigues alcando_. blake took it, and, as he did so, from the pocket whence the spaniard had extracted the card, there fell a letter. joe picked it up, but, to his surprise it was addressed to himself and blake jointly, and, in the upper left hand corner was the imprint of the film theatrical company. "why--why," began joe. "this is for us! look, blake!" "for you! that letter for you?" cried mr. alcando. "are you the moving picture boys?" "that's what they call us," answered joe. "this is blake stewart, and i'm his chum, joe duncan." "is it possible--is it possible!" cried mr. alcando. "and you have saved my life! why--i--i--er--i--oh! to think of this happening so! you are--you are--!" he put his hands to his head and seemed to sway. "look out! he's going to fall!" warned blake, springing forward to catch the spaniard. chapter iv a delayed letter but mr. alcando, to americanize his name, did not faint. after reeling uncertainly for a moment, he obtained command of his muscles, straightened up, and stood rigid. "i--i beg your pardons," he said, faintly, as though he had committed some blunder. "i--i fear i am not altogether myself." "shouldn't wonder but what you were a bit played out," put in hank. "what we've just gone through with was enough to knock anyone out, to say nothing of the crack you got on the head. maybe we'd better get a doctor?" and his voice framed a question, as he looked at joe and blake. "no, no!" hastily exclaimed the spaniard, for he was of that nationality, though born in south america, as the boys learned later. "i do not require the services of a physician," went on mr. alcando, speaking rapidly. "i am perfectly all right now--or, i shall be in a few moments. if i had a drink of water--" his voice trailed off feebly, and he looked about rather helplessly. "there used to be a spring hereabouts," said hank, "but i haven't been this way in some time, and--" "i know where it is!" interrupted blake. he and joe, with a training that had made it necessary for them to "size up," and know intimately their surroundings, for use in taking moving pictures, had sensed the location of a bubbling spring of pure water along the road on their first visit to it. "it's right over here; i'll get some," blake went on. "if you will be so kind," spoke the spaniard, and he extended a collapsible drinking cup. blake lost little time in filling it, and soon after drinking mr. alcando appeared much better. "i am sorry to give all this trouble," the spaniard went on, "but i have seemed to meet with considerable number of shocks to-day. first there was the runaway, which i certainly did not expect, and then came the sudden stop--a stop most fortunate for us, i take it," and he glanced, not without a shudder, in the direction of the gulch where the dead horse lay. "and then you pulled us back from the brink--the brink of death," he went on, and his voice had in it a tone of awe, as well as thankfulness. "i can not thank you now--i shall not try," he went on. "but some time, i hope to prove-- "oh, what am i saying!" he broke in upon himself. "i never dreamed of this. it is incomprehensible. that i should meet you so, you whom i--" once more his hands went to his head with a tragic gesture, and yet it did not seem that he was in physical pain. the cut on his head had stopped bleeding. "it is too bad! too bad! and yet fate would have it so!" he murmured after a pause. "but that it should turn in such a queer circle. well, it is fate--i must accept!" joe and blake looked at each other, blake with slightly raised eyebrows, which might mean an implied question as to the man's sanity. then the moving picture boys looked at hank, who had driven them about on several excursions before they bought the motor cycle. hank, who stood a little behind the spaniard, shrugged his shoulders, and tapped his head significantly. "but i must again beg your pardon," said mr. alcando quickly. "i most certainly am not myself this day. but it is the surprise of meeting you whom i came to seek. now, if you will pardon me," and he looked at the letter, addressed to blake and joe jointly--which epistle had been handed to him after it had been picked up from the ground. "and were you really looking for us?" asked joe, much puzzled. "i was--for both of you young gentlemen. my friend the driver here can testify to that." "that's right," said hank. "this gentleman came in on the new york express, and went to our livery stable. he said he wanted to come out to baker's farm and meet you boys. "i happened to be the only one around at the time," hank went on, "and as i knew the road, and knew you boys, i offered to bring him out. but i wish i'd had some other horse. i sure didn't count on rex running away. "and when i found i couldn't stop him, and knew we were headed for the broken bridge--well, i wanted to jump out, but i didn't dare. and i guess you felt the same way," he said to mr. alcando. "somewhat, i must confess," spoke the spaniard, who, as i have said, used very good english, though with an odd accent, which i shall not attempt to reproduce. "and then came the smash," went on hank, "and i didn't expect, any more than he did, that you fellows would come to our rescue. but you did, and now, mr. alcando, you can deliver your letter." "and these really are the young gentlemen whom i seek?" asked the spaniard. "pardon me, i do not in the least doubt your word," he added with a formal bow, "but it seems so strange." "we are the moving picture boys," answered blake with a smile, wondering what the letter could contain, and, wondering more than ever, why a missive from the film theatrical company should be brought by this unusual stranger. "then this is for you," went on mr. alcando. "and to think that they saved my life!" he murmured. "shall i read it, joe?" asked blake, for the spaniard extended the letter to him. "sure. go ahead. i'll listen." blake took the folded sheet from the envelope, and his first glance was at the signature. "it's from mr. hadley!" he exclaimed. "what's up?" asked joe, quickly. blake was reading in a mumbling tone, hardly distinguishable. "dear boys. this will introduce--um--um--um--who is desirous of learning the business of taking moving pictures. he comes to me well recommended--um--um" (more mumbles). "i wish you would do all you can for him--um--and when you go to panama--" that was as far as blake read. then he cried out: "i say, joe, look here! i can't make head nor tail of this!" "what is it?" asked his chum, looking over; his shoulder at the letter the spaniard had so strangely brought to them. "why, mr. hadley speaks of us going to panama. that's the first we've had an inkling to that effect. what in the world does he mean?" "i hope i have not brought you bad news in a prospective trip to where the great canal will unite the two oceans," spoke the spaniard in his formal manner. "well, i don't know as you'd call it _bad_ news," said blake, slowly. "we've gotten sort of used to being sent to the ends of the earth on short notice, but what gets me--excuse me for putting it that way--what surprises me is that this is the first mr. hadley has mentioned panama to us." "is that so?" asked mr. alcando. "why, i understood that you knew all about his plans." "no one knows _all_ about hadley's plans," said joe in a low voice. "he makes plans as he goes along and changes them in his sleep. but this one about panama is sure a new one to us." "that's right," chimed in blake. "we were speaking of the big ditch shortly before the runaway came past," went on blake, "but that was only a coincidence, of course. we had no idea of going there, and i can't yet understand what mr. hadley refers to when he says we may take you there with us, to show you some of the inside workings of making moving pictures." "did you read the letter all the way through?" joe asked. "no, but--" "perhaps i can explain," interrupted the spaniard. "if you will kindly allow me. i came to new york with an express purpose in view. that purpose has now suffered--but no matter. i must not speak of that!" and there seemed to be a return of his queer, tragic manner. "i am connected with the equatorial railroad company," he resumed, after a momentary pause, during which he seemed to regain control of himself. "our company has recently decided to have a series of moving pictures made, showing life in our section of the south american jungle, and also what we have done in the matter of railroad transportation, to redeem the jungle, and make it more fit for habitation. "as one of the means of interesting the public, and, i may say, in interesting capitalists, moving pictures were suggested. the idea was my own, and was adopted, and i was appointed to arrange the matter. but in order that the right kind of moving pictures might be obtained, so that they would help the work of our railroad, i decided i must know something of the details--how the pictures are made, how the cameras are constructed, how the pictures are projected--in short all i could learn about the business i desired to learn. "my company sent me to new york, and there, on inquiry, i learned of the film theatrical company. i had letters of introduction, and i soon met mr. hadley. he seems to be in charge of this branch of the work--i mean outdoor pictures." "yes, that's his line," said joe. "mr. ringold attends to the dramatic end of it. we have done work for both branches." "so i was told," went on mr. alcando. "i asked to be assigned a teacher, and offered to pay well for it. and mr. hadley at once suggested that you two boys would be the very ones who could best give me what i desired. "he told me that you had just returned from the dangers of the mississippi flood section, and were up here resting. but i made so bold upon myself to come here to entreat you to let me accompany you to panama." mr. alcando came to a stop after his rather lengthy and excited explanation. "but great scott!" exclaimed blake. "we don't know anything about going to _panama_. we haven't the least idea of going there, and the first we've heard of it is the mention in this letter you bring from mr. hadley." "it sure is queer," said joe. "i wonder if any of our mail--" he was interrupted by the sound of rapid footsteps, and a freckle-faced and red-haired boy, with a ragged straw hat, and no shoes came running up. "say--say!" panted the urchin. "i'm glad i found you. here's a letter for you. pa--pa--he's been carryin' it around in his pocket, and when he changed his coat just now it dropped out. he sent me down with it, lickity-split," and the boy held out an envelope bearing a special delivery stamp. blake took the missive mechanically. chapter v another surprise while blake was tearing off the end of the envelope, preparatory to taking out the enclosure, joe looked sharply at the red-haired lad who had so unexpectedly delivered it. "how'd your father come to get our letter, sam?" asked joe, for the lad was the son of a farmer, who lived neighbor to mr. baker. "sim rolinson, the postmaster, give it to him, i guess," volunteered sam. "sim generally takes around the special delivery letters himself, but he must have been busy when this one come in, and he give it to pa. anyhow, pa says he asked him to deliver it." "only he didn't do it," put in joe. "i thought something was the matter with our mail that we hadn't heard from new york lately. your father was carrying the letter around in his pocket." "but he didn't mean to!" spoke sam quickly. "he forgot all about it until to-day, when he was changing his coat, and it fell out. then he made me scoot over here with it as fast as i could. he said he was sorry, and hoped he hadn't done any damage." "well, i guess not much," joe responded, for, after all, it was an accommodation to have the letters brought out from the post-office by the neighbors, as often happened. that one should be forgotten, and carried in a pocket, was not so very surprising. "then you won't make any fuss?" the barefoot lad went on, eagerly. "no--why should we?" inquired joe with a smile. "we won't inform the postal authorities. i guess it wasn't so very important," and he looked at blake, who was reading the delayed letter. "whew!" finally whistled joe's chum. "this is going some!" "what's up now?" "another surprise," answered blake. "this day seems to be filled with 'em." "is it about panama?" "you've guessed it. mr. hadley wants us to go there and get a series of moving pictures. incidentally he mentions that he is sending to us a gentleman who wants to go with us, if we decide to go. i presume he refers to you," and blake nodded in the direction of mr. alcando. "then you have confirmatory evidence of what my letter says?" asked the spaniard, bowing politely. "that's what it amounts to," blake made answer. "though, of course, seeing that this is the first we've had panama brought up to us, we don't really know what to say about going there." "hardly," agreed joe, at a look from his chum. "and yet you may go; shall you not?" asked the spaniard, quickly. he seemed very eager for an answer. "oh, yes, we may--it's not altogether out of the question," said blake. "we'll have to think about it, though." "and if you do go, may i have the honor of accompanying you to the isthmus?" again he seemed very anxious. "well, of course, if mr. hadley wants you to go with us we'll take you," answered joe slowly. "we are employed by mr. hadley, as one of the owners of the film theatrical company, and what he says generally goes." "ah, but, gentlemen, i should not want you to take me under compulsion!" exclaimed the spaniard, quickly. "i would like to go--as your friend!" and he threw out his hands in an impulsive, appealing gesture. "as a friend!" he repeated. "well, i guess that could be arranged," returned blake with a smile, for he had taken a liking to the young man, though he did not altogether understand him. "we'll have to think it over." "oh, of course. i should not ask for a decision now," said mr. alcando quickly. "i shall return to my hotel in the village, and come out to see you when i may--when you have made your decision. i feel the need of a little rest--after my narrow escape. and that it should be you who saved my life--you of all!" again the boys noted his peculiar manner. "i guess we had better be getting back," suggested hank. "have to foot it to town, though," he added regretfully, as he looked at the smashed carriage. "i hope the boss doesn't blame me for this," and his voice was rueful. "i shall take it upon myself to testify in your favor," said the spaniard with courtly grace. "it was an unavoidable accident--the breaking of the rein, and the maddened dash of the horse off the bridge. that we did not follow was a miracle. i shall certainly tell your employer--as you say your boss," and he smiled--"i shall tell him you could not help it." "i'd take it kindly if you would," added hank, "for rex, though he had a terrible temper, was a valuable horse. well, he won't run away any more, that's one sure thing. i guess that carriage can be patched up." "why don't you ask mr. baker to lend you a rig?" suggested blake. "i'm sure he would. i'll tell him how it happened." "that is kind of you, sir. you place me more than ever in your debt," spoke the spaniard, bowing again. "how did you know we were here?" asked joe of the boy who had brought the delayed special delivery letter. "i stopped at mr. baker's house," sam explained, "and mrs. baker said she saw you come down this way on your motor cycle. she said you'd just been on a ride, and probably wouldn't go far, so i ran on, thinking i'd meet you coming back. i didn't know anything about the accident," he concluded, his eyes big with wonder as he looked at the smashed carriage. "are you able to walk back to the farmhouse where we are boarding?" asked blake of mr. alcando. "if not we could get mr. baker to drive down here." "oh, thank you, i am perfectly able to walk, thanks to your quickness in preventing the carriage and ourselves from toppling into the chasm," replied the spaniard. hank, with mr. alcando and sam, walked back along the road, while blake and joe went to where they had dropped their motor cycle. they repaired the disconnected gasoline pipe, and rode on ahead to tell mr. baker of the coming of the others. the farmer readily agreed to lend his horse and carriage so that the unfortunate ones would not have to walk into town, a matter of three miles. "i shall remain at the central falls hotel for a week or more, or until you have fully made up your mind about the panama trip," said mr. alcando on leaving the boys, "and i shall come out, whenever you send me word, to learn of your decision. that it may be a favorable one i need hardly say i hope," he added with a low bow. "we'll let you know as soon as we can," promised blake. "but my chum and i will have to think it over. we have hardly become rested from taking flood pictures." "i can well believe that, from what i have heard of your strenuous activities." "well, what do you think about it all?" asked joe, as he and his chum sat on the shady porch an hour or so after the exciting incidents i have just narrated. "i hardly know," answered blake. "i guess i'll have another go at mr. hadley's letter. i didn't half read it." he took the missive from his pocket, and again perused it. it contained references to other matters besides the projected panama trip, and there was also enclosed a check for some work the moving picture boys had done. but as it is with the reference to the big canal that we are interested we shall confine ourselves to that part of mr. hadley's letter. "no doubt you will be surprised," he wrote, "to learn what i have in prospect for you. i know you deserve a longer vacation than you have had this summer, but i think, too, that you would not wish to miss this chance. "of course if you do not want to go to panama i can get some other operators to work the moving picture cameras, but i would rather have you than anyone i know of. so i hope you will accept. "the idea is this: the big canal is nearing completion, and the work is now at a stage when it will make most interesting films. then, too, there is another matter--the big slides. there have been several small ones, doing considerable damage, but no more than has been counted on. "i have information, however, to the effect that there is impending in culebra cut a monstrous big slide, one that will beat anything that ever before took place there. if it does happen i want to get moving pictures, not only of the slide, but of scenes afterward, and also pictures showing the clearing away of the débris. "whether this slide will occur i do not know. no one knows for a certainty, but a man who has lived in panama almost since the french started the big ditch, claims to know a great deal about the slides and the causes of them. he tells me that certain small slides, such as have been experienced, are followed--almost always after the same lapse of time--by a much larger one. the larger one is due soon, and i want you there when it comes. "now another matter. some time after you get this you will be visited by a spanish gentleman named vigues alcando. he will have a letter of introduction from me. he wants to learn the moving picture business, and as he comes well recommended, and as both mr. ringold and i are under obligations to people he represents, we feel that we must grant his request. "of course if you feel that you can't stand him, after you see him, and if you don't want to take him with you--yes, even if you don't want to go to panama at all, don't hesitate to say so. but i would like very much to have you. someone must go, for the films from down there will be particularly valuable at this time, in view of the coming opening of the canal for the passage of vessels. so if you don't want to go, someone else representing us will have to make the trip. "now think the matter over well before you decide. i think you will find mr. alcando a pleasant companion. he struck me as being a gentleman, though his views on some things are the views of a foreigner. but that does not matter. "of course, as usual, we will pay you boys well, and meet all expenses. it is too bad to break in on your vacation again, as we did to get the flood pictures, but the expected big slide, like the flood, won't wait, and won't last very long. you have to be 'johnnie on the spot' to get the views. i will await your answer." chapter vi something queer for a little while, after he had read to joe the letter from mr. hadley, blake remained silent. nor did his chum speak. when he did open his lips it was to ask: "well, what do you think of it, blake?" blake drew a long breath, and replied, questioningly: "what do you think of it?" "i asked you first!" laughed joe. "no, but seriously, what do you make of it all?" "make of it? you mean going to panama?" "yes, and this chap alcando. what do you think of him?" blake did not answer at once. "well?" asked joe, rather impatiently. "did anything--that is, anything that fellow said--or did--strike you as being--well, let's say--queer?" and blake looked his chum squarely in the face. "queer? yes, i guess there did! of course he was excited about the runaway, and he did have a narrow escape, if i do say it myself. only for us he and hank would have toppled down into that ravine." "that's right," assented blake. "but what struck me as queer," resumed joe, "was that he seemed put out because it was we who saved him. he acted--i mean the spaniard did--as though he would have been glad if someone else had saved his life." "just how it struck me!" cried blake. "i wondered if you felt the same. but perhaps it was only because he was unduly excited. we might have misjudged him." "possibly," admitted joe. "but, even if we didn't, and he really is sorry it was we who saved him, i don't see that it need matter. he is probably so polite that the reason he objects is because he didn't want to put us to so much trouble." "perhaps," agreed blake. "as you say, it doesn't much matter. i rather like him." "so do i," assented joe. "but he sure is queer, in some ways. quite dramatic. why, you'd think he was on the stage the way he went on after he learned that we two, who had saved him, were the moving picture boys to whom he had a letter of introduction." "yes. i wonder what it all meant?" observed blake. the time was to come when he and joe were to learn, in a most sensational manner, the reason for the decidedly queer actions of mr. alcando. for some time longer the chums sat and talked. but as the day waned, and the supper hour approached, they were no nearer a decision than before. "let's let it go until morning," suggested blake. "i'm with you," agreed joe. "we can think better after we have 'slept on it.'" joe was later than blake getting up next morning, and when he saw his chum sitting out in a hammock under a tree in the farmyard, joe noticed that blake was reading a book. "you're the regular early worm this morning; aren't you?" called joe. "it's a wonder some bird hasn't flown off with you." "i'm too tough a morsel," blake answered with a laugh. "besides, i've been on the jump too much to allow an ordinary bird the chance. what's the matter with you--oversleep?" "no, i did it on purpose. i was tired. but what's that you're reading; and what do you mean about being on the jump?" "oh, i just took a little run into the village after breakfast, on the motor cycle." "you did! to tell that spaniard he could, or could not, go with us?" "oh, i didn't see him. i just went into the town library. you know they've got a fairly decent one at central falls." "yes, so i heard; but i didn't suppose they'd be open so early in the morning." "they weren't. i had to wait, and i was the first customer, if you can call it that." "you _are_ getting studious!" laughed joe. "great scott! look at what he's reading!" he went on as he caught a glimpse of the title of the book. "'history of the panama canal' whew!" "it's a mighty interesting book!" declared blake. "you'll like it." "perhaps--if i read it," said joe, drily. "oh, i fancy you'll want to read it," went on blake, significantly. "say!" cried joe, struck with a sudden idea. "you've made up your mind to go to panama; haven't you?" "well," began his chum slowly, "i haven't fully decided--" "oh, piffle!" cried joe with a laugh. "excuse my slang, but i know just how it is," he proceeded. "you've made up your mind to go, and you're getting all the advance information you can, to spring it on me. i know your tricks. well, you won't go without me; will you?" "you know i'd never do that," was the answer, spoken rather more solemnly than joe's laughing words deserved. "you know we promised to stick together when we came away from the farms and started in this moving picture business, and we have stuck. i don't want to break the combination; do you?" "i should say not! and if you go to panama i go too!" "i haven't actually made up my mind," went on blake, who was, perhaps, a little more serious, and probably a deeper thinker than his chum. "but i went over it in my mind last night, and i didn't just see how we could refuse mr. hadley's request. "you know he started us in this business, and, only for him we might never have amounted to much. so if he wants us to go to panama, and get views of the giant slides, volcanic eruptions, and so on, i, for one, think we ought to go." "so do i--for two!" chimed in joe. "but are there really volcanic eruptions down there?" "well, there have been, in times past, and there might be again. anyhow, the slides are always more or less likely to occur. i was just reading about them in this book. "culebra cut! that's where the really stupendous work of the panama canal came in. think of it, joe! nine miles long, with an average depth of feet, and at some places the sides go up feet above the bed of the channel. why the suez canal is a farm ditch alongside of it!" "whew!" whistled joe. "you're there with the facts already, blake." "they're so interesting i couldn't help but remember them," said blake with a smile. "this book has a lot in it about the big landslides. at first they were terribly discouraging to the workers. they practically put the french engineers, who started the canal, out of the running, and even when the united states engineers started figuring they didn't allow enough leeway for the culebra slides. "at first they decided that a ditch about eight hundred feet wide would be enough to keep the top soil from slipping down. but they finally had to make it nearly three times that width, or eighteen hundred feet at the top, so as to make the sides slope gently enough." "and yet slides occur even now," remarked joe, dubiously. "yes, because the work isn't quite finished." "and we're going to get one of those slides on our films?" "if we go, yes; and i don't see but what we'd better go." "then i'm with you, blake, old man!" cried joe, affectionately slapping his chum on the back with such energy that the book flew out of the other's hands. "look out what you're doing or you'll get the librarian after you!" cried blake, as he picked up the volume. "well, then, we'll consider it settled--we'll go to panama?" he looked questioningly at his chum. "yes, i guess so. have you told that spaniard?" "no, not yet, of course. i haven't seen him since you did. but i fancy we'd better write to mr. hadley first, and let him know we will go. he'll wonder why we haven't written before. we can explain about the delayed letter." "all right, and when we hear from him, and learn more of his plans, we can let mr. alcando hear from us. i guess we can mosey along with him all right." "yes, and we'll need a helper with the cameras and things. he can be a sort of assistant while he's learning the ropes." a letter was written to the moving picture man in new york, and while waiting for an answer blake and joe spent two days visiting places of interest about central falls. "if this is to be another break in our vacation we want to make the most of it," suggested joe. "that's right," agreed blake. they had not yet given the spaniard a definite answer regarding his joining them. "it does not matter--the haste, young gentlemen," mr. alcando had said with a smile that showed his white teeth, in strong contrast to his dark complexion. "i am not in so much of a haste. as we say, in my country, there is always mañana--to-morrow." blake and joe, while they found the spaniard very pleasant, could not truthfully say that they felt for him the comradeship they might have manifested toward one of their own nationality. he was polite and considerate toward them--almost too polite at times, but that came natural to him, perhaps. he was a little older than joe and blake, but he did not take advantage of that. he seemed to have fully recovered from the accident, though there was a nervousness in his actions at times that set the boys to wondering. and, occasionally, blake or joe would catch him surreptitiously looking at them in a strange manner. "i wonder what's up?" said blake to joe, after one of those occasions. "he sure does act queer." "that's what i say," agreed joe. "it's just as though he were sorry he had to be under obligations to us, if you can call it that, for saving his life." "that's how it impresses me. but perhaps we only imagine it. hello, here comes mr. baker with the mail! we ought to hear from new york." "hasn't birdie lee written yet?" asked joe. "oh, drop that!" warned blake, his eyes flashing. there was a letter from mr. hadley, in which he conveyed news and information that made blake and joe definitely decide to make the trip to panama. "and take alcando with us?" asked joe. "i suppose so," said blake, though it could not be said that his assent was any too cordial. "then we'd better tell him, so he'll know it is settled." "all right. we can ride over on the motor cycle." a little later, after a quick trip on the "gasoline bicycle," the moving picture boys were at the only hotel of which central falls boasted. mr. alcando was in his room, the clerk informed the boys, and they were shown up. "enter!" called the voice of the spaniard, as they knocked. "ah, it is you, my young friends!" he cried, as he saw them, and getting up hastily from a table on which were many papers, he began hastily piling books on top of them. "for all the world," said joe, later, "as though he were afraid we'd see something." "i am delighted that you have called," the spaniard said, "and i hope you bring me good news." "yes," said blake, "we are going--" as he spoke there came in through the window a puff of air, that scattered the papers on the table. one, seemingly part of a letter, was blown to blake's feet. he picked it up, and, as he handed it back to mr. alcando, the lad could not help seeing part of a sentence. it read: "... go to panama, get all the pictures you can, especially the big guns...." blake felt himself staring eagerly at the last words. chapter vii 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!" chapter viii off for panama there was a moment of silence following mr. piper's gloomy prediction, and then miss shay, with a laugh, cried out: "oh, what a shame! i'd keep still if i couldn't say anything nicer than _that_." "not very cheerful; is he?" spoke joe. "about the same as usual," commented blake, drily. "well, it's true, just the same!" declared c.c. piper, with an air of conviction. "'the truth is not to be spoken--at all times,'" quoted miss pierce. "good for you!" whispered joe. c.c. seemed a little put out at all the criticism leveled at him. "ahem!" he exclaimed. "of course i don't mean that i want to see you boys caught in a landslide--far from it, but--" "but, if we _are_ going to be caught that way, you hope there will be moving pictures of it; don't you, c.c.?" laughed blake. "now, there's no use trying to get out of it!" he added, as the gloomy actor stuttered and stammered. "we know what you mean. but where is mr. ringold; or mr. hadley?" "they're around somewhere," explained miss shay, when the other members of the company, with whom they had spent so many happy and exciting days, had offered their greetings. "are you in such a hurry to see them?" she asked of blake. "oh, not in such an _awful_ hurry," he answered with a laugh, as birdie lee came out of a dressing room, smiling rosily at him. "i guess not!" laughed miss shay. soon the interval between the scenes of the drama then being "filmed," or photographed, came to an end. the actors and actresses took their places in a "ball room," that was built on one section of the studio floor. "ready!" called the manager to the camera operator, and as the music of an unseen orchestra played, so that the dancing might be in perfect time, the camera began clicking and the action of the play, which included an exciting episode in the midst of the dance, went on. it was a gay scene, for the ladies and gentlemen were dressed in the "height of fashion." it was necessary to have every detail faithfully reproduced, for the eye of the moving picture camera is more searching, and far-seeing, than any human eye, and records every defect, no matter how small. and when it is recalled that the picture thrown on the screen is magnified many hundred times, a small defect, as can readily be understood, becomes a very large one. so great care is taken to have everything as nearly perfect as possible. blake and joe watched the filming of the drama, recalling the time when they used to turn the handle of the camera at the same work, before they were chosen to go out after bigger pictures--scenes from real life. the operator, a young fellow; whom both blake and joe knew, looked around and nodded at them, when he had to stop grinding out the film a moment, to allow the director to correct something that had unexpectedly gone wrong. "don't you wish you had this easy job?" the operator asked. "we may, before we come back from panama," answered blake. a little later mr. ringold and mr. hadley came in, greeting the two boys, and then began a talk which lasted for some time, and in which all the details of the projected work, as far as they could be arranged in advance, were gone over. "what we want," said mr. hadley, "is a series of pictures about the canal. it will soon be open for regular traffic, you know, and, in fact some vessels have already gone through it. but the work is not yet finished, and we want you to film the final touches. "then, too, there may be accidents--there have been several small ones of late, and, as i wrote you, a man who claims to have made a study of the natural forces in panama declares a big slide is due soon. "of course we won't wish the canal any bad luck, and we don't for a moment want that slide to happen. only--" "if it does come you want it filmed!" interrupted blake, with a laugh. "that's it, exactly!" exclaimed mr. ringold. "you'll find plenty down there to take pictures of," said mr. hadley. "we want scenes along the canal. hire a vessel and take moving pictures as you go along in her. go through the gatun locks, of course. scenes as your boat goes in them, and the waters rise, and then go down again, ought to make a corking picture!" mr. hadley was growing enthusiastic. "get some jungle scenes to work in also," he directed. "in short, get scenes you think a visitor to the panama canal would be interested in seeing. some of the films will be a feature at the panama exposition in california, and we expect to make big money from them, so do your best." "we will!" promised joe, and blake nodded in acquiescence. "you met the young spaniard who had a letter of introduction to you; did you not?" asked mr. hadley, after a pause. "yes," answered blake. "met him under rather queer circumstances, too. i guess we hinted at them in our letter." "a mere mention," responded mr. hadley. "i should be glad to hear the details." so blake and joe, in turn, told of the runaway. "what do you think of him--i mean mr. alcando?" asked the moving picture man. "why, he seems all right," spoke joe slowly, looking at blake to give him a chance to say anything if he wanted to. "i like him." "glad to hear it!" exclaimed mr. hadley heartily. "he came to us well recommended and, as i think i explained, our company is under obligations to concerns he and his friends are interested in, so we were glad to do him a favor. he explained, did he not, that his company wished to show scenes along the line of their railroad, to attract prospective customers?" "yes, he told us that," observed joe. "what's the matter, blake, haven't you anything to say?" asked mr. hadley in a curious voice, turning to joe's chum. "how does the spaniard strike you?" "well, he seems all right," was blake's slow answer. "only i think--" "blake thinks he's an international spy, i guess!" broke in joe with a laugh. "tell him about the 'big guns,' blake." "what's that?" asked mr. hadley, quickly. whereupon blake told of the wind-blown letter and his first suspicions. "oh, that's all nonsense!" laughed mr. hadley. "we have investigated his credentials, and find them all right. besides, what object would a south american spy have in finding out details of the defenses at panama. south america would work to preserve the canal; not to destroy it. if it were some european nation now, that would be a different story. you don't need to worry, blake." "no, i suppose it is foolish. but i'm glad to know you think mr. alcando all right. if we've got to live in close companionship with him for several months, it's a comfort to know he is all right. now when are we to start, how do we go, where shall we make our headquarters and so on?" "yes, you will want some detailed information, i expect," agreed the moving picture man. "well, i'm ready to give it to you. i have already made some arrangements for you. you will take a steamer to colon, make your headquarters at the washington hotel, and from there start out, when you are ready, to get pictures of the canal and surrounding country. i'll give you letters of introduction, so you will have no trouble in chartering a tug to go through the canal, and i already have the necessary government permits." "then joe and i had better be packing up for the trip," suggested blake. "yes, the sooner the better. you might call on mr. alcando, and ask him when he will be ready. here is his address in new york," and mr. hadley handed blake a card, naming a certain uptown hotel. a little later, having seen to their baggage, and handed their particular and favorite cameras over to one of the men of the film company, so that he might give them a thorough overhauling, blake and joe went to call on their spanish friend. "aren't you glad to know he isn't a spy, or anything like that?" asked joe of his chum. "yes, of course i am, and yet--" "still suspicious i see," laughed joe. "better drop it." blake did not answer. inquiry of the hotel clerk gave blake and joe the information that mr. alcando was in his room, and, being shown to the apartment by a bell-boy, blake knocked on the door. "who's there? wait a moment!" came in rather sharp accents from a voice the moving picture boys recognized as that of mr. alcando. "it is blake stewart and joe duncan," said the former lad. "we have called--" "i beg your pardon--in one moment i shall be with you--i will let you in!" exclaimed the spaniard. the boys could hear him moving about in his apartment, they could hear the rattle of papers, and then the door was opened. there was no one in the room except the young south american railroad man, but there was the odor of a strong cigar in the apartment, and blake noticed this with surprise for, some time before, mr. alcando had said he did not smoke. the inference was, then, that he had had a visitor, who was smoking when the boys knocked, but there was no sign of the caller then, except in the aroma of the cigar. he might have gone into one of the other rooms that opened from the one into which the boys looked, for mr. alcando had a suite in the hotel. and, after all, it was none of the affair of blake or joe, if their new friend had had a caller. "only," said blake to joe afterward, "why was he in such a hurry to get rid of him, and afraid that we might meet him?" "i don't know," joe answered. "it doesn't worry me. you are too suspicious." "i suppose i am." mr. alcando welcomed the boys, but said nothing about the delay in opening his door, or about the visitor who must have slipped out hastily. the spaniard was glad to see blake and joe, and glad to learn that they would soon start for panama. "i have much to do, though, in what little time is left," he said, rapidly arranging some papers on his table. as he did so, blake caught sight of a small box, with some peculiar metal projections on it, sticking out from amid a pile of papers. "yes, much to do," went on mr. alcando. and then, either by accident or design, he shoved some papers in such a way that the small box was completely hidden. "we have just come from mr. hadley," explained joe, and then he and blake plunged into a mass of details regarding their trip, with which i need not weary you. sufficient to say that mr. alcando promised to be on hand at the time of the sailing of the steamer for colon. in due time, though a day or so later than originally planned, blake and joe, with their new spanish friend, were on hand at the pier. mr. alcando had considerable baggage, and he was to be allowed the use of an old moving picture camera with which to "get his hand in." blake and joe, of course had their own machines, which had been put in perfect order. there were several of them for different classes of work. final instructions were given by mr. hadley, good-bys were said, and the boys and mr. alcando went aboard. "i hope you have good luck!" called birdie lee to blake, as she waved her hand to him. "and so do i," added mabel pierce to joe. "thanks!" they made answer in a chorus. "and--look--out--for--the--big slides!" called mr. piper after them, as the steamer swung away from the pier. "gloomy to the last!" laughed blake. so they were off for panama, little dreaming of the sensational adventures that awaited them there. chapter ix the little box blake and joe were too well-seasoned travelers to care to witness many of the scenes attendant upon the departure of their vessel. though young in years, they had already crowded into their lives so many thrilling adventures that it took something out of the ordinary to arouse their interest. it was not that they were blasé, or indifferent to novel sights, but travel was now, with them, an old story. they had been out west, to the pacific coast, and in far-off jungle lands, to say nothing of their trip to the place of the earthquakes, and the more recent trip to the flooded mississippi valley. so, once they had waved good-by to their friends and fellow-workers on the pier, they went to their stateroom to look after their luggage. the two boys and mr. alcando had a room ample for their needs, and, though it would accommodate four, they were assured that the fourth berth would not be occupied, so no stranger would intrude. when blake and joe went below mr. alcando did not follow. either he liked the open air to be found on deck, or he was not such a veteran traveler as to care to miss the sights and sounds of departure. his baggage was piled in one corner, and that of the boys in other parts of the stateroom, with the exception of the trunks and cameras, which were stowed in the hold, as not being wanted on the voyage. "well, what do you think of him now?" asked joe, as he sat down, for both he and blake were tired, there having been much to do that day. "why, he seems all right," was the slowly-given answer. "nothing more suspicious; eh?" "no, i can't say that i've seen anything. of course it was queer for him to have someone in his room that time, and to get rid of whoever it was so quickly before we came in. but i suppose we all have our secrets." "yes," agreed joe. "and he certainly can't do enough for us. he is very grateful." this was shown in every way possible by the spaniard. more than once he referred to the saving of his life in the runaway accident, and he never tired of telling those whom he met what the boys had done for him. it was truly grateful praise, too, and he was sincere in all that he said. as joe had remarked, the spaniard could not do enough for the boys. he helped in numberless ways in getting ready for the trip, and offered to do errands that could better be attended to by a messenger boy. he was well supplied with cash, and it was all joe and blake could do to prevent him from buying them all sorts of articles for use on their trip. passing a sporting goods store that made a specialty of fitting out travelers who hunted in the wilds, mr. alcando wanted to purchase for blake and joe complete camping outfits, portable stoves, guns, knives, patent acetylene lamps, portable tents, automatic revolvers and all sorts of things. "but we don't need them, thank you!" blake insisted. "we're not going to do any hunting, and we won't camp out if we can help it." "oh, but we might have to!" said mr. alcando, "then think how useful these outfits would be." "but we'd have to cart them around with us for months, maybe," said joe, "on the slim chance of using part of the things one night. we don't need 'em." "but i want to do something for you boys!" the spaniard insisted. "i am so grateful to you--" "we know that, by this time," declared blake. "please don't get anything more," for their friend had already bought them some things for their steamer trip. "ah, well then, if you insist," agreed the generous one, "but if ever you come to my country, all that i own is yours. i am ever in your debt." "oh, you mustn't feel that way about it," blake assured him. "after all, you might have saved yourself." "hardly," returned the spaniard, and he shuddered as he recalled how near he had been to death on the bridge. but now he and blake and joe were safely on a steamer on their way to panama. the weather was getting rather cool, for though it was only early november the chill of winter was beginning to make itself felt. "but we'll soon be where it's warm enough all the year around," said joe to blake, as they arranged their things in the stateroom. "that's right," said his chum. "it will be a new experience for us. not quite so much jungle, i hope, as the dose we had of it when we went after the wild animals." "no, and i'm glad of it," responded joe. "that was a little too much at times. yet there is plenty of jungle in panama." "i suppose so. well, suppose we go up on deck for a breath of air." they had taken a steamer that went directly to colon, making but one stop, at san juan, porto rico. a number of tourists were aboard, and there were one or two "personally conducted" parties, so the vessel was rather lively, with so many young people. in the days that followed joe and blake made the acquaintance of a number of persons, in whom they were more or less interested. when it became known that the boys were moving picture operators the interest in them increased, and one lively young lady wanted blake to get out his camera and take some moving pictures of the ship's company. but he explained, that, though he might take the pictures on board the steamer, he had no facilities for developing or printing the positives, or projecting them after they were made. in the previous books of this series is described in detail the mechanical process of how moving pictures are made, and to those volumes curious readers are referred. the process is an intricate one, though much simplified from what it was at first, and it is well worth studying. on and on swept the _gatun_, carrying our friends to the wonderland of that great "ditch" which has become one of the marvels of the world. occasionally there were storms to interrupt the otherwise placid voyage, but there was only short discomfort. mr. alcando was eager to reach the scene of operations, and after his first enthusiasm concerning the voyage had worn off he insisted on talking about the detailed and technical parts of moving picture work to joe and blake, who were glad to give him the benefit of their information. "well, you haven't seen anything more suspicious about him; have you?" asked joe of his chum when they were together in the stateroom one evening, the spaniard being on deck. "no, i can't say that i have. i guess i did let my imagination run away with me. but say, joe, what sort of a watch have you that ticks so loudly?" "watch! that isn't my watch!" exclaimed his chum. "listen!" ordered blake. "don't you hear a ticking?" they both stood at attention. "i do hear something like a clock," admitted joe. "but i don't see any. i didn't know there was one in this stateroom." "there isn't, either," said joe, with a glance about. "but i surely do hear something." "maybe it's your own watch working overtime." "mine doesn't tick as loud as that," and blake pulled out his timepiece. even with it out of his pocket the beat of the balance wheel could not be heard until one held it to his ear. "but what is it?" asked joe, curiously. "it seems to come from mr. alcando's baggage," blake said. "yes, it's in his berth," he went on, moving toward that side of the stateroom. the nearer he advanced toward the sleeping place of the spaniard the louder became the ticking. "he's got some sort of a clock in his bed," blake went on. "he may have one of those cheap watches, though it isn't like him to buy that kind. maybe he put it under his pillow and forgot to take it out. perhaps i'd better move it or he may not think it's there, and toss it out on the floor." but when he lifted the pillow no watch was to be seen. "that's funny," said blake, musingly. "i surely hear that ticking in this berth; don't you?" "yes," assented joe. "maybe it's mixed up in the bedclothes." before blake could interfere joe had turned back the coverings, and there, near the foot of the berth, between the sheets, was a small brass-bound box, containing a number of metal projections. it was from this box the ticking sound came. "why--why!" gasped blake. "that--that box--" "what about it?" asked joe, wonderingly. "that's the same box that was on his table the time we came in his room at the hotel--when we smelled the cigar smoke. i wonder what it is, and why he has it in his bed?" chapter x the secret conference blake was silent a moment after making this portentous announcement. then he leaned forward, with the evident intention of picking up the curious, ticking box. "look out!" cried joe, grasping his chum's hand. "what for?" blake wanted to know. "it might be loaded--go off, you know!" "nonsense!" exclaimed blake. "it's probably only some sort of foreign alarm clock, and he stuffed it in there so the ticking wouldn't keep him awake. i've done the same thing when i didn't want to get up. i used to chuck mine under the bed, or stuff it in an old shoe. what's the matter with you, anyhow? you act scared," for joe's face was actually white--that is as white as it could be under the tan caused by his outdoor life. "well, i--i thought," stammered joe. "perhaps that was a--" "who's getting suspicious now?" demanded blake with a laugh. "talk about me! why, you're way ahead!" "oh, well, i guess i did imagine too much," admitted joe with a little laugh. "it probably is an alarm clock, as you say. i wonder what we'd better do with it? if we leave it there--" he was interrupted by the opening of the stateroom door and as both boys turned they saw their spanish friend standing on the threshold staring at them. "well!" he exclaimed, and there was an angry note in his voice--a note the boys had never before noticed, for mr. alcando was of a sunny and happy disposition, and not nearly as quick tempered as persons of his nationality are supposed to be. "i suppose it does look; as though we were rummaging in your things," said blake, deciding instantly that it was best to be frank. "but we heard a curious ticking noise when we came down here, and we traced it to your bunk. we didn't know what it might be, and thought perhaps you had put your watch in the bed, and might have forgotten to take it out. we looked, and found this--" "ah, my new alarm clock!" exclaimed mr. alcando, and what seemed to be a look of relief passed over his face. he reached in among the bed clothes and picked up the curious brass-bound ticking box, with its many little metallic projections. "i perhaps did not tell you that i am a sort of inventor," the spaniard went on. "i have not had much success, but i think my new alarm clock is going to bring me in some money. it works on a new principle, but i am giving it a good test, privately, before i try to put it on the market." he took the brass-bound, ticking box from the bed, and must have adjusted the mechanism in a way blake or joe did not notice, for the "click-click" stopped at once, and the room seemed curiously still after it. "some day i will show you how it works," the young spaniard went on. "i think, myself, it is quite what you call--clever." and with that he put the box in a trunk, and closed the lid with a snap that threw the lock. "and now, boys, we will soon be there!" he cried with a gay laugh. "soon we will be in the beautiful land of panama, and will see the marvels of that great canal. are you not glad? and i shall begin to learn more about making moving pictures! that will please me, though i hope i shall not be so stupid a pupil as to make trouble for you, my friends, to whom i owe so much." he looked eagerly at the boys. "we'll teach you all we know, which isn't such an awful lot," said joe. "and i don't believe you'll be slow." "you have picked up some of it already," went on blake, for while delaying over making their arrangements in new york the boys and their pupil had gone into the rudiments of moving picture work. "i am glad you think so," returned the other. "i shall be glad when we are at work, and more glad still, when i can, with my own camera, penetrate into the fastness of the jungle, along the lines of our railroad, and show what we have done to bring civilization there. the film will be the eyes of the world, watching our progress," he added, poetically. "why don't you come up on deck," he proceeded. "it is warm down here." "we just came down," said joe, "but it is hot," for they were approaching nearer to the equator each hour. while the boys were following the young spaniard up on deck, joe found a chance to whisper to blake: "i notice he was not at all anxious to show us how his brass-box alarm clock worked." "no," agreed blake in a low voice, "and yet his invention might be in such a shape that he didn't want to exhibit it yet." "so you think that's the reason, eh?" "surely. don't you?" "i do not!" "what then?" "well, i think he's trying to--" "hush, here he comes!" cautioned blake, for their friend at that moment came back from a stroll along the forward deck. but if joe was really suspicious of the young spaniard nothing that occurred in the next few days served to develop that suspicion. no reference was made to the odd alarm clock, which was not heard to tick again, nor was it in evidence either in mr. alcando's bed, or elsewhere. "what were you going to say it was that time when i stopped you?" asked blake of his chum one day. "i was going to say i thought it might be some sort of an improvement on a moving picture camera," joe answered. "this may be only a bluff of his--wanting to learn how to take moving pictures. he may know how all along, and only be working on a certain improvement that he can't perfect until he gets just the right conditions. that's what i think." "well, you think wrong," declared blake. "as for him knowing something about the pictures now, why he doesn't even know how to thread the film into the camera." "oh, well, maybe i'm wrong," admitted joe. day succeeded day, until, in due time, after their stop at san juan, where the boys went ashore for a brief visit, the steamer dropped anchor in the excellent harbor of colon, at the atlantic end of the great panama canal. a storm was impending as the ship made her way up the harbor, but as the boys and the other passengers looked at the great break-water, constructed to be one of the protections to the canal, they realized what a stupendous undertaking the work was, and they knew that no storm could affect them, now they were within the colon harbor. "well, we're here at last!" exclaimed joe, as he looked over the side and noticed many vessels lying about, most of them connected in some manner with the canal construction. "yes, and now for some moving pictures--at least within a day or so," went on blake. "i'm tired of doing nothing. at last we are at panama!" "and i shall soon be with you, taking pictures!" cried the spaniard. "how long do you think it will be before i can take some views myself?" he asked eagerly. "oh, within a week or so we'll trust you with a camera," said blake. "that is, if you can spare time from your alarm clock invention," added joe, with a curious glance at his chum. but if mr. alcando felt any suspicions at the words he did not betray himself. he smiled genially, made some of his rapid latin gestures and exclaimed: "oh, the clock. he is safe asleep, and will be while i am here. i work only on moving pictures now!" in due season blake, joe and mr. alcando found themselves quartered in the pleasant washington hotel, built by the panama railroad for the government, where they found, transported to a southern clime, most of the luxuries demanded by people of the north. "well, this is something like living!" exclaimed blake as their baggage and moving picture cameras and accessories having been put away, they sat on the veranda and watched breaker after breaker sweep in from the caribbean sea. "the only trouble is we won't be here long enough," complained joe, as he sipped a cooling lime drink, for the weather was quite warm. "we'll have to leave it and take to the canal or the jungle, to say nothing of standing up to our knees in dirt taking slides." "do you--er--really have to get very close to get pictures of the big slides?" asked mr. alcando, rather nervously, blake thought. "the nearer the better," joe replied. "remember that time, blake, when we were filming the volcano, and the ground opened right at your feet?" "i should say i did remember it," said blake. "some picture that!" "where was this?" asked the spaniard. "in earthquake land. there were _some_ times there!" "ha! do not think to scare me!" cried their pupil with a frank laugh. "i said i was going to learn moving pictures and i am--slides or no slides." "oh, we're not trying to 'josh' you," declared blake. "we'll all have to run some chances. but it's all in the day's work, and, after all, it's no more risky than going to war." "no, i suppose not," laughed their pupil. "well, when do we start?" "as soon as we can arrange for the government tug to take us along the canal," answered blake. "we'll have to go in one of the united states vessels, as the canal isn't officially opened yet. we'll have to make some inquiries, and present our letters of introduction. if we get started with the films inside of a week we'll be doing well." the week they had to wait until their plans were completed was a pleasant one. they lived well at the hotel, and mr. alcando met some spaniards and other persons whom he knew, and to whom he introduced the boys. finally the use of the tug was secured, cameras were loaded with the reels of sensitive film, other reels in their light-tight metal boxes were packed for transportation, and shipping cases, so that the exposed reels could be sent to the film company in new york for developing and printing, were taken along. not only were blake and joe without facilities for developing the films they took, but it is very hard to make negatives in hot countries. if you have ever tried to develop pictures on a hot day, without an ice water bath, you can understand this. and there was just then little ice to be had for such work as photography though some might have been obtained for an emergency. blake and joe were only to make the exposures; the developing and printing could better be done in new york. "well, we'll start up the canal to-morrow," said blake to joe on the evening of their last day in colon. "yes, and i'll be glad of it," remarked joe. "it's nice enough here at this hotel, but i want to get busy." "so do i," confessed his chum. they were to make the entire trip through the canal as guests of uncle sam, the government having acceded to mr. hadley's request, as the completed films were to form part of the official exhibit at the exposition in california later on. "whew, but it _is_ hot!" exclaimed joe, after he and blake had looked over their possessions, to make sure they were forgetting nothing for their trip next day. "yes," agreed blake. "let's go out on the balcony for a breath of air." their room opened on a small balcony which faced the beach. mr. alcando had a room two or three apartments farther along the corridor, and his, too, had a small balcony attached. as blake and joe went out on theirs they saw, in the faint light of a crescent and much-clouded moon, two figures on the balcony opening from the spaniard's room. "he has company," said joe, in a low voice. "yes," agreed blake. "i wonder who it is? he said all of his friends had left the hotel. he must have met some new ones." it was very still that night, the only sounds being the low boom and hiss of the surf as it rushed up the beach. and gradually, to joe and blake, came the murmur of voices from the spaniard's balcony. at first they were low, and it seemed to the boys, though neither expressed the thought, that the conference was a secret one. then, clearly across the intervening space, came the words: "are you sure the machine works right?" "perfectly," was the answer, in mr. alcando's tones. "i have given it every test." then the voices again sunk to a low murmur. chapter xi along the canal "blake, did you hear that?" asked joe, after a pause, during which he and his chum could hear the low buzz of conversation from the other balcony. "yes, i heard it. what of it?" "well, nothing that i know of, and yet--" "yet you're more suspicious than i was," broke in blake. "i don't see why." "i hardly know myself," admitted joe. "yet, somehow, that ticking box, and what you saw in that letter--" "oh, nonsense!" interrupted blake. "don't imagine too much. you think that curious box is some attachment for a moving picture camera; do you?" "well, it might be, and--" "and you're afraid he will get ahead of you in your invention of a focus tube; aren't you?" continued blake, not giving his companion a chance to finish what he started to say. for joe had recently happened to hit on a new idea of a focusing tube for a moving picture camera, and had applied for a patent on it. but there was some complication and his papers had not yet been granted. he was in fear lest someone would be granted a similar patent before he received his. "oh, i don't know as i'm afraid of that," joe answered slowly. "well, it must be that--or something," insisted blake. "you hear alcando and someone else talking about a machine, and you at once jump to the conclusion that it's a camera." "no, i don't!" exclaimed joe. he did not continue the conversation along that line, but he was doing some hard thinking. later that evening, when mr. alcando called at the room of the two chums to bid them goodnight, he made no mention of his visitor on the balcony. nor did blake or joe question him. "and we start up the canal in the morning?" asked the spaniard. "yes, and we'll make the first pictures going through the gatun locks," decided blake. "good! i am anxious to try my hand!" said their "pupil." with their baggage, valises, trunks, cameras, boxes of undeveloped film, other boxes to hold the exposed reels of sensitive celluloid, and many other things, the moving picture boys and mr. alcando went aboard the government tug _nama_ the next morning. with the exception of some army engineers making a trip of inspection, they were the only passengers. "well, are you all ready, boys?" asked the captain, for he had been instructed by his superiors to show every courtesy and attention to our heroes. in a sense they were working for uncle sam. "all ready," answered blake. "then we'll start," was the reply. "i guess--" "oh, one moment, i beg of you!" cried mr. alcando. "i see a friend coming with a message to me," and he pointed along the pier, where the tug was tied. coming on the run was a man who bore every appearance of being a spaniard. "you are late," complained mr. alcando, as the runner handed him a letter. "you almost delayed my good friend, the captain of this tug." "i could not help it," was the answer. "i did not receive it myself until a few minutes ago. it came by cable. so you are off?" "we are off!" answered mr. alcando. then the other spoke in spanish, and later on blake, who undertook the study of that language so as to make himself understood in a few simple phrases knew what it was that the two men said. for the runner asked: "you will not fail us?" "i will not fail--if i have to sacrifice myself," was the answer of mr. alcando, and then with a wave of his hand the other went back up the pier. "all right?" again asked captain watson. "all right, my dear sir, i am sorry to have delayed you," answered mr. alcando with more than his usual politeness. "a little delay doesn't matter. i am at your service," the commander said. "well, now we'll start." if either blake or joe felt any surprise over the hurried visit, at the last minute, of mr. alcando's friend, they said nothing to each other about it. besides, they had other matters to think of just then, since now their real moving picture work was about to begin. in a short time they were moving away from the pier, up the harbor and toward the wonderful locks and dam that form the amazing features (aside from the culebra cut) of the great canal. "better get our cameras ready; hadn't we, blake?" suggested joe. "i think so," agreed his chum. "now, mr. alcando, if you want to pick up any points, you can watch us. a little later we'll let you grind the crank yourself." i might explain, briefly, that moving pictures are taken not by pressing a switch, or a rubber bulb, such as that which works a camera shutter, but by the continuous action of a crank, or handle, attached to the camera. pressing a bulb does well enough for taking a single picture, but when a series, on a long celluloid strip, are needed, as in the case for the "movies," an entirely different arrangement becomes absolutely necessary. the sensitive celluloid film must move continuously, in a somewhat jerky fashion, inside the dark light-tight camera, and behind the lens. as each picture, showing some particular motion, is taken, the film halts for the briefest space of time, and then goes on, to be wound up in the box, and a new portion brought before the lens for exposure. all this the crank does automatically, opening and closing the shutter, moving the film and all that is necessary. i wish i had space, not only to tell you more of how moving pictures are made, but much about the panama canal. as to the former--the pictures--in other books of this series i have done my best to give you a brief account of that wonderful industry. now as to the canal--it is such a vast undertaking and subject that only in a great volume could i hope to do it justice. and in a story (such as this is intended to be), i am afraid you would think i was trying to give you pretty dry reading if i gave you too many facts and figures. of course many of you have read of the canal in the newspapers--the controversy over the choice of the route, the discussion as to whether a sea level or a lock canal was best, and many other points, especially whether the gatun dam would be able to hold back the waters of the chagres river. with all that i have nothing to do in this book, but i hope you will pardon just a little reference to the canal, especially the lock features, since joe and blake had a part in at least filming those wonderful structures. you know there are two kinds of canals, those on the level, which are merely big over-grown ditches, and those which have to go over hills and through low valleys. there are two ways of getting a canal over a hill. one is to build it and let the water in to the foot of the hill, and then to raise vessels over, the crest of the hill, and down the other side to where the canal again starts, by means of inclined planes, or marine railways. the other method is by "locks," as they are called. that is, there are built a series of basins with powerful, water-tight gates dividing them. boys who live along canals well know how locks work. a boat comes along until it reaches the place where the lock is. it is floated into a basin, or section, of the waterway, and a gate is closed behind it. then, from that part of the canal which is higher than that part where the boat then is, water is admitted into the basin, until the boat rises to the level of the higher part of the canal. then the higher gate is opened, and the vessel floats out on the higher level. it goes "up hill," so to speak. by reversing the process it can also go "down hill." of course there must be heavy gates to prevent the higher level waters from rushing into those of the lower level. some parts of the panama canal are eighty-five feet higher than other parts. in other words, a vessel entering the canal at colon, on the atlantic side of the isthmus, must rise eighty-five feet to get to the level of gatun lake, which forms a large part of the canal. then, when the pacific end is approached, the vessel must go down eighty-five feet again, first in one step of thirty and a third feet, and then in two steps, or locks, aggregating fifty-four and two-thirds feet. so you see the series of locks at either end of the great canal exactly balance one another, the distance at each end being eighty-five feet. it is just like going up stairs at one end of a long board walk and down again at the other end, only the steps are of water, and not wood. the tug bearing blake, joe and mr. alcando was now steaming over toward toro point break-water, which i have before alluded to. this was built to make a good harbor at colon, where violent storms often occur. "i want to get some pictures of the breakwater," blake had said, since he and his chum were to present, in reels, a story of a complete trip through the canal, and the breakwater was really the starting point. it extends out into the caribbean sea eleven thousand feet. "and you are taking pictures now?" asked mr. alcando, as blake and joe set up a camera in the bow of the boat. "that's what we're doing. come here and we'll give you lesson number one," invited blake, clicking away at the handle. "i will gladly come!" exclaimed the spaniard, and soon he was deep in the mysteries of the business. there was not much delay at the breakwater, as the boys were anxious to get to the canal proper, and into the big locks. a little later their tug was steaming along the great ditch, five hundred feet wide, and over forty feet deep, which leads directly to the locks. this ditch, or start of the canal proper, is about seven miles long, and at various points of interest along the way a series of moving pictures was taken. "and so at last we are really on the panama canal!" cried joe as he helped blake put in a fresh reel of unexposed film, mr. alcando looking on and learning "points." "that's what you are," the captain informed them, "and, just ahead of you are the locks. now you'll see something worth 'filming,' as you call it." chapter xii almost an accident "what's that big, long affair, jutting out so far from the locks?" asked blake, when the tug had approached nearer. "that's the central pier," the captain informed him. "it's a sort of guide wall, to protect the locks. you know there are three locks at this end; or, rather, six, two series of three each. and each lock has several gates. one great danger will be that powerful vessels may ram these gates and damage them, and, to prevent this, very elaborate precautions are observed. you'll soon see. we'll have to tie up to this wall, or we'll run into the first protection, which is a big steel chain. you can see it just ahead there." joe and blake, who had gotten all the pictures they wanted of the approach to the lock, stopped grinding away at the handle of the camera long enough to look at the chain. these chains, for there are several of them, each designed to protect some lock gate, consist of links made of steel three inches thick. they stretch across the locks, and any vessel that does not stop at the moment it should, before reaching this chain, will ram its prow into it. "but i'm not taking any such chances," captain watson informed the boys. "i don't want to be censured, which might happen, and i don't want to injure my boat." "what would happen if you did hit the chain?" asked blake. they had started off again, after the necessary permission to enter the locks had been signaled to them. once more blake and joe were taking pictures, showing the chain in position. "well, if i happened to be in command of a big vessel, say the size of the _olympic_, and i hit the chain at a speed of a mile and a half an hour, and i had a full load on, the chain would stop me within about seventy feet and prevent me from ramming the lock gate." "but how does it do it?" asked joe. "by means of machinery," the captain informed him. "each end of the chain fender goes about a drum, which winds and unwinds by hydraulic power. once a ship hits the chain its speed will gradually slacken, but it takes a pressure of one hundred tons to make the chain begin to yield. then it will stand a pressure up to over two hundred and fifty tons before it will break. but before that happens the vessel will have stopped." "but we are not going to strike the chain, i take it," put in mr. alcando. "indeed we are not," the captain assured him. "there, it is being lowered now." as he spoke the boys saw the immense steel-linked fender sink down below the surface of the water. "where does it go?" asked blake. "it sinks down in a groove in the bottom of the lock," the captain explained. "it takes about one minute to lower the chain, and as long to raise it." "well, i've got that!" blake exclaimed as the handle of his camera ceased clicking. he had sufficient views of the giant fender. as the tug went on captain watson explained to the boys that even though a vessel should manage to break the chain, which was almost beyond the bounds of possibility, there was the first, or safety gate of the lock. and though a vessel might crash through the chain, and also the first gate, owing to failure to stop in the lock, there would be a second gate, which would almost certainly bring the craft to a stop. but even the most remote possibility has been thought of by the makers of the great canal, and, should all the lock-gates be torn away, and the impounded waters of gatun lake start to rush out, there are emergency dams that can be put into place to stop the flood. these emergency dams can be swung into place in two minutes by means of electrical machinery, but should that fail, they can be put into place by hand in about thirty minutes. "so you see the canal is pretty well protected," remarked captain watson, as he prepared to send his tug across the place where the chain had been, and so into the first of the three lock basins. "say! this is great!" cried blake, as he looked at the concrete walls, towering above him. they were moist, for a vessel had recently come through. now the tug no longer moved under her own steam, nor had it been since coming alongside the wall of the central pier. for all vessels must be towed through the lock basins, and towed not by other craft, but by electric locomotives that run alongside, on the top of the concrete walls. two of these locomotives were attached to the bow of the tug, and two to the stern. but those at the stern were not for pulling, as joe at first supposed, for he said: "why, those locomotives in back are making fast to us with wire hawsers. i don't see how they can push with those." "they're not going to," explained captain watson. "those in the stern are for holding back, to provide for an emergency in case those in front pull us too fast." "those who built the canal seem to have thought of everything," spoke blake with much enthusiasm. "you'll think so, after you've seen some more of the wonders," the tug captain went on with a smile. "better get your cameras ready," he advised, "they'll be opening and closing the gates for us now, and that ought to make good pictures, especially when we are closed in the lock, and water begins to enter." "how does it come in?" asked joe. "over the top?" "no, indeed. they don't use the waterfall effect," answered blake, who had been reading a book about the canal. "it comes in from the bottom; doesn't it, captain watson?" "yes, through valves that are opened and closed by electricity. in fact everything about the lock is done by electricity, though in case of emergency hand power can be used. the water fills the lock through openings in the floor, and the water itself comes from gatun lake. there, the gate is opening!" the boys saw what seemed to be two solid walls of steel slowly separated, by an unseen power, as the leaves of a book might open. in fact the gates of the locks are called "leaves." slowly they swung back out of the way, into depressions in the side walls of the locks, made to receive them. "here we go!" cried the captain, the tug began to move slowly under the pull of the electric locomotives on the concrete wall above them. "start your cameras, boys!" blake and joe needed no urging. already the handles were clicking, and thousands of pictures, showing a boat actually going through the locks of the panama canal, were being taken on the long strip of sensitive film. "oh, it is wonderful!" exclaimed mr. alcando. "do you think--i mean, would it be possible for me to--" "to take some pictures? of course!" exclaimed blake, generously. "here, grind this crank a while, i'm tired." the spaniard had been given some practice in using a moving picture camera, and he knew about at what speed to turn the handle. for the moving pictures must be taken at just a certain speed, and reproduced on the screen at the same rate, or the vision produced is grotesque. persons and animals seem to run instead of walk. but the new pupil, with a little coaching from blake, did very well. "now the gates will be closed," said the tug captain, "and the water will come in to raise us to the level of the next higher lock. we have to go through this process three times at this end of the canal, and three times at the other. watch them let in the water." the big gates were not yet fully closed when something happened that nearly put an end to the trip of the moving picture boys to panama. for suddenly their tug, instead of moving forward toward the front end of the lock, began going backward, toward the slowly-closing lock gates. "what's up?" cried blake. "we're going backward!" shouted joe. "yes, the stern locomotives are pulling us back, and the front ones seem to have let go!" captain watson said. "we'll be between the lock gates in another minute. hello, up there!" he yelled, looking toward the top of the lock wall. "what's the matter?" slowly the tug approached the closing lock gates. if she once got between them, moving as they were, she would be crushed like an eggshell. and it seemed that no power on earth could stop the movement of those great, steel leaves. "this is terrible!" cried mr. alcando. "i did not count on this in learning to make moving pictures." "you'll be in tighter places than this," said blake, as he thought in a flash of the dangers he and joe had run. "what'll we do?" asked joe, with a glance at his chum. "looks as though we'd have to swim for it if the boat is smashed," said blake, who remained calm. "it won't be hard to do that. this is like a big swimming tank, anyhow, but if they let the other water in--" he did not finish, but they knew what he meant. slowly and irresistibly the great lock gates were closing and now the tug had almost been pulled back between them. she seemed likely to be crushed to splinters. chapter xiii in the jungle "what will we do with the cameras, blake? the films, too, they will all be spoiled--we haven't enough waterproof cases!" cried joe to his chum, as the boat, through some accident or failure, backed nearer and nearer to the closing steel gates. "will we really have to jump overboard?" asked the spaniard. "i am not a very excellent swimmer." but blake, at whom these questions seemed directed, did not have to answer them. for, after a series of confused shouts on the top of the concrete wall above them the movement of the boat, as well as the slow motion of the lock gates, ceased. it was just in time, for the rudder of the tug was not more than a few feet away from the jaws of steel. "you're all right now," a man called down to those on the tug, from the wall over their heads. "something went wrong with the towing locomotives. there's no more danger." "well, i'm glad to know that," answered captain watson gruffly. "you might just as well kill a man as scare him to death. what was the matter, anyhow?" "well, all of our machinery isn't working as smoothly as we'll have it later," the canal engineer explained. "some of our signals went wrong as you were being towed through, and you went backward instead of forward. then it took a minute or so to stop the lock gates. but you're all right now, and you'll go on through." blake and joe looked at each other and smiled in relief, and mr. alcando appeared to breathe easier. a little later the tug was again urged forward toward the front lock gates. then the closing of those at her stern went on, until the vessel was in a square steel and concrete basin--or, rather, a rectangular one, for it was longer than it was wide, to lend itself to the shape of the vessels. as blake had said, it was like a big swimming tank. "now we'll go up," captain watson said. "you can't get any pictures in here, i suppose?" he added. "we can show the water bubbling up as it fills the lock," said blake. "water always makes a pretty scene in moving pictures, as it seems to move at just the right rate of speed. we'll take a short strip of film, joe, i guess." the tug did not occupy a whole section of the lock, for they are built to accommodate vessels a thousand feet long. to economize time in filling up such a great tank as that would be the locks are subdivided by gates into small tanks for small vessels. "it takes just forty-six gates for all the locks," explained captain watson, while blake and joe were getting their camera in position, and the men at the locks were closing certain water valves and opening others. "each lock has two leaves, or gates, and their weight runs anywhere from three hundred to six hundred tons, according to its position. some of the gates are forty-seven feet high, and others nearly twice that, and each leaf is sixty-five feet wide, and seven feet thick." "think of being crushed between two steel gates, of six hundred tons each, eighty feet high, sixty-five feet wide and seven feet thick," observed joe. "i don't want to think of it!" laughed blake. "we are well out of that," and he glanced back toward the closed and water-tight lock gates which had so nearly nipped the tug. "here comes the water!" cried the captain. there was a hissing and gurgling sound, and millions of bubbles began to show on the surface of the limpid fluid in which floated the _nama_. the water came in from below, through the seventy openings in the floor of each lock, being admitted by means of pipes and culverts from the upper level. as the water hissed, boiled and bubbled while it flowed in blake took moving pictures of it. slowly the _nama_ rose. higher and higher she went until finally she was raised as high as that section of the lock would lift her. she went up at the rate of two feet a minute, though captain watson explained that when there was need of hurry the rate could be three feet a minute. "and we have two more locks to go through?" asked joe. "yes, two more here at gatun, and three at miraflores; or, rather, there is one lock at pedro miguel, where we go down thirty and a third feet, and then we go a mile to reach the locks at miraflores. "there we shall have to go through two locks, with a total drop of fifty-four and two-thirds feet," captain watson explained. "the system is the same at each place." the tug was now resting easily in the basin, but some feet above the sea level. blake and joe had taken enough moving pictures of this phase of the canal, since the next scenes would be but a repetition of the process in the following two locks that would lift the _nama_ to the level of gatun lake. "but i tell you what we could do," blake said to his chum. "what's that--swim the rest of the way," asked joe, "and have mr. alcando make pictures of us?" "no, we've had enough of water lately. but we could get out on top of the lock walls, and take pictures of the tug going through the lock. that would be different." "so it would!" cried joe. "we'll do it!" they easily obtained permission to do this, and soon, with their cameras, and accompanied by mr. alcando, they were on the concrete wall. from that vantage point they watched the opening of the lock gates, which admitted the _nama_ into the next basin. there she was shut up, by the closing of the gates behind her, and raised to the second level. the boys succeeded in getting some good pictures at this point and others, also, when the tug was released from the third or final lock, and steamed out into gatun lake. there was now before her thirty-two miles of clear water before reaching miraflores. "better come aboard, boys," advised captain watson, "and i'll take you around to gatun dam. you'll want views of that." "we sure will!" cried blake. "isn't it all wonderful!" exclaimed joe, who was deeply impressed by all he saw. "it is, indeed!" agreed the spaniard. "your nation is a powerful and great one. it is a tremendous achievement." aboard the tug they went around toward the great dam that is really the key to the panama canal. for without this dam there would be no gatun lake, which holds back the waters of the chagres river, making a big lake eighty-five feet above the level of the ocean. it is this lake that makes possible the operation of a lock canal. otherwise there would have to be a sea-level one, and probably you boys remember what a discussion there was, in congress and elsewhere, about the advantages and disadvantages of a sea-level route across the isthmus. but the lock canal was decided on, and, had it not been, it is probable that the canal would be in process of making for many years yet to come, instead of being finished now. "whew!" whistled joe, as they came in sight of the dam. "that sure is going some!" "that's what it is!" cried captain watson, proudly, for he had had a small part in the work. "it's a mile and a half long, half a mile thick at the base, three hundred feet through at the waterline, and on top a third of that." "how high is it?" asked joe, who always liked to know just how big or how little an object was. he had a great head for figures. "it's one hundred and five feet high," the captain informed him, "and it contains enough concrete so that if it were loaded into two-horse wagons it would make a procession over three times around the earth." "catch me! i'm going to faint!" cried blake, staggered at the immensity of the figure. "that dam is indeed the key to the whole lock," murmured mr. alcando, as he looked at the wonderful piece of engineering. "if it were to break--the canal would be ruined." "yes, ruined, or at least destroyed for many years," said captain watson solemnly. "but it is impossible for the dam to break of itself. no waters that could come into the lake could tear it away, for every provision has been made for floods. they would be harmless." "what about an earthquake?" asked joe. "i've read that the engineers feared them." "they don't now," said the captain. "there was some talk, at first, of an earthquake, or a volcanic eruption, destroying the dam, but panama has not been visited by a destructive earthquake in so long that the danger need not be considered. and there are no volcanoes near enough to do any harm. it is true, there might be a slight earthquake shock, but the dam would stand that. the only thing that might endanger it would be a blast of dynamite." "dynamite!" quickly exclaimed mr. alcando. "and who would dare to explode dynamite at the dam?" "i don't know who would do it, but some of the enemies of the united states might. or someone who fancied the canal had damaged him," the captain went on. "and who would that be?" asked blake in a low tone. "oh, someone, or some firm, who might fancy that the canal took business away from them. it will greatly shorten certain traffic and trade routes, you know." "hardly enough to cause anyone to commit such a crime as that, do you think?" asked the spaniard. "that is hard to answer," went on the tug commander. "i know that we are taking great precautions, though, to prevent the dam, or the locks, from being damaged. uncle sam is taking no chances. well, have you pictures enough?" "i think so," answered blake. "when we come back we'll stop off here and get some views from below the dam, showing the spillway." "yes, that ought to be interesting," the captain agreed. the tug now steamed on her way out into gatun lake, and there a series of excellent views were obtained for the moving picture cameras. mr. alcando was allowed to do his part. he was rapidly learning what the boys could teach him. "of course it could never happen," the spaniard said, when the cameras had been put away, for the views to be obtained then were of too much sameness to attract joe or blake, "it would never happen, and i hope it never does; but if it did it would make a wonderful picture; would it not?" he asked. "what are you talking about?" asked blake. "the gatun dam," was the answer. "if ever it was blown up by dynamite it would make a wonderful scene." "too wonderful," said joe grimly. "it would be a terrible crime against civilization to destroy this great canal." "yes, it would be a great crime," agreed the spaniard in a low voice. a little later he went to his stateroom on the tug, and blake and joe remained on deck. "queer sort of a chap; isn't he?" said joe. "he sure is--rather deep," agreed his chum. "are you boys going into the jungle?" asked the tug captain that afternoon. "yes, we want to get a few views showing life in the woods," answered blake. "why?" "well, the reason i asked is that i can take you to the mouth of the chagres river and from there you won't have so much trouble penetrating into the interior. so if you're going--" "i think we had better go; don't you?" asked blake of his chum. "surely, yes. we might get some fine pictures. they'll go well with the canal, anyhow; really a sort of part of the series we're taking." "all right, then, i'll leave you in the jungle," the captain said. a day or so later, stops having been made to permit the boys to film certain scenes they wanted, the tug reached gamboa, where they stopped, to plan a trip into the interior. then, one morning, with their cameras loaded with film, they started off for a brief trip into the jungle. chapter xiv in dire peril a small launch had been provided for the use of blake and joe in going into the jungle, the first part of their trip being along the chagres river. the tug on which they had come thus far was not suitable. accordingly they had transferred what baggage they needed to the launch, and with their moving picture cameras, with shelter tents, food, supplies and some west indian negroes as helpers, they were prepared to enjoy life as much as possible in the jungle of the isthmus. "you boys don't seem to mind what you do to get pictures," commented mr. alcando, as they sat in the launch, going up the stream, the existence of which made possible gatun lake. "no, you get so you'll do almost anything to get a good film," agreed blake. "this is easy compared to some of the things we've done," joe remarked. "you'll become just as fascinated with it as we are, mr. alcando." "i hope so," he admitted, "for i will have to penetrate into a much wilder jungle than this if i take the views our company wants. perhaps i can induce you to come to south america and make films for us in case i can't do it," he concluded. "well, we're in the business," remarked blake with a smile. "but you'll get so you can take for yourself just as good pictures as we can." "do you really think so?" asked the spaniard, eagerly. "i'm sure of it," blake said. the little suspicions both he and joe had entertained of their companion seemed to have vanished. certainly he neither did nor said anything that could be construed as dangerous. he was a polished gentleman, and seemed to regard the boys as his great friends. he often referred to the runaway accident. as for the odd, ticking box, it seemed to have been put carefully away, for neither blake nor joe saw it, nor had they heard the click of it when they went near mr. alcando's possessions. the first night in the jungle was spent aboard the boat. it was pleasant enough, mosquito canopies keeping away the pests that are said to cause malaria and yellow fever, among other things. but, thanks to the activities of the american sanitary engineers the mosquitoes are greatly lessened in the canal zone. "and now for some real jungle life!" cried blake the next day, as the little party set off into the forest, a group of laborers with machetes going ahead to clear the way. for several miles nothing worth "filming" was seen, and blake and joe were beginning to feel that perhaps they had had their trouble for nothing. now and then they came to little clearings in the thick jungle, where a native had chopped down the brush and trees to make a place for his palm-thatched and mud-floored hut. a few of them clustered about formed a village. life was very simple in the jungle of panama. "oh, blake, look!" suddenly cried joe, as they were walking along a native path. "what queer insects. they are like leaves." the boys and mr. alcando saw what seemed to be a procession of green leaves making its way through the jungle. "those are real leaves the ants carry," explained the guide, who spoke very good english. "they are called leaf-cutting ants, and each one of them is really carrying a leaf he has cut from some tree." on closer inspection the boys saw that this was so. each ant carried on its back a triangular leaf, and the odd part, or, rather, one of the odd features, was that the leaf was carried with the thin edge forward, so it would not blow in the wind. "what do they do with 'em?" asked joe. "eat 'em, or make houses of 'em?" "neither," replied the guide. "the ants put the leaves away until they are covered with a fungus growth. it is this fungus that the ants eat, and when it has all been taken from the leaves they are brought out of the ant homes, and a fresh lot of leaves are brought in. these ants are bringing in a fresh lot now, you see." "how odd!" exclaimed blake. "we must get a picture of this, joe." "we sure must!" agreed his chum. "but how can you take moving pictures of such small things as ants?" asked mr. alcando. "we'll put on an enlarging lens, and get the camera close to them," explained blake, who had had experience in taking several films of this sort for the use of schools and colleges. a halt was called while the camera was made ready, and then, as the ants went on in their queer procession, carrying the leaves which looked like green sails over their backs, the film clicked on in its indelible impression of them, for the delight of audiences who might see them on the screen, in moving picture theaters from maine to california. "well, that was worth getting," said blake, as they put away the camera, and went on again. "i wonder what we'll see next?" "have you any wild beasts in these jungles?" asked mr. alcando of the indian guide. "well, not many. we have some deer, though this is not the best time to see them. and once in a while you'll see a--" "what's that?" suddenly interrupted blake, pointing through the thick growth of trees. "i saw some animal moving then. maybe it was a deer. i'd like to get a picture of it." there was a movement in the underbrush, and a shouting among the native carriers. "come on!" cried joe, dashing ahead with a camera. "better wait," advised mr. alcando. "it might be something dangerous." "it's only some tapirs, i think," the guide said. "they are harmless." "then we'll film them," decided blake, though the mere fact of harm or danger being absent did not influence him. both he and joe had taken pictures of dangerous wild animals in africa, and had stood at the camera, calmly turning the handle, when it seemed as though death was on its way toward them in horrible form. had occasion demanded it now they would have gone on and obtained the pictures. but there could be no danger from the tapirs. the pictures obtained, however, were not very satisfactory. the light was poor, for the jungle was dense there, and the tapirs took fright almost at first, so the resultant film, as blake and joe learned later, when it was developed, was hardly worth the trouble they took. still, it showed one feature of the panama jungle. all about the boys was a wonderful and dense forest. there were many beautiful orchids to be seen, hanging from trees as though they really grew, as their name indicates, in the air. blake and joe took views of some of the most beautiful. there was one, known as the "holy ghost" which only blooms twice a year, and when the petals slowly open there is seen inside them something which resembles a dove. "let's get some pictures of the next native village we come to," suggested blake, as they went on after photographing the orchids and the tapirs. "all right, that ought to go good as showing a type of life here," joe agreed. and they made a stop in the next settlement, or "clearing," as it more properly should be called. at first the native indians were timid about posing for their pictures, but the guide of the boys' party explained, and soon they were as eager as children to be snapped and filmed. "this is the simple life, all right," remarked blake, as they looked at the collection of huts. "gourds and cocoanut shells for kitchen utensils." that was all, really, the black housekeeper had. but she did not seem to feel the need of more. the panama indians are very lazy. if one has sufficient land to raise a few beans, plantains and yams, and can catch a few fish, his wants are supplied. he burns some charcoal for fuel, and rests the remainder of the time. "that is, when he doesn't go out to get some fresh meat for the table," explained the guide. "meat? where can he get meat in the jungle, unless he spears a tapir?" asked blake. "there's the iguana," the guide said, with a laugh. "do they eat them?" cried joe, for several times in the trip through the jungles he had jumped aside at a sight of the big lizards, which are almost as large as cats. they are probably the ugliest creatures in existence, if we except the horned toad and the rhinoceros. "eat them! i should say they did!" cried the guide. "come over here." he led the way toward a hut and there the boys saw a most repulsive, and, to them, cruel sight. there were several of the big iguanas, or lizards, with their short legs twisted and crossed over their backs. and, to keep the legs in this position the sharp claw of one foot was thrust through the fleshy part of another foot. the tail of each iguana had been cut off. "what in the world do they do that for?" asked blake. "that's how they fatten the iguanas," the guide said. "the natives catch them alive, and to keep them from crawling off they fasten their legs in that manner. and, as the tail isn't good to eat, they chop that off." "it's cruel!" cried joe. "yes, but the indians don't mean it so," the guide went on. "they are really too lazy to do anything else. if some one told them it was work to keep the lizards as they do, instead of just shutting them up in a box to stay until they were needed to be killed for food, they'd stop this practice. they'd do anything to get out of work; but this plan seems to them to be the easiest, so they keep it up." "is iguana really good eating?" asked joe. "yes, it tastes like chicken," the guide informed them. "but few white persons can bring themselves to eat it." "i'd rather have the fruits," said mr. alcando. the boys had eaten two of the jungle variety. one was the _mamaei_, which was about as large as a peach, and the other the _sapodilla_, fruit of the color of a plum. the seeds are in a jelly-like mass. "you eat them and don't have to be afraid of appendicitis," said the spaniard with a laugh. several views were taken in the jungle "village," as joe called it, and then they went farther on into the deep woods. "whew! it's hot!" exclaimed joe, as they stopped to pitch a camp for dinner. "i'm going to have a swim." they were near a good-sized stream. "i'm with you," said blake, and the boys were soon splashing away in the water, which was cool and pleasant. "aren't you coming in?" called blake to mr. alcando, who was on shore. "yes, i think i will join you," he replied. he had begun to undress, when blake, who had swum half-way across the stream, gave a sudden cry. "joe! joe!" he shouted. "i'm taken with a cramp, and there is an alligator after me. help!" chapter xv in culebra cut joe sprang to his feet at the sound of his chum's voice. he had come ashore, after splashing around in the water, and, for the moment, blake was alone in the river. as joe looked he saw a black, ugly snout, and back of it a glistening, black and knobby body, moving along after blake, who was making frantic efforts to get out of the way. "i'm coming, blake! i'm coming!" cried joe, as he ran to the edge of the stream, with the intention of plunging in. "you will be too late," declared mr. alcando. "the alligator will have him before you reach him. oh, that i was a good swimmer, or that i had a weapon." but joe did not stay to hear what he said. but one idea was in his mind, that of rescuing his chum from peril. that he might not be in time never occurred to him. blake gave a gurgling cry, threw up his hands, and disappeared from sight as joe plunged in to go to his rescue. "it's got him--the beast has him!" cried the spaniard, excitedly. "no, not yet. i guess maybe he sank: to fool the alligator," said the guide, an educated indian named ramo. "i wonder if i can stop him with one shot?" he went on, taking up a powerful rifle that had been brought with the camp equipment. joe was swimming out with all his power, blake was nowhere to be seen, and the alligator was in plain sight, heading for the spot where blake had last been observed. "it's my only chance!" muttered ramo. "i hope the boy stays under water." as he spoke the guide raised the rifle, took quick but careful aim, and fired. there was no puff of smoke, for the new high-powered, smokeless powder was used. following the shot, there was a commotion in the water. amid a smother of foam, bright red showed. "you hit him, ramo!" cried the spaniard. "you hit him!" "i guess i did," the indian answered. "but where is blake?" that was what joe was asking himself as he plunged on through the stream, using the australian crawl stroke, which takes one through the water at such speed. just what joe could do when he reached his chum he did not stop to think. certainly the two would have been no match for the big alligator. but the monster had met his match in the steel-jacketed mushrooming bullet. it had struck true and after a death struggle the horrid creature sank beneath the surface just as blake shot up, having stayed under as long as he could. "all right, blake! here you are! i'm with you!" cried joe, changing his course to bring himself to his chum. "are you all right?" "yes, except for this cramp. the alligator didn't get near enough to do any damage. but where is he?" "ramo shot him," answered joe, for he had seen the creature sink to its death. "you're all right now. put your hand on my shoulder, and i'll tow you in." "guess you'll have to. i can't seem to swim. i dived down when i saw how near the beast was getting, thinking i might fool him. i hated to come up, but i had to," blake panted. "well, you're all right now," joe assured him, "but it was a close call. how did it happen?" "i'm sure i don't know," said blake, still out of breath from trying to swim under water. "if i'd known there were alligators in this river i'd never have gone so far from shore." "that's right," agreed joe, looking around as though to make sure no more of the creatures were in sight. he saw none. on the shore stood ramo, the guide, with ready rifle. "feel better now?" asked joe. "yes, the cramp seems to be leaving me. i think i went in swimming too soon after eating those plantains," for they had been given some of the yellow bananas by a native when they stopped at his hut for some water. "they upset me," blake explained. "i was swimming about, waiting for you to come back and join me, when i saw what i thought was a log in the water. when it headed for me i thought it was funny, and then, when i saw what it was, i realized i'd better be getting back to shore. i tried, but was taken with a fierce cramp. you heard me just in time." "yes," responded joe, as he and blake reached water shallow enough to wade in, "but if it hadn't been for ramo's gun--well, there might be a different story to tell." "and one that wouldn't look nice in moving pictures," blake went on with a laugh. "you did me a good turn," he said to ramo a little later, as he shook hands with the dusky guide. "i shan't forget it." "oh, it wasn't anything to pop over an alligator that way," ramo returned. "i've often done it for sport. though i will admit i was a bit nervous this time, for fear of hitting you." "i wish i had been the one to shoot it," said the spaniard. "why?" asked joe, as he sat down on the warm sandy bank of the stream to rest. "why, then i should have repaid, in a small measure, the debt i am under to you boys for saving my life. i shall never forget that." "it wasn't anything," declared blake quickly. "i mean, what we did for you." "it meant a great deal--to me," returned the spaniard quietly, but with considerable meaning in his tone. "perhaps i shall soon be able to--but no matter. are there many alligators in this stream?" he asked of ramo. "oh, yes, more or less, just as there are in most of the panaman rivers. but i never knew one to be so bold as to attack any one in daylight. mostly they take dogs, pigs, or something like that. this must have been a big, hungry one." "you'd have thought so if you were as close to him as i was," spoke blake with a little shudder. no one else felt like going in swimming just then, and the two boys dressed. blake had fully recovered from the cramp that had so nearly been his undoing. for a week longer they lived in the jungle, moving from place to place, camping in different locations and enjoying as much as they could the life in the wild. blake and joe made some good moving picture films, mr. alcando helping them, for he was rapidly learning how to work the cameras. but the views, of course, were not as good as those the boys had obtained when in the african jungle. these of the panama wilds, however, were useful as showing the kind of country through which the canal ran, and, as such, they were of value in the series of films. "well, we'll soon be afloat again," remarked blake, one night, when they had started back for gamboa. "i've had about enough jungle." "and so have i," agreed joe, for the last two days it had rained, and they were wet and miserable. they could get no pictures. their tug was waiting for them as arranged and, once more on board, they resumed their trip through the canal. soon after leaving gamboa the vessel entered a part of the waterway, on either side of which towered a high hill through which had been dug a great gash. "culebra cut!" cried blake, as he saw, in the distance gold hill, the highest point. "we must get some pictures of this, joe." "that's right, so we must. whew! it is a big cut all right!" he went on. "no wonder they said it was harder work here than at the gatun dam. and it's here where those big slides have been?" "yes, and there may be again," said blake. "i hope not!" exclaimed captain watson. "they are not only dangerous, but they do terrible damage to the canal and the machinery. we want no more slides." "but some are predicted," blake remarked. "yes, i know they say they come every so often. but now it would take a pretty big one to do much damage. we have nearly tamed culebra." "if there came a big slide here it would block the canal," observed mr. alcando, speculatively. "yes, but what would cause a slide?" asked the captain. "dynamite could do it," was the low-voiced answer. "dynamite? yes, but that is guarded against," the commander said. "we are taking no chances. now, boys, you get a good view of culebra," and he pointed ahead. blake and joe were soon busy with their cameras, making different sets of views. "hand me that other roll of film; will you, please?" asked blake of the spaniard, who was helping them. "mine is used up." as mr. alcando passed over the box he muttered, though possibly he was unaware of it: "yes, dynamite here, or at the dam, would do the work." "what--what's that?" cried blake, in surprise. chapter xvi the collision judging by mr. alcando's manner no one would have thought he had said anything out of the ordinary. but both blake and joe had heard his low-voiced words, and both stared aghast at him. "what's that you said?" asked blake, wondering whether he had caught the words aright. "dynamite!" exclaimed joe, and then blake knew he had made no mistake. somewhat to the surprise of himself and his chum the spaniard smiled. "i was speaking in the abstract, of course," he said. "i have a habit of speaking aloud when i think. i merely remarked that a charge of dynamite, here in culebra cut, or at gatun dam, would so damage the canal that it might be out of business for years." "you don't mean to say that you know of any one who would do such a thing!" cried blake, holding the box of unexposed film that the spaniard had given him. "of course not, my dear fellow. i was speaking in the abstract, i tell you. it occurred to me how easy it would be for some enemy to so place a charge of explosive. i don't see why the canal is not better guarded. you americans are too trusting!" "what's that?" asked captain watson, coming up at this juncture. "i was merely speaking to the boys about how easy it would be to put a charge of dynamite here in the cut, or at the dam, and damage the canal," explained mr. alcando. "i believe they thought i meant to do it," he added with a laugh, as he glanced at the serious faces of the two moving picture boys. "well,--i--er,--i--," stammered blake. somewhat to his own surprise he did find himself harboring new suspicions against mr. alcando, but they had never before taken this form. as for joe, he blushed to recall that he had, in the past, also been somewhat suspicious of the spaniard. but now the man's frank manner of speaking had disarmed all that. "dynamite, eh!" exclaimed the captain. "i'd just like to see any one try it. this canal is better guarded than you think, my friend," and he looked meaningly at the other. "oh, i have no doubt that is so," was the quick response. "but it seems such a simple matter for one to do a great damage to it. possibly the indifference to guarding it is but seeming only." "that's what it is!" went on captain watson. "dynamite! huh! i'd like to see someone try it!" he meant, of course, that he would not like to see this done, but that was his sarcastic manner of speaking. "what do you think of him, anyhow?" asked joe of blake a little later when they were putting away their cameras, having taken all the views they wanted. "i don't know what to say, joe," was the slow answer. "i did think there was something queer about alcando, but i guess i was wrong. it gave me a shock, though, to hear him speak so about the canal." "the same here. but he's a nice chap just the same, and he certainly shows an interest in moving pictures." "that's right. we're getting some good ones, too." the work in culebra cut, though nearly finished, was still in such a state of progress that many interesting films could be made of it, and this the boys proposed to do, arranging to stay a week or more at the place which, more than any other, had made trouble for the canal builders. "well, it surely is a great piece of work!" exclaimed blake, as he and joe, with mr. alcando and captain watson, went to the top of gold hill one day. they were on the highest point of the small mountain through which the cut had to be dug. "it is a wonderful piece of work," the captain said, as blake and joe packed up the cameras they had been using. "think of it--a cut nine miles long, with an average depth of one hundred and twenty feet, and in some places the sides are five hundred feet above the bottom, which is, at no point, less than three hundred feet in width. a big pile of dirt had to be taken out of here, boys." "yes, and more dirt will have to be," said mr. alcando. "what do you mean?" asked the tug commander quickly, and rather sharply. "i mean that more slides are likely to occur; are they not?" "yes, worse luck!" growled the captain. "there have been two or three small ones in the past few weeks, and the worst of it is that they generally herald larger ones." "yes, that's what i meant," the spaniard went on. "and it's what we heard," spoke blake. "we expect to get some moving pictures of a big slide if one occurs." "not that we want it to," explained joe quickly. "i understand," the captain went on with a smile. "but if it _is_ going to happen you want to be here." "exactly," blake said. "we want to show the people what a slide in culebra looks like, and what it means, in hard work, to get rid of it." "well, it's hard work all right," the captain admitted, "though now that the water is in, and we can use scows and dredges, instead of railroad cars, we can get rid of the dirt easier. you boys should have been here when the cut was being dug, before the water was let in." "i wish we had been," blake said. "we could have gotten some dandy pictures." "that's what you could," went on the captain. "it was like looking at a lot of ants through a magnifying glass. big mouthfuls of dirt were being bitten out of the hill by steam shovels, loaded on to cars and the trains of cars were pulled twelve miles away to the dumping ground. there the earth was disposed of, and back came the trains for more. and with thousands of men working, blasts being sent off every minute or so, the puffing of engines, the tooting of whistles, the creaking of derricks and steam shovels--why it was something worth seeing!" "sorry we missed it," joe said. "but maybe we'll get some pictures just as good." "it won't be anything like that--not even if there's a big slide," the captain said, shaking his head doubtfully. though the canal was practically finished, and open to some vessels, there was much that yet remained to be done upon it, and this work blake and joe, with mr. alcando to help them at the cameras, filmed each day. reel after reel of the sensitive celluloid was exposed, packed in light-tight boxes and sent north for development and printing. at times when they remained in culebra cut, which they did for two weeks, instead of one, fresh unexposed films were received from new york, being brought along the canal by government boats, for, as i have explained, the boys were semi-official characters now. mr. alcando was rapidly becoming expert in handling a moving picture camera, and often he went out alone to film some simple scene. "i wonder how our films are coming out?" asked blake one day, after a fresh supply of reels had been received. "we haven't heard whether mr. hadley likes our work or not?" "hard to tell," joe responded. but they knew a few days later, for a letter came praising most highly the work of the boys and, incidentally, that of mr. alcando. "you are doing fine!" mr. hadley wrote. "keep it up. the pictures will make a sensation. don't forget to film the slide if one occurs." "of course we'll get that," joe said, as he looked up at the frowning sides of culebra cut. "only it doesn't seem as if one was going to happen while we're here." "i hope it never does," declared captain watson, solemnly. as the boys wanted to make pictures along the whole length of the canal, they decided to go on through the pedro miguel and miraflores locks, to the pacific ocean, thus making a complete trip and then come back to culebra. of course no one could tell when a slide would occur, and they had to take chances of filming it. their trip to pedro miguel was devoid of incident. at those locks, instead of "going up stairs" they went down, the level gradually falling so their boat came nearer to the surface of the pacific. a mile and a half farther on they would reach miraflores. the tug had approached the central pier, to which it was tied, awaiting the services of the electrical locomotives, when back of them came a steamer, one of the first foreign vessels to apply to make the trip through the isthmus. "that fellow is coming a little too close to me for comfort," captain watson observed as he watched the approaching vessel. blake and joe, who were standing near the commander at the pilot house, saw mr. alcando come up the companionway and stand on deck, staring at the big steamer. a little breeze, succeeding a dead calm, ruffled a flag at the stern of the steamer, and the boys saw the brazilian colors flutter in the wind. at the same moment mr. alcando waved his hand, seemingly to someone on the steamer's deck. "look out where you're going!" suddenly yelled captain watson. hardly had he shouted than the steamer veered quickly to one side, and then came a crash as the tug heeled over, grinding against the concrete side of the central pier. "we're being crushed!" yelled blake. chapter xvii the emergency dam the crashing and splintering of wood, the grinding of one vessel against the other at the concrete pier, the shrill tooting of the whistles, and the confused shouts of the respective captains of the craft made a din out of which it seemed order would never come. "if i could only get this on a film!" said joe to himself during a calm moment. but the cameras were below in the cabin, and the tug was now careened at such an angle that it was risky to cross the decks. besides joe must think of saving himself, for it looked as though the tug would be crushed and sunk. "pull us out of here!" yelled captain watson to the man on the lock wall in charge of the electrical towing locomotives. "pull us out!" that seemed one way out of the trouble, for the _nama_ was being crushed between the brazilian steamer and the wall. but the order had come too late, for now the tug was wedged in, and no power could move her without tearing her to pieces, until the pressure of the big steamer was removed. so, wisely, the men in charge of the towing machines did not follow captain watson's orders. "over this way!" cried blake to his chum, and to mr. alcando, who were standing amid-ships. joe was at the bow, and because that was narrower than the main portion of the tug, it had not yet been subjected to the awful pressure. but there was no need of joe or the others, including captain watson, changing their positions. the brazilian ship now began drawing away, aided by her own engines, and by the tow ropes extending from the other side of the lock wall. the _nama_, which had been partly lifted up in the air, as a vessel in the arctic ocean is lifted when two ice floes begin to squeeze her, now dropped down again, and began settling slowly in the water. "she's sinking!" cried blake. "our cameras--our films, joe!" "yes, we must save them!" his chum shouted. "i'll help!" offered the spaniard. "are we really sinking?" "of course!" shouted captain watson. "how could anything else happen after being squeezed in that kind of a cider press? we'll go to the bottom sure!" "leave the boat!" yelled one of the men on top of the lock wall. "we're going to tow you out of the way, so when you sink you won't block the lock!" "let's get out our stuff!" blake cried again, and realizing, but hardly understanding, what was happening, the boys rushed below to save what they could. fortunately it was the opening of many seams, caused by the crushing process, rather than any great hole stove in her, that had brought about the end of the _nama_. she began to sink slowly at the pier, and there was time for the removal of most of the articles of value belonging to the boys and mr. alcando. hastily the cameras, the boxes of exposed and unexposed film, were hoisted out, and then when all had been saved that could be quickly put ashore, the tug was slowly towed out of the way, where it could sink and not be a menace to navigation, and without blocking the locks. "poor _nama_" murmured captain watson. "to go down like that, and not your own fault, either," and he looked over with no very friendly eyes toward the brazilian steamer, which had suffered no damage more than to her paint. "you can raise her again," suggested one of the lock men. "yes, but she'll never be the same," sorrowfully complained her commander. "never the same!" "how did it happen?" asked blake. "was there a misunderstanding in signals?" "must have been something like that," captain watson answered. "that vessel ought to have stayed tied up on her own side of the lock. instead she came over here under her own steam and crashed into me. i'm going to demand an investigation. do you know anyone on board her?" he asked quickly of the spaniard. "i saw you waving to someone." "why, yes, the captain is a distant relative of mine," was the somewhat unexpected answer. "i did not know he was going to take his vessel through the canal, though. i was surprised to see him. but i am sure you will find that captain martail will give you every explanation." "i don't want explanations--i want satisfaction!" growled the tug captain. "there goes the _nama_," called blake, pointing to the tug. as he spoke she began to settle more rapidly in the water, but she did not sink altogether from sight, as she was towed toward the shore, and went down in rather shallow water, where she could be more easily reached for repairs. "it was a narrow escape," joe said. "what are we to do now, blake? too bad we didn't get some moving pictures of that accident." "well, maybe it's a good thing we didn't," returned his chum. "the canal is supposed to be so safe, and free from the chance of accidents, that it might injure its reputation if a picture of a collision like that were shown. maybe it's just as well." "better," agreed captain watson. "as you say, the canal is supposed to be free from accidents. and, when everything gets working smoothly, there will be none to speak of. some of the electrical controlling devices are not yet in place. if they had been that vessel never could have collided with us." "i should think her captain would know better than to signal for her to proceed under her own power in the canal lock," spoke joe. "possibly there was some error in transmitting signals on board," suggested mr. alcando. and later they learned that this was, indeed, the case; or at least that was the reason assigned by the brazilian commander for the accident. his vessel got beyond control. "well, it's lucky she didn't ram the gates, and let out a flood of water," said joe to blake a little after the occurrence. "yes, if that had happened we'd have had to make pictures whether we wanted to or not. but i wonder what we are going to do for a boat now?" however, that question was easily settled, for there were other government vessels to be had, and blake, joe and mr. alcando, with their cameras, films and other possessions, were soon transferred, to continue their trip, in the _bohio_, which was the name of the new vessel. the _nama_ was left for the wrecking crew. "well, this isn't exactly the quiet life we looked for in the canal zone; is it, blake?" asked joe that night as he and his chum were putting their new stateroom to rights. "hardly. things have begun to happen, and i've noticed, joe, that, once they begin, they keep up. i think we are in for something." "do you mean a big slide in culebra cut?" "well, that may be only part of it. i have a feeling in my bones, somehow or other, that we're on the eve of something big." "say, for instance--" "i can't," answered blake, as joe paused. "but i'm sure something is going to happen." "no more collisions, i hope," his chum ventured. "do you know, blake, i've wondered several times whether that one to-day was not done on purpose." blake stared at his chum, and then, to joe's surprise replied: "and i've been thinking the same thing." "you have?" joe exclaimed. "now i say--" "hush!" cautioned blake quickly, "he's coming!" the door of their stateroom opened, and mr. alcando entered. he had a room across the corridor. "am i intruding?" he asked. "if i am--" "not at all. come in," answered blake, with a meaning look at his chum. "i wanted to ask you something about making double exposures on the same film," the spaniard went on. "you know what i mean; when a picture is shown of a person sitting by a fireside, say, and above him or her appears a vision of other days." "oh, yes, we can tell you how that is done," joe said, and the rest of the evening was spent in technical talk. "well, what were you going to say about that collision?" asked joe of blake when mr. alcando had left them, at nearly midnight. "i don't think it's exactly safe to say what i think," was blake's response. "i think he is--suspicious of us," he finished in a whisper. "let's watch and await developments." "but what object could he--" "never mind--now," rejoined blake, with a gesture of caution. several busy days followed the sinking of the _nama_. the moving picture boys went through the miraflores locks, making some fine films, and then proceeded on to the pacific ocean breakwater, thus making a complete trip through the canal, obtaining a series of pictures showing scenes all along the way. they also took several views in the city of panama itself. of course theirs was not the first vessel to make the complete trip, so that feature lost something of its novelty. but the boys were well satisfied with their labors. "we're not through, though, by any means," said blake. "we have to get some pictures of gatun dam from the lower side. i think a few more jungle scenes, and some along the panama railroad, wouldn't go bad." "that's right," agreed joe. so they prepared to make the trip back again to colon. once more they were headed for the locks, this time to be lifted up at miraflores, instead of being let down. they approached the central pier, were taken in charge by the electrical locomotives, and the big chain was lowered so they could proceed. just as the lower gate was being swung open to admit them to the lock, there was a cry of warning from above. "what's that?" cried joe. "i don't know," blake answered, "but it sounds as though something were going to happen. i didn't have all those feelings for nothing!" then came a cry: "the upper gate! the upper gate is open! the water is coming down! put the emergency dam in place! quick!" joe and blake looked ahead to see the upper gates, which were supposed to remain closed until the boat had risen to the upper level, swing open, and an immense quantity of foamy water rush out. it seemed about to overwhelm them. chapter xviii the big slide for a short space there was a calm that seemed more thrilling than the wildest confusion. it took a few seconds for the rush of water to reach the _bohio_, and when it did the tug began to sway and tug at the mooring cables, for they had not yet been cast off to enable it to be towed. blake rushed toward the lower cabin. "where are you going?" cried joe. "to get the cameras," replied his chum, not pausing. "this is a chance we mustn't miss." "but we must escape! we must look to ourselves!" shouted mr. alcando. "this is not time for making moving pictures." "we've got to make it this time!" joe said, falling in with blake. "you'll find you've got to make moving pictures when you _can_, not when you _want_ to!" to do justice to mr. alcando he was not a coward, but this was very unusual for him, to make pictures in the face of a great danger--to stand calmly with a camera, turning the crank and getting view after view on the strip of celluloid film, while a flood of water rushed down on you. it was something he never dreamed of. but he was not a "quitter," which word, though objectionable as slang, is most satisfactorily descriptive. "i'll help!" the young spaniard cried, as he followed blake and joe down to where the cameras and films were kept. on came the rush of water, released by the accidental opening of the upper lock gates before the lower ones were closed. the waters of gatun lake were rushing to regain the freedom denied them by the building of the locks. but they were not to have their own way for long. even this emergency, great as it was, unlikely as it was to happen, had been foreseen by those who built the canal. "the dam! swing over the emergency dam!" came the cry. the _bohio_ was now straining and pulling at her cables. fortunately they were long enough to enable her to rise on the flood of the rushing water, or she might have been held down, and so overwhelmed. but she rose like a cork, though she plunged and swayed under the influence of the terrible current, which was like a mill race. "use both cameras!" cried blake, as he and joe each came on deck bearing one, while mr. alcando followed with spare reels of film. "we'll both take pictures," blake went on. "one set may be spoiled!" then he and his chum, setting up their cameras on the tripods, aimed the lenses at the advancing flood, at the swung-back gates and at the men on top of the concrete walls, endeavoring to bring into place the emergency dam. it was a risky thing to do, but then blake and joe were used to doing risky things, and this was no more dangerous than the chances they had taken in the jungle, or in earthquake land. on rushed the water. the tug rose and fell on the bosom of the flood, unconfined as it was by the restraining gates. and as the sturdy vessel swayed this way and that, rolling at her moorings and threatening every moment to break and rush down the canal, blake and joe stood at their posts, turning the cranks. and beside them stood mr. alcando, if not as calm as the boys, at least as indifferent to impending fate. captain wiltsey of the _bohio_ had given orders to run the engine at full speed, hoping by the use of the propeller to offset somewhat the powerful current. but the rush of water was too great to allow of much relief. "there goes the emergency dam!" suddenly cried blake. "gone out, you mean?" yelled joe above the roar of waters. "no, it's being swung into place. it'll be all over in a few minutes. good thing we got the pictures when we did." across the lock, about two hundred feet above the upper gate, was being swung into place the steel emergency dam, designed to meet and overcome just such an accident as had occurred. these dams were worked by electricity, and could be put in place in two minutes; or, if the machinery failed, they could be worked by hand, though taking nearly half an hour, during which time much damage might be done. but in this case the electrical machinery worked perfectly, and the dam, which when not in use rested against the side of the lock wall, and parallel with it, was swung across. almost at once the rush of water stopped, gradually subsiding until the tug swung easily at her mooring cables. "whew!" whistled blake in relief, as he ceased grinding at the crank of his moving picture camera. "that was going some!" "that's what!" agreed joe. "but i guess we got some good films." "you certainly deserved to!" exclaimed mr. alcando, with shining eyes. "you are very brave!" "oh, it's all in the day's work," spoke blake. "now i wonder how that happened?" "that's what i'd like to know," said captain wiltsey. "i must look into this." an inquiry developed the fact that a misplaced switch in some newly installed electrical machinery that controlled the upper lock gate was to blame. the lock machinery was designed to be automatic, and as nearly "error proof" as anything controlled by human beings can be. that is to say it was planned that no vessel could proceed into a lock until the fender chain was lowered, and that an upper gate could not be opened until a lower one was closed. but in this case something went wrong, and the two gates were opened at once, letting out the flood. this, however, had been foreseen, and the emergency dam provided, and it was this solid steel wall that had saved the lock from serious damage, and the _bohio_ from being overwhelmed. as it was no harm had been done and, when the excitement had calmed down, and an inspection made to ascertain that the gates would now work perfectly, the tug was allowed to proceed. "well, what are your plans now, boys?" asked mr. alcando on the day after the lock accident. "back to culebra cut," answered blake. "we have orders to get a picture of a big slide there, and we're going to do it." "even if you have to make the slide yourself?" asked the spaniard with a short laugh. "not much!" exclaimed blake. "i'd do a good deal to get the kind of moving pictures they want, but nothing like that. there have been some rains of late, however, and if things happen as they often have before in the cut there may be a slide." "yes, they do follow rains, so i am told," went on the spaniard. "well, i do not wish your canal any bad luck, but if a slide does occur i hope it will come when you can get views of it." "in the daytime, and not at night," suggested joe. for several days nothing of interest occurred. blake and joe sent back to new york the films of the mad rush of waters through the lock, and also dispatched other views they had taken. they had gone to culebra cut and there tied up, waiting for a slide that might come at any time, and yet which might never occur. naturally if the canal engineers could have had their way they would have preferred never to see another avalanche of earth descend. mr. alcando had by this time proved that he could take moving pictures almost as well as could the boys. of course this filming of nature was not all there was to the business. it was quite another matter to make views of theatrical scenes, or to film the scene of an indoor and outdoor drama. "but i do not need any of that for my purpose," explained mr. alcando. "i just want to know how to get pictures that will help develope our railroad business." "you know that pretty well now," said blake. "i suppose you will soon be leaving the canal--and us." "not until i see you film the big slide," he replied. "i wish you all success." "to say nothing of the canal," put in joe. "to say nothing of the canal," repeated the spaniard, and he looked at the boys in what blake said afterward he thought was a strange manner. "then you haven't altogether gotten over your suspicions of him?" asked joe. "no, and yet i don't know why either of us should hold any against him," went on joe's chum. "certainly he has been a good friend and companion to us, and he has learned quickly." "oh, yes, he's smart enough. well, we haven't much more to do here. a slide, if we can get one, and some pictures below gatun dam, and we can go back north." "yes," agreed blake. "seen anything of alcando's alarm clock model lately?" asked joe, after a pause. "not a thing, and i haven't heard it tick. either he has given up working on it, or he's so interested in the pictures that he has forgotten it." several more days passed, gloomy, unpleasant days, for it rained nearly all the time. then one morning, sitting in the cabin of the tug anchored near gold hill, there came an alarm. "a land slide! a big slide in culebra cut! emergency orders!" "that means us!" cried blake, springing to his feet, and getting out a camera. "it's our chance, joe." "yes! too bad, but it had to be, i suppose," agreed his chum, as he slipped into a mackintosh, for it was raining hard. chapter xix joe's plight from outside the cabin of the tug came a confused series of sounds. first there was the swish and pelt of the rain, varied as the wind blew the sheets of water across the deck. but, above it all, was a deep, ominous note--a grinding, crushing noise, as of giant rocks piling one on top of the other, smashing to powder between them the lighter stones. "what will happen?" asked mr. alcando, as he watched joe and blake making ready. they seemed to work mechanically--slipping into rubber boots and rain coats, and, all the while, seeing that the cameras and films were in readiness. they had brought some waterproof boxes to be used in case of rain--some they had found of service during the flood on the mississippi. "no one knows what will happen," said blake grimly. "but we're going to get some pictures before too much happens." "out there?" asked the spaniard, with a motion of his hand toward the side of the big hill through which the canal had been cut. "out there--of course!" cried joe. "we can't get moving pictures of the slide in here." he did not intend to speak shortly, but it sounded so in the stress of his hurry. "then i'm coming!" said mr. alcando quietly. "if i'm to do this sort of work in the jungle, along our railroad, i'll need to have my nerve stiffened." "this will stiffen it all right," returned blake, sternly, as a louder sound from without told of a larger mass of the earth sliding into the waters of the canal, whence the drift had been excavated with so much labor. it was a bad slide--the worst in the history of the undertaking--and the limit of it was not reached when joe and blake, with their cameras and spare boxes of film, went out on deck. the brown-red earth, the great rocks and the little stones, masses of gravel, shale, schist, cobbles, fine sand--all in one intermingled mass was slipping, sliding, rolling, tumbling, falling and fairly leaping down the side of gold hill. "come on!" cried blake to joe. "i'm with you," was the reply. "and i, also," said mr. alcando with set teeth. fortunately for them the tug was tied to a temporary dock on the side of the hill where the slide had started, so they did not have to take a boat across, but could at once start for the scene of the disaster. "we may not be here when you come back!" called captain wiltsey after the boys. "why not?" asked joe. "i may have to go above or below. i don't want to take any chances of being caught by a blockade." "all right. we'll find you wherever you are," said blake. as yet the mass of slipping and sliding earth was falling into the waters of the canal some distance from the moored tug. but there was no telling when the slide might take in a larger area, and extend both east and west. up a rude trail ran blake and joe, making their way toward where the movement of earth was most pronounced. the light was not very good on account of the rain, but they slipped into the cameras the most sensitive film, to insure good pictures even when light conditions were most unsatisfactory. the moving picture boys paused for only a glance behind them. they had heard the emergency orders being given. soon they would be flashed along the whole length of the canal, bringing to the scene the scows, the dredges, the centrifugal pumps--the men and the machinery that would tear out the earth that had no right to be where it had slid. then, seeing that the work of remedying the accident was under way, almost as soon as the accident had occurred, blake and joe, followed by mr. alcando, hurried on through the rain, up to their ankles in red mud, for the rain was heavy. it was this same rain that had so loosened the earth that the slide was caused. "here's a good place!" cried blake, as he came to a little eminence that gave a good view of the slipping, sliding earth and stones. "i'll go on a little farther," said joe. "we'll get views from two different places." "what can i do?" asked the spaniard, anxious not only to help his friends, but to learn as much as he could of how moving pictures are taken under adverse circumstances. "you stay with blake," suggested joe. "i've got the little camera and i can handle that, and my extra films, alone and with ease. stay with blake." it was well the spaniard did. with a rush and roar, a grinding, crashing sound a large mass of earth, greater in extent than any that had preceded, slipped from the side of the hill. "oh, what a picture this will make!" cried blake, enthusiastically. he had his camera in place, and was grinding away at the crank, mr. alcando standing ready to assist when necessary. "take her a while," suggested blake, who was "winded" from his run, and carrying the heavy apparatus. the big portion of the slide seemed to have subsided, at least momentarily. blake gave a look toward where joe had gone. at that moment, with a roar like a blast of dynamite a whole section of the hill seemed to slip away and then, with a grinding crash the slanting earth on which joe stood, and where he had planted the tripod of his camera, went out from under him. joe and his camera disappeared from sight. chapter xx at gatun dam "look!" cried mr. alcando. he would have said more--have uttered some of the expressions of fear and terror that raced through his mind, but he could not speak the words. he could only look and point. but blake, as well as the spaniard, had seen what had happened, and with blake to see was to act. "quick!" he cried. "we've got to get him out before he smothers! pack up this stuff!" as he spoke he folded the tripod legs of his camera, and laid it on top of a big rock, that seemed firmly enough imbedded in the soil not to slip from its place. then, placing beside it the spare boxes of film, and throwing over them a rubber covering he had brought, blake began to run across the side of the hill toward the place where joe had last been seen. "come on!" cried blake to mr. alcando, but the spaniard needed no urging. he had laid with blake's the boxes of film he carried, and the two were now speeding to the rescue. "go get help!" cried joe to an indian worker from the tug, who had followed to help carry things if needed. "go quick! bring men--shovels! we may have to dig him out," he added to mr. alcando. "if--if we can find him," replied the other in low tones. "go on--run!" cried joe, for the indian did not seem to understand. then the meaning and need of haste occurred to him. "_si, señor_, i go--_pronto_!" he exclaimed, and he was off on a run. fortunately for blake and mr. alcando, the worst of the slide seemed to be over. a big mass of the hill below them, and off to their right, had slid down into the canal. it was the outer edge of this that had engulfed joe and his camera. had he been directly in the path of the avalanche, nothing could have saved him. as it was, blake felt a deadly fear gripping at his heart that, after all, it might be impossible to rescue his chum. "but i'll get him! i'll get him!" he said fiercely to himself, over and over again. "i'll get him!" slipping, sliding, now being buried up to their knees in the soft mud and sand, again finding some harder ground, or shelf of shale, that offered good footing, blake and the spaniard struggled on through the rain. it was still coming down, but not as hard as before. "here's the place!" cried blake, coming to a halt in front of where several stones formed a rough circle. "he's under here." "no, farther on, i think," said the spaniard. blake looked about him. his mind was in a turmoil. he could not be certain as to the exact spot where joe had been engulfed in the slide, and yet he must know to a certainty. there was no time to dig in many places, one after the other, to find his chum. every second was vital. "don't you think it's here?" blake asked, "try to think!" "i am!" the spaniard replied. "and it seems to me that it was farther on. if there was only some way we could tell--" the sentence trailed off into nothingness. there was really no way of telling. all about them was a dreary waste of mud, sand, boulders, smaller stones, gravel and more mud--mud was over everything. and more mud was constantly being made, for the rain had not ceased. "i'm going to dig here!" decided blake in desperation, as with his bare hands he began throwing aside the dirt and stones. mr. alcando watched him for a moment, and then, as though giving up his idea as to where joe lay beneath the dirt, he, too, started throwing on either side the clay and soil. blake glanced down the hill. the indian messenger had disappeared, and, presumably, had reached the tug, and was giving the message for help. then blake bent to his herculean task again. when next he looked up, having scooped a slight hole in the side of the hill, he saw a procession of men running up--men with picks and shovels over their shoulders. he saw, too, a big slice of the hill in the canal. the wonderful waterway was blocked at culebra cut. blake thought little of that then. his one idea and frantic desire was to get joe out. "they'll never get here in time," said mr. alcando in a low voice. "we'll never get him out in time." "we--we must!" cried blake, as again he began digging. mr. alcando had spoken the truth. the men could not get there in time--joe could not be dug out in time--if it had depended on human agencies. for not only was blake unaware of the exact spot where his chum lay buried, but, at least so it seemed, there had been such a mass of earth precipitated over him that it would mean hours before he could be gotten out. however, fate, luck, providence, or whatever you choose to call it, had not altogether deserted the moving picture boys. the very nature of the slide, and the hill on which it had occurred, was in joe's favor. for as blake, after a despairing glance at the approaching column of men, bent again to his hopeless task, there was a movement of the earth. "look out!" cried mr. alcando. he would have spoken too late had what happened been of greater magnitude. as it was blake felt the earth slipping from beneath his feet, and jumped back instinctively. but there was no need. beyond him another big slide had occurred, and between him and mr. alcando, and this last shift of the soil, was a ridge of rocks that held them to their places. down in a mass of mud went another portion of the hill, and when it had ceased moving blake gave a cry of joy. for there, lying in a mass of red sand, was joe himself, and beside him was the camera, the tripod legs sticking out at grotesque angles. "joe! joe!" yelled blake, preparing to leap toward his chum. "be careful!" warned mr. alcando. "there may be danger--" but no known danger could have held blake back. "he is there!" blake cried. "we were digging in the wrong place." "i thought so," said the spaniard. but blake did not stay to listen to him. now he was at joe's side. the slide had laid bare a ledge of rock which seemed firm enough to remain solid for some time. "joe! joe!" cried blake, bending over his chum. and then he saw what it was that had probably saved joe's life. the boy's big rubber coat had been turned up and wound around his head and face in such a manner as to keep the sand and dirt out of his eyes, nose and mouth. and, also wrapped up in the folds of the garment, was the camera. rapidly blake pulled the coat aside. joe's pale face looked up at him. there was a little blood on the forehead, from a small cut. the boy was unconscious. "joe! joe!" begged blake. "speak to me! are you all right?" he bared his chum's face to the pelting rain--the best thing he could have done, for it brought joe back to consciousness--slowly at first, but with the returning tide of blood the fainting spell passed. "we must get him to the boat," said mr. alcando, coming up now. "are you hurt? can you walk?" asked blake. joe found his voice--though a faint voice it was. "yes--yes," he said, slowly. "i--i guess i'm all right." there seemed to be no broken bones. mr. alcando took charge of the camera. it was not damaged except as to the tripod. "what happened?" asked joe, his voice stronger now. "you were caught in the slide," blake informed him. "don't think about it now. we'll have you taken care of." "i--i guess i'm all right," joe said, standing upright. "that coat got wound around my face, and kept the dirt away. i got a bad whack on the head, though, and then i seemed to go to sleep. did i get any pictures?" "i don't know. don't worry about them now." "we--we missed the best part of the slide, i guess," joe went on. "too bad." "it's all right!" his chum insisted. "i was filming away up to the time you went under. now, let's get back." by this time the crowd of men, including captain wiltsey, had arrived. but there was nothing for them to do. the slide had buried joe, and another slide had uncovered him, leaving him little the worse, save for a much-muddied suit of clothes, and a bad headache, to say nothing of several minor cuts and bruises. it was a lucky escape. back to the tug they went, taking the cameras with them. joe was given such rough and ready surgery and medical treatment as was available, and captain wiltsey said he would leave at once for gatun, where a doctor could be obtained. fortunately the blockading of the canal by the slide did not stop the _bohio_ from continuing her journey. the slide was north of her position. "i do hope we got some good films," said joe, when he had been made as comfortable as possible in his berth. "i think we did," blake said. "your camera was protected by the rubber coat, and mine wasn't hurt at all." later the boys learned that though they had missed the very best, or rather the biggest, part of the slide, still they had on their films enough of it to make a most interesting series of views. late that afternoon joe was in the care of a physician, who ordered him to stay in bed a couple of days. which joe was very willing to do. for, after the first excitement wore off, he found himself much more sore and stiff than he had realized. they were at gatun now, and there blake planned to get some views of the big dam from the lower, or spillway side. "but first i'm going back to the slide," he said. "i want to get some views of the dredgers getting rid of the dirt." chapter xxi mr. alcando's absence blake spent a week at culebra cut, making pictures of the removal of the great mass of earth that had slid into the water. the chief engineer, general george w. goethals, had ordered every available man and machine to the work, for though the canal had not been formally opened, many vessels had started to make trips through it, and some of them had been blocked by the slide. it was necessary to get the dirt away so they could pass on their voyage. so with dredges, with steam shovels, and hydraulic pumps, that sucked through big flexible pipes mud and water, spraying it off to one side, the work went on. blake had mr. alcando to help him, and the spaniard was now expert enough to render valuable assistance. while blake was at one scene, getting views of the relief work, his pupil could be at another interesting point. blake had telegraphed to new york that the one picture above all others desired had been obtained--that of a big slide in the culebra cut. he did not tell how joe had nearly lost his life in helping get the films, for blake was modest, as was his chum, and, as he said, it was "all in the day's work." joe was left to recover from the shock and slight injuries at gatun, while blake and mr. alcando were at culebra. for the shock to the young moving picture operator had been greater than at first supposed, though his bodily injuries were comparatively slight. "well, what's next on the programme?" asked joe of blake, about two weeks after the accident, when blake had returned from culebra. most of the work there was done, and the canal was again open, save to vessels of extreme draught. "i guess we'll go on making pictures of gatun dam now; that is, if you're well enough," spoke blake. "how do you feel?" "pretty fair. how did alcando make out?" "all right. he's learning fast. we can trust him with a camera now, out alone." "that's good. i say, blake," and joe's voice took on a confidential tone, "you haven't noticed anything strange about him, have you?" "strange? what do you mean?" "i mean while he was off there with you. anything more about that alarm clock of his? and did anything more develop about his knowing the captain of that vessel that sunk the _nama_?" "no, that was only coincidence, i think. why, i can't say that i've noticed anything suspicious about him, joe, if that's what you mean," and blake's voice had a questioning tone. "that's what i do mean," spoke joe. "and if you haven't i have." "have what?" "i've been watching alcando since you and he came back, and i think he's decidedly queer." "suspicious, you mean?" "i mean he acts as though something were going to happen." "another landslide?" asked blake with a laugh. "no chance of that here at gatun dam." "no, but something else could happen, i think." "you mean the--dam itself?" asked blake, suddenly serious. "well, i don't exactly know what i do mean," joe said, and his voice was troubled. "i'll tell you what i noticed and heard, and you can make your own guess." "go on," invited blake. "i'm all ears, as the donkey said." "it's no laughing matter," retorted his chum. "haven't you noticed since you and alcando came back," he went on, "that he seems different, in a way. he goes about by himself, and, several times i've caught him looking at the dam as though he'd never seen it before. he is wonderfully impressed by it." "well, anybody would be," spoke blake. "it's a wonderful piece of engineering. but go on." "not only that," resumed joe, "but i've heard him talking to himself a lot." "well, that's either a bad sign, or a good one," laughed his chum. "they say when a fellow talks to himself he either has money in the bank, or he's in love. you can take your choice." "not when it's the kind of talk i overheard alcando having with himself," joe resumed. "i went out on the dam yesterday, and i saw him looking at it. he didn't see me, but i heard him muttering to himself." "what did he say?" blake wanted to know. "i didn't hear it all," was joe's answer, "but i caught two sentences that made me do a lot of thinking. they were these: 'i just hate to do it, though i'll have to, i suppose. but i'll not put the blame on'--" and joe came to a pause. "well, go on," urged blake. "that's all there was," joe continued. "i couldn't hear any more. what do you suppose he meant?" "he might have meant nothing--or anything," blake remarked slowly. "it sounds to me as though he meant that he had made a failure of the moving picture business, and was going to quit. that must be it. he meant that he had to give it up, though he hated to, and that he wouldn't blame us for not giving him better instruction." "could he have meant that?" "he could," blake replied, "for, to tell you the truth, he'll never be a good operator. he hasn't a correct eye for details, and he can't focus worth a cent, though that might be overcome in time. he does well enough for ordinary work, but when it comes to fine details he isn't in it. i found that out back there at culebra when he was working with me. of course he was a lot of help, and all that, but he's a failure as a moving picture operator." "i'm sorry to hear that," said joe, with genuine sympathy. "so am i to have to come to that conclusion," blake went on. "i guess he knows it, too, for he said as much to me. so i guess that's what his talking to himself meant." "perhaps it did. well, we did our best for him." "we surely did, and i guess he appreciates that. he said so, anyhow." "and so you're going to get some gatun pictures and then quit--eh?" "that's it, joe, and the sooner we get them the sooner we can get back home. i've had all i want of panama. not that it isn't a nice place, but we've seen all there is to see." "we might try a little more of the jungle." "we got enough of those pictures before," blake declared. "no, the dam will wind it up, as far as we're concerned." if mr. alcando felt any sorrow over his failure as a moving picture operator he did not show it when next he met the boys. he was quite cheerful. "are you fully recovered, joe?" he asked. "oh, sure! i'm all right again." "i only wish i could have had a hand in rescuing you," the spaniard went on. "it would have been a manner of paying, in a slight degree, the debt i owe you boys. but fate took that out of my hands, and you were saved by the same sort of slide that covered you up." "yes, i guess i was born lucky," laughed joe. preparations for taking several views of the big gatun dam from the lower, or spillway side, were made. one afternoon mr. alcando asked if he would be needed in making any views, and when blake told him he would not, the spaniard went off by himself, taking a small camera with him. "i'm going to try my luck on my own hook," he said. "that's right," encouraged blake. "go it on your own responsibility. good luck!" "he's trying hard, at all events," said joe, when their acquaintance had left them. "yes," agreed joe. "he wants to make good." several times after this mr. alcando went off, by himself for more or less prolonged absences. each time he took a camera with him. it was a small machine, made more for amateurs than for professionals, but it gave good practice. "how are you coming on?" asked blake one day, when mr. alcando returned after a trip which, he said, had taken him to gatun dam. "oh, pretty well, i think," was the answer, as the spaniard set down his camera and carrying case. "i got some good scenes, i believe. when are you going to make the last of the spillway views?" blake did not answer. he was listening to a curious sound. it was a ticking, like that of an alarm clock, and it came from the interior of the carrying case that held extra reels of film for the little camera mr. alcando had. blake felt himself staring at the black box. chapter xxii a warning "what is the matter?" asked mr. alcando, as he noted blake's intent look. "is something--?" he did not finish. "that sound--in the film-case--" began blake. "oh, my alarm clock--yes!" exclaimed the spaniard. "i take it out with me on my trips. often, when i have finished taking pictures, i try to do a little work on it. there is one feature i can't seem to perfect, and i hope some day to stumble on it. without it the clock is a failure. i had it with me to-day, but i could make no progress--none at all. i think i shall put it away again," and taking with him the case, from which came that curious ticking noise, he went to his stateroom. blake shook his head. he did not know what to think. "he'll never make a good moving picture operator," he said to himself. "you've got to give your whole mind to it, and not be monkeying with inventions when you set out to get views. an alarm clock! "suppose he does perfect it? there are enough on the market now, and i don't believe there's a fortune in any of 'em. he might much better stick to what he set out to learn. well, it isn't any of my business, i suppose. joe and i have done all we can." several times after this the spaniard went off by himself, to make simple moving picture views with the little camera. but, whether or not he took along the curious brass-bound box, with the metal projections, which he said was an alarm clock, was something blake or joe could not discover. for blake had told joe of alcando's confession. certainly if alcando did take his model with him, he did not wind it up until leaving the boys, for no ticking sound came from the case. the canal was now as it had been before the big slide. vessels were passing to and fro, though in some parts of the waterway much finishing work remained to be done. blake and joe took some views of this, and also "filmed" the passage of the various ships to make their pictures of wider appeal when they would be shown at the panama exposition. mr. alcando did his share, and, for a time seemed to show a great interest in his work, so that blake had hopes the spaniard would really become a good operator. but something was always lacking, and it was not altogether effort on the part of the pupil. the time was approaching when blake and joe must bring their work to an end. they had accomplished what they set out to do, and word came back from new york, where their films had been sent for development, that they were among the best the boys had ever taken. "well, i will soon be leaving you," said mr. alcando to the chums, one day. "i have heard from my railroad firm, and they are anxious for me to come back and begin making pictures there." "his friends are going to be sadly disappointed in him," thought blake. "it's too bad. he'll make a failure of those views. well, if he does they may send for joe and me, and that will be so much more business for us, though i'm sorry to see him make a fizzle of it." but mr. alcando appeared to have no fears on his own account. he was cheerfully optimistic. "i shall want several cameras, of different kinds," he said to the boys. "perhaps you can recommend to me where to get some." "yes," spoke joe. "we'll help you pick them out if you are going back to new york." "i am not so sure of that," the spaniard said. "i will know in a few days when i hear from my railroad friends. i expect a letter shortly." there was some little delay in getting the pictures blake wanted of the gatun dam. certain work had to be done, and blake wanted to show the complete and finished structure. so he decided to wait. about a week after the above conversation with mr. alcando, the spaniard came to the boys, waving an open letter in his hand. the mail had just come in, bringing missives to blake and joe. some were of a business nature, but for each boy there was an envelope, square and of delicate tint--such stationery as no business man uses. but we need not concern ourselves with that. we all have our secrets. "i have my marching orders," laughed the spaniard. "i leave you this week, for my own particular jungle. now i must arrange to get my cameras." "we'll help you," offered joe, and then, with the catalogue of a moving picture supply house before them, the boys sat down to plan what sort of an outfit would best be suited to the needs of mr. alcando. he was not limited as to money, it was evident, for he picked out the most expensive cameras possible to buy. "i wish you boys would come and see me, when i get to work taking views along our railroad line," he said. "it isn't altogether a selfish invitation," he added with a laugh, "for i expect you could give me good advice, and correct some of my mistakes." "i'm afraid we won't get a chance to go to south america," blake answered. with a tentative list of what he needed, mr. alcando went to write a letter to his railroad officials, asking them to order his outfit for him. as blake pushed back his chair, intending to leave the cabin to seek his own stateroom, he saw, on the floor, a piece of paper. idly he picked it up, and, as he saw it was part of a letter to the spaniard he folded it, to hand to him. but, as he did so he caught sight of a few words on it. and those words made him stare in wonder. for blake read: "stuff is all ready for you. you had better do the job and get away. there is some fine scenery in europe." saying nothing to his chum about it, blake went with the letter toward the spaniard's stateroom. he was not in, but blake put the paper on a desk, with some others, and came out hastily. "i wonder what that meant?" he thought to himself. "that must have been his orders to come back to brazil and make the pictures. but if he goes at it that way--just to do the job and get away, he won't have much success. and to think of going to make films of european scenery when he isn't really capable of it." "well, some of these foreigners think they know it all when they have only a smattering of it," mused blake. "though alcando isn't as bad that way as lots of others. well, we've done our best with him. and how unjust all our suspicions were--joe's and mine. i wonder what he really did think he was up to, anyhow?" the next day blake and joe were busy making many important views of the big dam, which held back the waters of the chagres river, creating gatun lake. the spaniard, too, was busy with his preparations for leaving. he was away from the boys nearly all day, coming back to the boat, which they made their headquarters, in the evening. "get any pictures?" asked blake. "if you have we'll pack up your reel and send it to new york with ours. where's the little camera and case?" mr. alcando stopped short, as though struck. "by jove!" he cried. "i left it out at the dam. i was making some views there, and used up all the film. then i got to working on my alarm clock, and forgot all about the camera and film case. i left them out there, and my clock, too. i'll go right back and get them!" he turned to leave the cabin, but, as he did so, captain wiltsey entered. he paid no attention to the spaniard, but, addressing blake and joe said: "boys, i have a little task for you. have you any flash-light powder?" "flash-light powder? yes, we have some," blake said. "but we can't use it for moving pictures. it doesn't last long enough." "perhaps it will last long enough for what i want," the captain said. "if you'll excuse me, i'll go back and get the camera i was so careless as to leave out," spoke mr. alcando. "i'm glad he's gone," captain wiltsey said, as the cabin door closed. "i'd rather tell this to just you boys. i've just had a queer warning," he said. "a warning?" repeated joe. "yes, about gatun dam. there's a rumor that it is going to be destroyed!" chapter xxiii the flashlight for an instant the moving picture boys could hardly grasp the meaning of the fateful words spoken by captain wiltsey. but it needed only a look at his face to tell that he was laboring under great excitement. "the gatun dam to be destroyed," repeated joe. "then we'd better get--" "do you mean by an earthquake?" asked blake, breaking in on his chum's words. "no, i don't take any stock in their earthquake theories," the captain answered. "that's all bosh! it's dynamite." "dynamite!" cried joe and blake in a breath. "yes, there are rumors, so persistent that they cannot be denied, to the effect that the dam is to be blown up some night." "blown up!" cried blake and joe again. "that's the rumor," continued captain wiltsey. "i don't wonder you are astonished. i was myself when i heard it. but i've come to get you boys to help us out." "how can we help?" asked blake. "not that we won't do all we can," he added hastily, "but i should think you'd need secret service men, detectives, and all that sort of help." "we'll have enough of that help," went on the tug boat commander, who was also an employee of the commission that built the canal. "but we need the peculiar help you boys can give us with your cameras." "you mean to take moving pictures of the blowing up of the dam?" asked joe. "well, there won't be any blowing up, if we can help it," spoke the captain, grimly. "but we want to photograph the attempt if it goes that far. have you any flashlight powder?" "yes," blake answered. "or, if not, we can make some with materials we can easily get. but you can't make more than a picture or two by flashlight." "couldn't you if you had a very big flashlight that would last for several minutes?" "yes, i suppose so." "well, then, figure on that." "but i don't understand it all," objected blake, and joe, too, looked his wonder. both were seeking a reason why the captain had said he was glad mr. alcando had gone out to get the camera he had forgotten. "i'll explain," said mr. wiltsey. "you have no doubt heard, as we all have down here, the stories of fear of an earthquake shock. as i said, i think they're all bosh. but of late there have been persistent rumors that a more serious menace is at hand. and that is dynamite. "in fact the rumors have gotten down to a definite date, and it is said to-night is the time picked out for the destruction of the dam. the water of the chagres river is exceptionally high, owing to the rains, and if a breach were blown in the dam now it would mean the letting loose of a destructive flood." "but who would want to blow up the dam?" asked blake. "enemies of the united states," was the captain's answer. "i don't know who they are, nor why they should be our enemies, but you know several nations are jealous of uncle sam, that he possesses such a vitally strategic waterway as the panama canal. "but we don't need to discuss all that now. the point is that we are going to try to prevent this thing and we want you boys to help." "with a flashlight?" asked blake, wondering whether the captain depended on scaring those who would dare to plant a charge of dynamite near the great dam. "with a flashlight, or, rather, with a series of them, and your moving picture cameras," the captain went on. "we want you boys to get photographic views of those who will try to destroy the dam, so that we will have indisputable evidence against them. will you do it?" "of course we will!" cried blake. "only how can it be done? we don't know where the attempt will be made, nor when, and flashlight powder doesn't burn very long, you know." "yes, i know all that," the captain answered. "and we have made a plan. we have a pretty good idea where the attempt will be made--near the spillway, and as to the time, we can only guess at that. "but it will be some time to-night, almost certainly, and we will have a sufficient guard to prevent it. some one of this guard can give you boys warning, and you can do the rest--with your cameras." "yes, i suppose so," agreed blake. "it will be something like taking the pictures of the wild animals in the jungle," joe said. "we did some of them by flashlight, you remember, blake." "yes, so we did. and i brought the apparatus with us, though we haven't used it this trip. now let's get down to business. but we'll need help in this, joe. i wonder where alcando--?" "you don't need him," declared the captain. "why not?" asked joe. "he knows enough about the cameras now, and--" "he's a foreigner--a spaniard," objected the captain. "i see," spoke blake. "you don't want it to go any farther than can be helped." "no," agreed the captain. "but how did you and the other officials hear all this?" joe wanted to know. "in a dozen different ways," was the answer. "rumors came to us, we traced them, and got--more rumors. there has been some disaffection among the foreign laborers. men with fancied, but not real grievances, have talked and muttered against the united states. then, in a manner i cannot disclose, word came to us that the discontent had culminated in a well-plotted plan to destroy the dam, and to-night is the time set. "just who they are who will try the desperate work i do not know. i fancy no one does. but we may soon know if you boys can successfully work the cameras and flashlights." "and we'll do our part!" exclaimed blake. "tell us where to set the cameras." "we can use that automatic camera, too; can't we?" asked joe. "yes, that will be the very thing!" cried blake. they had found, when making views of wild animals in the jungle, as i have explained in the book of that title, that to be successful in some cases required them to be absent from the drinking holes, where the beasts came nightly to slake their thirst. so they had developed a combined automatic flashlight and camera, that would, when set, take pictures of the animals as they came to the watering-place. the beasts themselves would, by breaking a thread, set the mechanism in motion. "the flashlight powder--i wonder if we can get enough of that?" spoke joe. "it'll take quite a lot." "we must get it--somehow," declared the captain. "i fancy we have some on hand, and perhaps you can make more. there is quite a chemical laboratory here at the dam. but we've got to hustle. the attempt is to be made some time after midnight." "hustle it is!" cried blake. "come on, joe." chapter xxiv the tick-tick "put one camera here, joe." "all right, blake. and where will you have the other?" "take that with you. easy now. don't make a noise, and don't speak above a whisper!" cautioned blake stewart. "you'll work one machine, and i'll attend to the other. we'll put the automatic between us and trust to luck that one of the three gets something when the flash goes off." the two boys, with captain wiltsey, had made their way to a position near the spillway, below the great gatun dam. it was an intensely dark night, though off to the west were distant flashes of lightning now and then, telling of an approaching storm. in the darkness the boys moved cautiously about, planting their cameras and flashlight batteries to give the best results. they had had to work quickly to get matters in shape before midnight. fortunately they were not delayed by lack of magnesium powder, a large quantity having been found in one of the laboratories. this was quickly made up into flashlight cartridges, to be exploded at once, or in a series, by means of a high voltage storage battery. the moving picture cameras had been put in place, blake to work one and joe the other, while the automatic, which was operated by clockwork, once the trigger-string was broken, also setting off the continuous flashlight, was set between the two boys, to command a good view of the dam, and of whoever should approach to blow it up. it now lacked an hour of midnight when, so the rumors said, the attempt was to be made. of the nature of these rumors, and of how much truth there was in them, the boys could only guess. they did not ask too much, knowing that there might be government secrets it would not be wise for them to know. but that certain level-headed men did "take stock" in those rumors was evident, for elaborate preparations had been made to protect the dam. the preparations were conducted with as much secrecy as possible in order that the conspirators might not become aware of them. "we don't want to scare them off," explained captain wiltsey. "that may seem a strange thing to say," he went on, "but it is the truth. of course we don't want the dam blown up, or even slightly damaged, but it will be better to let them make the attempt, and catch them red-handed, than just to scare them off before they make a try. because, if we do that they may only come back again, later, when we're not ready for them. but if we let them see we are prepared and can catch some of them at work, it will end the conspiracy." "that's right!" agreed blake. "well, we'll do all we can to help make the capture. we'll capture their likenesses on the films, anyhow, and you'll know who they are." "which will be something," the captain said. "we haven't been able as yet to discover the identity of any of them. they have kept very secret, and worked very much in the dark." it had been arranged, among captain wiltsey and his helpers, that they were to give a certain signal when they discovered the dynamiters at work, and then the boys would set off their flashlights and begin to work their hand cameras. the automatic one, of course, would need no attention, provided the miscreants went near enough the net-work of strings to break one and so set the mechanism in motion. but that was problematical, and, as joe said, they would have to "trust to luck." and so the preparations for receiving the midnight callers went on. joe and blake worked in silence, making ready for their part in it. all about the boys, though they could neither see nor hear them, were uncle sam's men--soldiers, some of them--stationed near where, so rumor said, the attempt was to be made to explode the dynamite. "we really ought to have another helper," said blake, thoughtfully. "there is one place we can't get in focus no matter how we try, with the three machines we have. if we had another automatic it would be all right, but we have only the one. another hand camera would do, but we'd have to get someone to work it. i would suggest we get mr. alcando, but you don't seem to want him. he could easily take charge of one." "it is better to have no foreigners," replied the captain. "not that mr. alcando might not be all right, for he seems a nice chap. but he is a spaniard, or, rather a south american, and some of the south americans haven't any too much love for us; especially since the canal was built." "why?" asked blake. "oh, for various reasons. some of them have lost trade because it shortens routes. but there, i must go and see if all the men are in place." captain wiltsey left him, and once more the moving picture boy resumed his vigil. all about him was silence and darkness. as well as he could he looked to see that his camera was pointing in the right direction, and that it set firmly on the tripod, the legs of which were driven into the ground. "i'll just step over and see how joe is," thought blake. he judged it lacked half an hour yet of midnight. he found joe busy mending a broken wire that ran from the battery to the flashlight powder chamber. "just discovered it," joe whispered. "lucky i did, too, or it would have failed me just when i needed it." "is it fixed?" asked blake, as his chum straightened up in the darkness. "yes, it'll do for a while, though it's only twisted together. say, but isn't it dark?" "it sure is," agreed blake. together they stood there near the great dam. there came to their ears the splashing of water over the spillway, for the lake was high, and much was running to waste. "well, i guess i'll be getting back," said blake in a low voice. "no telling when things will happen now." as he started to go away joe remarked: "where are you wearing your watch? i can hear it over here." "watch! i haven't mine on," blake answered. "you can't see it in the dark, so i left it on the boat." "well, something is ticking pretty loud, and it isn't mine," joe said, "for i did the same as you, and left it in my cabin. but don't you hear that noise?" they both listened. clearly to them, through the silence of the night, came a steady and monotonous tick--tick-tick-- "it's the clockwork of the automatic camera," blake whispered. "it can't be," answered joe. "that's too far off. besides, it's a different sound." they both listened intently. "tick! tick! tick!" came to them through the dark silence. chapter xxv mr. alcando disappears for several seconds blake and joe stood there--without moving--only listening. and that strange noise they heard kept up its monotonous note. "hear it!" whispered joe. "yes," answered blake. "the brass box--the box--he had!" "yes," whispered joe. all the suspicions he had had--all those he had laughed at blake for harboring, came back to him in a rush. the brass-bound box contained clockwork. was it an alarm after all? certainly it had given an alarm now--a most portentous alarm! "we've got to find it!" said blake. "sure," joe assented. "it may go off any minute now. we've got to find it. seems to be near here." they began looking about on the ground, as though they could see anything in that blackness. but they were trying to trace it by the sound of the ticks. and it is no easy matter, if you have ever tried to locate the clock in a dark room. "we ought to give the alarm," said blake. "before it is too late," assented joe. "where can it be? it seems near here, and yet we can't locate it." "get down on your hands and knees and crawl around," advised blake. in this fashion they searched for the elusive tick-tick. they could hear it, now plainly, and now faintly, but they never lost it altogether. and each of them recognized the peculiar clicking sound as the same they had heard coming from the brass-bound box mr. alcando had said was his new alarm clock. "hark!" suddenly exclaimed blake. off to the left, where was planted the automatic camera, came a faint noise. it sounded like a suppressed exclamation. then came an echo as if someone had fallen heavily. an instant later the whole scene was lit up by a brilliant flash--a flash that rivaled the sun in brightness, and made blake and joe stare like owls thrust suddenly into the glare of day. "the dynamite!" gasped joe, unconsciously holding himself in readiness for a shock. "the flashlight--the automatic camera!" cried blake. there was no need for silence now. the whole scene was brilliantly lighted, and remained so for many seconds. and in the glare of the magnesium powder the moving picture boys saw a curious sight. advancing toward the dam was a solitary figure, which had come to halt when the camera went off with the flashlight. it was the figure of a man who had evidently just arisen after a fall. "mr. alcando!" gasped joe. "the spaniard!" fairly shouted blake. then, as the two chums looked on the brilliantly lighted scene, knowing that the camera was faithfully taking pictures of every move of their recent pupil, the boys saw, rushing toward alcando, a number of the men and soldiers who had been in hiding. "he's surrounded--as good as caught," blake cried. "so he's the guilty one." "unless there's a mistake," spoke joe. "mistake! never!" shouted his chum. "look--the brass box!" the glare of the distant flashlight illuminated the ground at their feet, and there, directly in front of them, was the ticking box. from it trailed two wires, and, as blake looked at them he gave a start. the next moment he had knelt down, and with a pair of pliers he carried for adjusting the mechanism of his camera severed the wires with a quick snap. the ticking in the box still went on, but the affair was harmless now. it could not make the electrical current to discharge the deadly dynamite. "boys! boys! where are you?" cried captain wiltsey. "here!" cried blake. "we've stopped the infernal machine!" "and we've got the dynamiter. he's your friend--" the rest of the words died away as the light burned itself out. intense blackness succeeded. "come on!" cried joe. "they've got him. we won't have to work the hand cameras. the automatic did it!" they stumbled on through the darkness. lanterns were brought and they saw mr. alcando a prisoner in the midst of the canal guards. the spaniard looked at the boys, and smiled sadly. "well, it--it's all over," he said. "but it isn't as bad as it seems." "it's bad enough, as you'll find," said captain wiltsey grimly. "are you sure the wires are disconnected, boys?" he asked. "sure," replied blake, holding out the brass box. "oh, so you found it," said the spaniard. "well, even if it had gone off there wouldn't have been much of an explosion." "it's easy enough to say that--now," declared the captain. but later, when they followed up the wires which blake had severed, which had run from the brass-bound box to a point near the spillway of the dam, it was found that only a small charge of dynamite had been buried there--a charge so small that it could not possibly have done more than very slight damage to the structure. "i can't understand it," said captain wiltsey. "they could just as well have put a ton there, and blown the place to atoms, and yet they didn't use enough to blow a boulder to bits. i don't understand it." "but why should mr. alcando try to blow up the dam at all?" asked blake, "that's what i can't understand." but a little later they did, for the spaniard confessed. he had to admit his part in the plot, for the moving pictures, made by the automatic camera, were proof positive that he was the guilty one. "yes, it was i who tried to blow up the dam," alcando admitted, "but, as you have seen, it was only to be an attempt to damage it. it was never intended to really destroy it. it was an apparent attempt, only." "but what for?" he was asked. "to cause a lack of confidence in the canal," was the unexpected answer. "those i represent would like to see it unused. it is going to ruin our railroad interests." then he told of the plot in detail. alcando was connected, as i have told you, with a brazilian railroad. the road depended for its profits on carrying goods across south america. once the canal was established goods could be transported much more cheaply and quickly by the water route. the railroad owners knew this and saw ruin ahead of them if the canal were to be successful. consequently they welcomed every delay, every accident, every slide in culebra cut that would put off the opening of the great waterway. but the time finally came when it was finished, and a success. then one of the largest stockholders of the railroad, an unprincipled man, planned a plot. at first his fellow stockholders would not agree to it, but he persuaded them, painting the ruin of their railroad, and saying only slight damage would be done to the canal. his plan was to make a slight explosion, or two or more of them, near culebra cut or at the great dam. this, he anticipated, would cause shippers to regard the canal with fear, and refuse to send their goods through it. in that way the railroad would still hold its trade. alcando was picked for the work. he did not want to undertake it, but he was promised a large sum, and threats were made against him, for the originator of the plot had a certain hold over him. "but i was to throw the blame on innocent parties if i could," the spaniard went on, in his confession. "also i was to select a means of causing the explosion that would not easily be detected. i selected moving pictures as the simplest means. i knew that some were to be made of the canal for government use, and i thought if i got in with the moving picture operators i would have a good chance, and good excuse, for approaching the dam without being suspected. after i had accomplished what i set out to do i could, i thought, let suspicion rest on the camera men. "so i laid my plans. i learned that mr. hadley's firm had received the contract to make the views, and, by inquiries, through spies, i learned who their principal operators were. it was then i came to you boys," he said. "ashamed as i am to confess it, it was my plan to have the blame fall on you." blake and joe gasped. "but when you saved my life at the broken bridge that time, of course i would not dream of such a dastardly trick," the spaniard resumed. "i had to make other plans. i tried to get out of it altogether, but that man would not let me. so i decided to sacrifice myself. i would myself blow up the dam, or, rather, make a little explosion that would scare prospective shippers. i did not care what became of me as long as i did not implicate you. i could not do that. "so i changed my plans. confederates supplied the dynamite, and i got this clock-work, in the brass-bound box, to set it off by means of electrical wires. i planned to be far away when it happened, but i would have left a written confession that would have put the blame where it belonged. "i kept the battery box connections and clockwork inside the small camera i carried. tonight all was in readiness. the dynamite was planted, and i set the mechanism. but something went wrong with it. there was too much of a delay. i came back to change the timer. i broke the string connections you made, and--i was caught by the camera. the news had, somehow, leaked out, and i was caught. well, perhaps it is better so," and he shrugged his shoulders with seeming indifference. "but please believe me when i say that no harm would have come to you boys," he went on earnestly, "nor would the dam have been greatly damaged. "it was all a terrible plot in which i became involved, not all through my own fault," went on the spaniard, dramatically. "as soon as i met you boys, after you had saved my life, i repented of my part, but i could not withdraw. the plans of this scoundrel --yes, i must call him so, though perhaps i am as great--his plans called for finding out something about the big guns that protect the canal. only i was not able to do that, though he ordered me to in a letter i think you saw." blake nodded. he and joe were beginning to understand many strange things. "one of the secret agents brought me the box containing the mechanism that was to set off the dynamite," the spaniard resumed. "you nearly caught him," he added, and blake recalled the episode of the cigar smoke. "i had secret conferences with the men engaged with me in the plot," the conspirator confessed. "at times i talked freely about dynamiting the dam, in order to throw off the suspicions i saw you entertained regarding me. but i must explain one thing. the collision, in which the tug was sunk, had nothing to do with the plot. that was a simple accident, though i did know the captain of that unlucky steamer. "finally, after i had absented myself from here several times, to see that all the details of the plot were arranged, i received a letter telling me the dynamite had been placed, and that, after i had set it off, i had better flee to europe." blake had accidentally seen that letter. "i received instructions, the time we were starting off on the tug," went on alcando, "that the original plot was to be changed, and that a big charge of dynamite was to be used instead of a small one. "but i refused to agree to it," he declared. "i felt that, in spite of what i might do to implicate myself, you boys would be blamed, and i could not have that if the canal were to suffer great damage. i would have done anything to protect you, after what you did in saving my worthless life," he said bitterly. "so i would not agree to all the plans of that scoundrel, though he urged me most hotly. "but it is all over, now!" he exclaimed with a tragic gesture. "i am caught, and it serves me right. only i can be blamed. my good friends, you will not be," and he smiled at blake and joe. "i am glad all the suspense is at an end. i deserve my punishment. i did not know the plot had been discovered, and that the stage was set to make so brilliant a capture of me. but i am glad you boys had the honor. "but please believe me in one thing. i really did want to learn how to take moving pictures, though it was to be a blind as to my real purpose. and, as i say, the railroad company did not want to really destroy the dam. after we had put the canal out of business long enough for us to have amassed a fortune we would have been content to see it operated. we simply wanted to destroy public confidence in it for a time." "the worst kind of destruction," murmured captain wiltsey. "take him away, and guard him well," he ordered the soldiers. "we will look further into this plot to-morrow." but when to-morrow came there was no mr. alcando. he had managed to escape in the night from his frail prison, and whither he had gone no one knew. but that he had spoken the truth was evident. a further investigation showed that it would have been impossible to have seriously damaged the dam by the amount of dynamite hidden. but, as captain wiltsey said, the destruction of public confidence would have been a serious matter. "and so it was alcando, all along," observed blake, a few days later, following an unsuccessful search for the spaniard. "yes, our suspicions of him were justified," remarked blake. "it's a lucky thing for us that we did save his life, mean as he was. it wouldn't have been any joke to be suspected of trying to blow up the dam." "no, indeed," agreed blake. "and suspicion might easily have fallen on us. it was a clever trick. once we had the government permission to go all over with our cameras, and alcando, as a pupil, could go with us, he could have done almost anything he wanted. but the plot failed." "lucky it did," remarked joe. "i guess they'll get after that railroad man next." but the stockholder who was instrumental in forming the plot, like alcando, disappeared. that they did not suffer for their parts in the affair, as they should have, was rumored later, when both of them were seen in a european capital, well supplied with money. how they got it no one knew. the brazilian railroad, however, repudiated the attempt to damage the canal, even apparently, laying all the blame on the two men who had disappeared. but from then on more stringent regulations were adopted about admitting strangers to vital parts of the canal. "but we're through," commented blake one day, when he and joe had filmed the last views of the big waterway. "that alcando was a 'slick' one, though." "indeed he was," agreed joe. "the idea of calling that a new alarm clock!" and he looked at the brass-bound box. inside was a most complicated electrical timing apparatus, for setting off charges of explosive. it could be adjusted to cause the detonation at any set minute, giving the plotter time to be a long way from the scene. and, only because of a slight defect, alcando would have been far from the scene when the little explosion occurred at gatun dam. once more the great canal was open to traffic. the last of the slide in culebra cut had been taken out, and boats could pass freely. "let's make a trip through now, just for fun," suggested blake to joe one day, when they had packed up their cameras. permission was readily granted them to make a pleasure trip through to panama, and it was greatly enjoyed by both of them. "just think!" exclaimed blake, as they sat under an awning on the deck of their boat, and looked at the blue water, "not a thing to do." "until the next time," suggested joe. "that's right--we never do seem to be idle long," agreed blake. "i wonder what the 'next time' will be?" and what it was, and what adventures followed you may learn by reading the next volume of this series, to be called "the moving picture boys under the sea; or, the treasure on the lost ship." "here you go, blake!" cried joe, a few days later. "letter for you!" "thanks. get any yourself?" "yes, one." "huh! how many do you want?" asked blake, as he began reading his epistle. "well, i'll soon be back," he added in a low voice, as he finished. "back where?" asked joe. "to new york." and so, with these pleasant thoughts, we will take leave of the moving picture boys. the end heel by philip jose farmer _great cast! stupendous show! if this didn't make history, nothing ever would!_ [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from worlds of if science fiction, may . extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] "call me zeus," said the director. "zeus?" said his wife, a beautiful woman not over a thousand years old. "what an egomaniac! comparing yourself to a god, even if he is the god of those--those savages!" she gestured at the huge screen on the wall. it showed, far below, the blue sea, the black ships on the yellow beach, the purple tents of the greek army, the broad brown plain, and the white towers of troy. the director glared at her through hexagonal dark glasses and puffed on his cigar until angry green clouds rolled from it. his round bald head was covered by a cerise beret, his porpoise frame by a canary yellow tunic, and his chubby legs by iridescent green fourpluses. "i may not look like a god, but as far as my power over the natives of this planet goes, i could well be their deity," he replied. he spoke sharply to a tall handsome blond youth who wore a crooked smile and bright blue and yellow tattoo spiraling around his legs and trunk. "apollo, hand me the script!" "surely you're not going to change the script again?" said his wife. she rose from her chair, and the scarlet web she was wearing translated the shifting micro-voltages on the surface of her skin into musical tones. "i never change the script," said the director. "i just make the slight revisions required for dramatic effects." "i don't care what you do to it, just so you don't allow the trojans to win. i hate those despicable brutes." apollo laughed loudly, and he said, "ever since she and athena and aphrodite thought of that goofy stunt of asking paris to choose the most beautiful of the three, and he gave the prize to aphrodite, hera's hated the trojans. really, hera, why blame those simple, likable people for the actions of only one of them? i think paris showed excellent judgment. aphrodite was so grateful she contrived to get that lovely helen for paris and--" "enough of this private feud," snapped the director. "apollo, i told you once to hand me the script." * * * * * achilles at midnight paced back and forth before his tent. finally, in the agony of his spirit, he called to thetis. the radio which had been installed in his shield, unknown to him, transmitted his voice to a cabin in the great spaceship hanging over the trojan plain. thetis, hearing it, said to apollo, "get out of my cabin, you heel, or i'll have you thrown out." "leave?" he said. "why? so you can be with your barbarian lover?" "he is not my lover," she said angrily. "but i'd take even a barbarian as a lover before i'd have anything to do with you. now, get out. and don't speak to me again unless it's in the line of business." "any time i speak to you, i mean business," he said, grinning. "get out or i'll tell my father!" "i hear and obey. but i'll have you, one way or another." thetis shoved him out. then she quickly put on the suit that could bend light around her to make her invisible and transport her through the air and do many other things. out of a port she shot, straight toward the tent of her protégé. she did not decelerate until she saw him standing tall in the moonlight, his hands still raised in entreaty. she landed and cut the power off so he could see her. "mother, mother!" cried achilles. "how long must i put up with agamemnon's high-handedness?" thetis took him by the hand and led him into the tent. "is patroclos around?" she asked. "no, he is having some fun with iphis, that buxom beauty i gave him after i conquered the city of scyros." "there's a sensible fellow," said thetis. "why don't you forget this fuss with king agamemnon and have fun with some rosy-cheeked darling?" but a painful expression crossed her face as she said it. achilles did not notice the look. "i am too sick with humiliation and disgust to take pleasure in anything. i am full up to here with being a lion in the fighting and yet having to give that jackal agamemnon the lion's share of the loot, just because he has been chosen to be our leader. am i not a king in thessaly? i wish--i wish--" "yes?" said thetis eagerly. "do you want to go home?" "i _should_ go home. then the greeks would wish they'd not allowed agamemnon to insult the best man among them." "oh, achilles, say the word and i'll have you across the sea and in your palace in an hour!" she said excitedly. she was thinking, _the director will be furious if achilles disappears, but he won't be able to do anything about it. and the script can be revised. hector or odysseus or paris can play the lead role._ * * * * * "no," achilles said. "i can't leave my men here. they'd say i had run out on them, that i was a coward. and the greeks would call me a yellow dog. no, i'll allow no man to say that." thetis sighed and answered sadly, "very well. what do you want me to do?" "go ask zeus if he will give agamemnon so much trouble he'll come crawling to me, begging for forgiveness and pleading for my help." thetis had to smile. the enormous egotism of the beautiful brute! taking it for granted that the lord of creation would bend the course of events so achilles could salvage his pride. yet, she told herself, she need not be surprised. he had taken it calmly enough the night she'd appeared to him and told him that she was a goddess and his true mother. he had always been convinced divine blood ran in his veins. was he not superior to all men? was he not achilles? "i will go to zeus," she said. "but what he will do, only he knows." she reached up and pulled his head down to kiss him on the forehead. she did not trust herself to touch the lips of this man who was far more a man than those he supposed to be gods. the lips she longed for ... the lips soon to grow cold. she could not bear to think of it. she flicked the switch to make her invisible and, after leaving the tent, rose toward the ship. as always, it hung at four thousand feet above the plain, hidden in the inflated plastic folds that simulated a cloud. to the greeks and trojans the cloud was the home of zeus, anchored there so he could keep a close eye on the struggle below. it was he who would decide whether the walls of troy would stand or fall. it was to him that both sides prayed. * * * * * the director was drinking a highball in his office and working out the details of tomorrow's shooting with his cameramen. "we'll give that greek diomedes a real break, make him the big hero. get a lot of close-ups. he has a superb profile and a sort of flair about him. it's all in the script, what aristocrats he kills, how many narrow escapes, and so on. but about noon, just before lunch, we'll wound him. not too badly, just enough to put him out of action. then we'll see if we can whip up a big tearjerker between that trojan and his wife--what's her name?" he looked around as if he expected them to feed him the answer. but they were silent; it was not wise to know more than he. he snapped his fingers. "andromache! that's it!" "what a memory! how do you keep all those barbaric names at your tongue's tip? photographic!" and so on from the suckophants. "o.k. so after diomedes leaves the scene, you, apollo, will put on a simulacrum of helenos, the trojan prophet. as helenos, you'll induce hector to go back to troy and get his mother, the queen, to pray for victory. we can get some colorful shots of the temple and the local religious rites. meantime, we'll set up a touching domestic scene between hector and his wife. bring in their baby boy. a baby's always good for ohs and ahs. later, after coffee break, we'll...." apollo drifted through the crowd toward the director's wife. she was sitting on a chair and moodily drinking. however, seeing apollo, she smiled with green-painted lips and said, "do sit down, darling. you needn't worry about my husband being angry because you're paying attention to me. he's too busy shining down on his little satellites to notice you." apollo seated himself in a chair facing her and moved forward so their knees touched. "what do you want now?" she said. "you only get lovey-dovey when you're trying to get something out of me." "you know i love only you, hera," he said, grinning. "but i can't meet you as often as i'd like. old thunder-and-lightning is too suspicious. and i value my job too much to risk it, despite my overwhelming passion for you." "get to the point." "we're way over our budget and past our deadline. the shooting should have been finished six months ago. yet old fussybritches keeps on revising the script and adding scene after scene. and that's not all. we're not going home when troy does fall. the director is planning to make a sequel. i know because he asked me to outline the script for it. he's got the male lead picked out. foxy grandpa odysseus." * * * * * hera sat upright so violently she sloshed her drink over the edge of her glass. "why, my brother means to kill odysseus at the first opportunity! my brother is mad, absolutely mad about athena, but he can't get to first base with her. she's got eyes only for odysseus, though how she could take up with one of those stupid primitives, i'll never understand." "athena claims he has an intelligence equal to any of us," said apollo. "however, it's not her but thetis i meant to discuss." "is my stepdaughter interfering again?" "i think so. just before this conference i saw her coming out of the director's room, tears streaming from her big cow eyes. i imagine she was begging him again to spare achilles. or at least to allow the trojans to win for a while so agamemnon will give back to achilles the girl he took from him, that tasty little dish, briseis." "you ought to know how tasty she is," said hera bitterly. "i happen to know you drugged achilles several nights in a row and then put on his simulacrum." "a handy little invention, that simulacrum," said apollo. "put one on and you can look like anybody you want to look like. your jealousy is showing, hera. however, that's not the point. if thetis keeps playing on her father's sympathies like an old flute, this production will last forever. frankly, i'd like to shake the dust of this crummy planet from my feet, get back to civilization before it forgets what a great script writer i am." "what do you propose?" "i propose to hurry things up. eventually, achilles is supposed to quit sulking and take up arms again. so far, the director has been indefinite on how we'll get him to do that. well, we'll help him without his knowing it. we'll fix it so the trojans will beat the greeks even worse than the director intends. hector will almost run them back into the sea. agamemnon will beg achilles to get back into the ring. he'll give him back the loot he took from him, including briseis. and he'll offer his own daughter in marriage to achilles. "achilles will refuse. but we'll have him all set up for the next move. tonight a technician will implant a post-hypnotic suggestion in achilles that he send his buddy patroclos, dressed in achilles' armor, out to scare the kilts off the trojans. we'll generate a panic among the trojans with a subsonic projector. then we'll arrange it so hector kills patroclos. that is the one thing to make achilles so fighting mad he'll quit sulking...." "patroclos? but the director wants to save him for the big scene when achilles is knocked off. patroclos is supposed to put achilles' armor on, storm the scaian gate, and lead the greeks right into the city." "accidents will happen," said apollo. "despite what the barbarians think, we are not gods. or are we? what do you say to my plan?" "if the director finds out we've tampered with the script, he'll divorce me. and you'll be blackballed in every studio from one end of the galaxy to the other." apollo winked and said, "i'll leave it to you to make old stupe think patroclos' death was his own idea. you have done something like that before, and more than once." she laughed and said, "oh, apollo, you're such a heel." he rose. "not a heel. just a great script writer. our plan will give me a chance to kill achilles much sooner than the director expects. and it'll all be for the good of the script." * * * * * that night two technicians went into the greek camp, one to achilles' tent and one to agamemnon's. the technician assigned to the king of mycenae gave him a whiff of sleep gas and then taped two electrodes to the royal forehead. it took him a minute to play a recording and two to untape the electrodes and leave. five minutes later, the king awoke, shouting that zeus had sent him a dream in the shape of wise old nestor. nestor had told him to rouse the camp and march forth even if it were only dawn, for today troy would fall and his brother menelaos would get back his wife helen. agamemnon, though, who had always been too clever for his own good, told the council of elders that he wanted to test his army before telling them the truth. he would announce that he was tired of this war they could not win and that he wanted to go home. this news would separate the slackers from the soldiers, his true friends from the false. unfortunately, when he told this to the assemblage, he found far less men of valor than he had expected. the entire army, with a few exceptions, gave a big hurrah and stampeded toward the ships. they had had a bellyful of this silly war, fighting to win back the beautiful tart helen for the king's brother, spilling their guts all over foreign plains while their wives were undoubtedly playing them false with the -fs, the fields were growing weeds, and their children were starving. in vain, agamemnon tried to stop the rush. he even shouted at them what they had only guessed before, that more was at stake than his brother's runaway wife. if troy was crushed, the greeks would own the trading and colonizing routes to the rich black sea area. but no one paid any attention to him. they were too concerned with knocking each other over in their haste to get the ships ready to sail. at this time, the only people from the spaceship on the scene were some cameramen and technicians. they were paralyzed by the unexpectedness of the situation, and they were afraid to use their emotion-stimulating projectors. by the flick of a few switches the panic could be turned into aggression. but it would have been aggression without a leader. the greeks, instead of automatically turning to fight the trojans, would have killed each other, sure that their fellows were trying to stop them from embarking for home. the technicians did not dare to waken the director and acknowledge they could not handle a simple mob scene. but one of them did put a call through to one of the director's daughters, athena. athena zipped down to odysseus and found him standing to one side, looking glum. he had not panicked, but he also was not interfering. poor fellow, he longed to go home to penelope. in the beginning of this useless war, he had pretended madness to get out of being drafted. but, once he had sworn loyalty to the king, he would not abandon him. athena flicked off her light-bender so he could see her. she shouted, "odysseus, don't just stand there like a lump on a bog! do something or all will be lost--the war, the honor of the greeks, the riches you will get from the loot of troy! get going!" odysseus, never at a loss, tore the wand of authority from the king's numbed hand and began to run through the crowd. everybody he met he reproached with cowardice, and backed the sting of his words with the hard end of the wand on their backs. athena signaled to the technicians to project an aggression-stimulating frequency. now that the greeks had a leader to channel their courage, they could be diverted back to fighting. there was only one obstacle, thersites. he was a lame hunchback with the face of a baboon and a disposition to match. thersites cried out in a hoarse, jeering voice, "agamemnon, don't you have enough loot? do you still want us to die so you may gather more gold and beautiful trojan women in your greedy arms? you greeks, you're not men. you're women who will do anything this disgrace to a crown tells you to do. look what he did to achilles. robbed him of briseis and in so doing robbed us of the best warrior we have. if i were achilles, i'd knock agamemnon's head off." "we've put up with your outrageous abuse long enough!" shouted odysseus. he began thwacking thersites on the head and the back until blood ran. "shut up or i'll kill you!" at this the whole army, which hated thersites, roared with laughter. odysseus had relieved the tension; now they were ready to march under agamemnon's orders. athena sighed with relief and radioed back to the ship that the director could be awakened. things were well in hand. * * * * * and so they were--until a few days later when apollo and hera, waiting until the director had gone to bed early with a hangover from the night before, induced hector to make a night attack. the fighting went on all night, and at dawn patroclos ran into achilles' tent. "terrible news!" he cried. "the trojans have breached the walls around our ships and are burning them! diomedes, agamemnon, and odysseus are wounded. if you do not lead your men against hector, all is lost!" "too bad," said achilles. but the blood drained from his face. "don't be so hardhearted!" shouted patroclos. "if you won't fight, at least allow me to lead the myrmidons against the enemy. perhaps we can save the ships and drive hector off!" achilles shouted back, "very well! you know i give you, my best friend, anything you want. but i will not for all the gold in the world serve under a king who robs me of prizes i took with my own sword. however, i will give you my armor, and my men will march behind you!" then, sobbing with rage and frustration, he helped patroclos dress in his armor. "do you see this little lever in the back of the shield?" he said. "when an enemy strikes at you, flick it this way. the air in front of you will become hard, and your foe's weapon will bounce off the air. then, before he recovers from his confusion, flick the lever the other way. the air will soften and allow your spear to pass. and the spearpoint will shear through his armor as if it were cheese left in the hot sun. it is made of some substance harder than the hardest bronze made by the hand of man." "so this is the magic armor your divine mother, thetis, gave you," said patroclos. "no wonder--" "even without this magic--or force field, as thetis calls it--i am the best man among greek or trojan," said achilles matter-of-factly. "there! now you are almost as magnificent as i am. go forth in my armor, patroclos, and run the trojans ragged. i will pray to zeus that you come back safely. there is one thing you must not do, though, no matter how strong the temptation--do not chase the trojans too close to the city, even if you are on the heels of hector himself. thetis has told me that zeus does not want troy to fall yet. if you were to threaten it now, the gods would strike you down." "i will remember," said patroclos. he got into achilles' chariot and drove off proudly to take his place in front of the myrmidons. * * * * * the director was so red in the face, he looked as if his head were one huge blood vessel. "how in space did the trojans get so far?" he screamed. "and what is patroclos doing in achilles' armor? there's rank inefficiency here or else skullduggery! either one, heads will roll! and i think i know whose! apollo! hera! what have you two been up to?" "why, husband," said hera, "how can you say i had anything to do with this? you know how i hate the trojans. as for apollo, he thinks too much of his job to go against the script." "all right, we'll see. we'll get to the bottom of this later. meanwhile, let's direct the situation so it'll end up conforming to the script." but before the cameramen and technicians could be organized, patroclos, leading the newly inspired greeks, slaughtered the trojans as a lion kills sheep. he could not be stopped, and when he saw hector running away from him, he forgot his friend's warning and pursued him to the walls of troy. "follow me!" yelled patroclos to the greeks. "we will break down the gates and take the city within an hour!" * * * * * it was then apollo projected fury into hector so that he turned to battle the man he thought was achilles. and apollo, timing to coincide with the instant that patroclos flicked off his force field, struck him a stunning blow from behind. at the same time a spear thrown by a trojan wounded patroclos in the back. dazed, hurt, the greek started back toward his men. but hector ran up and stabbed him through the belly, finding no resistance to his spear because patroclos had not turned the force field back on. patroclos hit the ground with a crash of armor. "no, no, you fool, apollo!" shouted the director into the radio. "he must not die! we need him later for the script. you utter fool, you've bumbled!" thetis, who had been standing behind the director, burst into tears and ran into her cabin. "what's the matter with her?" asked the director. "you may as well know, darling," said hera, "that your daughter is in love with a barbarian." "thetis? in love with patroclos? impossible!" hera laughed and said, "ask her how she feels about the planned death of achilles. that is whom she is weeping for, not patroclos. she foresees achilles' death in his friend's. and i imagine she will go to comfort her lover, knowing his grief when he hears that patroclos is dead." "that's ridiculous! if she's in love with achilles, why would she tell achilles she is his mother?" "for the very reason she loves him but doesn't want him to know. she at least has sense enough to realize no good could come from a match with one of those earth primitives. so she stopped any passes from him with that maternal bit. if there is one thing the greeks respect, it is the incest taboo." "i'll have him knocked off as soon as possible. thetis might lose her head and tell him the truth. poor little girl, she's been away from civilization too long. we'll have to wind up this picture and get back to god's planet." hera watched him go after thetis and then switched to a private channel. "apollo, the director is very angry with you. but i've thought of a way to smooth his feathers. we'll tell him that killing patroclos was the only way to get achilles back into the fight. he'll like that. achilles can then be slain, and the picture will still be saved. also, i'll make him think it was his idea." "that's great," replied apollo, his voice shaky with dread of the director. "but what can we do to speed up the shooting? patroclos was supposed to take the city after achilles was killed." "don't worry," said athena, who had been standing behind hera. "odysseus is your man. he's been working on a device to get into the city. barbarian or not, that fellow is the smartest i've ever met. too bad he's an earthman." * * * * * during the next twenty-four hours, thetis wept much. but she was also very busy, working while she cried. she went to hephaistos, the chief technician, an old man of five thousand years. he loved thetis because she had intervened for hephaistos more than once when her father had been angry with him. yet he shook his head when she asked him if he could make achilles another suit of armor, even more invulnerable than the first. "not enough time. achilles is to be killed tomorrow." "no. my father has cooled off a little. he remembered that the script calls for achilles to kill hector before he himself dies. besides, the government anthropologist wants to take films of the funeral games for patroclos. and he overrules even father, you know." "that'll give me a week," said hephaistos, figuring on his fingers. "i can do it. but tell me, child, why all the tears? is it true what they say, that you love a barbarian, that magnificent red-haired achilles?" "i love him," she said, weeping again. "ah, child, you are a mere hundred years or so. when you reach my age, you'll know that there are few things worth tears, and love between man and woman is not one of them. however, i'll make the armor. and its field of force will cover everything around him except an opening to the outside air. otherwise, he'd suffocate. but what good will all this do? the director will find some means of killing him. and even if achilles should escape, you'd be no better off." "i will," she said. "we'll go to italy--and i'll give him perpetuol." thetis went to her cabin. shortly afterward, the doorbell rang. she opened the door and saw apollo. smiling, he said, "i have something here you might be interested in hearing." he held in his hand a small cartridge. seeing it, her eyes widened in surprise. "yes, it's a recording," he said, and he pushed past her into the room. "let me put it in your playback." "you don't have to," she replied. "i presume you had a microphone planted in hephaistos' cabin?" "correct. won't your father be angry if somebody sends him a note telling him you're planning to ruin the script by running off to italy with a barbarian? and not only that but inject perpetuol into the barbarian to increase his life span? personally, if i were your father, i'd let you do it. you'd soon grow sick of your handsome but uncouth booby." thetis did not answer. "i really don't care," he said. "in fact, i'll help you. i can arrange it so the arrow that hits achilles' heel will be a trick one. its head will just seem to sink into his flesh. inside it will be a needle that will inject a cataleptic agent. achilles will seem to be dead but will actually be in a state of suspended animation. we'll sneak his body at night from the funeral pyre and substitute a corpse. a bio-tech who owes me a favor will fix up the face of a dead trojan or greek to look like achilles'. when this epic is done and we're ready to leave earth, you can run away. we'll not miss you until we're light-years away." "and what do you want in return for arranging all this? my thanks?" "i want you." thetis flinched. for a moment she stood with her eyes closed and her hands clenched. then, opening her eyes, she said, "all right. i know that is the only way open for me. it's also the only way you could have devised to have me. but i want to tell you that i loathe and despise you. and i'll be hating every atom of your flesh while you're in possession of mine." he chuckled and said, "i know it. but your hate will only make me relish you the more. it'll be the sauce on the salad." "oh, you heel!" she said in a trembling voice. "you dirty, sneaking, miserable, slimy heel!" "agreed." he picked up a bottle and poured two drinks. "shall we toast to that?" * * * * * hector's death happened, as planned, and the tear-jerking scene in which his father, king priam, came to beg his son's body from achilles. four days later, achilles led the attack on the scaian gate. it was arranged that paris should be standing on the wall above the gate. apollo, invisible behind him, would shoot the arrow that would strike achilles' foot if paris' arrow bounced off the force field. apollo spoke to thetis, who was standing beside him. "you seem very nervous. don't worry. you'll see your lovely warrior in italy in a few weeks. and you can explain to him that you aren't his mother, that you had to tell him that to protect him from the god apollo's jealousy. but now that zeus has raised him from the dead, you have been given to him as a special favor. and all will end happily. that is, until living with him will become so unbearable you'd give a thousand years off your life to leave this planet. then, of course, it'll be too late. there won't be another ship along for several millennia." "shut up," she said. "i know what i'm doing." "so do i," he said. "ah, here comes the great hero achilles, chasing a poor trojan whom he plans to slaughter. we'll see about that." he lifted the airgun in whose barrel lay the long dart with the trick head. he took careful aim, saying, "i'll wait until he goes to throw his spear. his force field will be off.... now!" thetis gave a strangled cry. achilles, the arrow sticking from the tendon just above the heel, had toppled backward from the chariot onto the plain, where dust settled on his shining armor. he lay motionless. "oh, that was an awful fall," she moaned. "perhaps he broke his neck. i'd better go down there and see if he's all right." "don't bother," said apollo. "he's dead." thetis looked at him with wide brown eyes set in a gray face. "i put poison on the needle," said apollo, smiling crookedly at her. "that was my idea, but your father approved of it. he said i'd redeemed my blunder in killing patroclos by telling him what you planned. of course, i didn't inform him of the means you took to insure that i would carry out my bargain with you. i was afraid your father would have been very shocked to hear of your immoral behavior." thetis choked out, "you unspeakable ... vicious ... vicious ... you ... you...." "dry your pretty tears," said apollo. "it's all for your own good. and for achilles', too. the story of his brief but glorious life will be a legend among his people. and out in the galaxy the movie based on his career will become the most stupendous epic ever seen." * * * * * apollo was right. four thousand years later, it was still a tremendous box-office attraction. there was talk that now that earth was civilized enough to have space travel, it might even be shown there. breaking into the movies [illustration: casting the picture this is a typical scene in a casting director's office. mr. emerson and miss loos, with their stenographer, are studying the faces of the applicants. when a type exactly suited to the story is found, she is sent direct to the studio to begin work.] breaking into the movies _by_ john emerson _and_ anita loos _authors of "how to write photoplays"_ _illustrated_ [illustration] philadelphia george w. jacobs & company publishers copyright, , by the james a. mccann company all rights reserved printed in the u. s. a. contents chapter page i introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ii what the jobs are . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . iii acting for the screen . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . iv would you film well? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . v make-up . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . vi how to dress for a picture . . . . . . . . . . . . vii movie manners . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . viii reading your part . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ix inside the brain of a movie star . . . . . . . . . x salaries in the movies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xi scenarios . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xii how others have done it . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xiii amateur movie making . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . introductory note to part ii . . . . . . . . . . . red hot romance . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . illustrations casting the picture frontispiece facing page rouging the lips for the camera . . . . . . . . . . . making up the eyes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . glueing on a crÊpe mustache . . . . . . . . . . . . . rehearsing the company . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . testing make-up and expression . . . . . . . . . . . . making a "close-up" . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . breaking into the movies breaking into the movies chapter i introduction were the average man suddenly called upon to assemble all the women in his town who looked like mary pickford, he might find himself at a loss as to how to commence. in fact, he might even doubt that there were sufficient persons answering this description to warrant such a campaign. we know a way to get them all together on twenty-four hours' notice. just insert a small advertisement in the local newspaper, reading: "wanted for the movies--a girl who looks like mary pickford--apply at such-and-such a studio to-morrow morning." we guarantee that not only will every woman who looks like mary pickford be on the spot at sunrise, but that a large preponderance of the entire female population will drop in during the morning. for it is a puzzling but indisputable fact that everybody wants to break into the movies. the curious part of it all is that the movies really need these people. on the one hand are countless men and women besieging the studio doors in the hope of starting a career in any one of a thousand capacities, from actress to scenario writer, from director to cameraman. there are people with plots, people with inventions, people with new ideas of every conceivable variety, all clamoring for admission. and, on the other hand, there are the men who manage the movies sending out all manner of exhortations, appeals and supplications to just such people to come and work in their studios. they drown each other's voices, the one calling for new talent and new types, the many for a chance to demonstrate that they are just the talent and types that are so in demand. this economic paradox, this passing in the night of demand and supply, has come about through a general misconception of everything concerned with the movies. the first to be in the wrong were the producers. they built up an industry which, in its early days, was vitally dependent upon individual personalities. a picture, according to their views, was made or unmade by a single star or director or writer, and very naturally they were loath to entrust the fate of a hundred thousand dollar investment to untried hands. while on the one hand they realized the pressing need for new blood in their industry, they were, nevertheless, very wary of being the first to welcome the newcomer. producers preferred to pay twenty times the price to experienced professionals, no matter how mediocre their work might have been in the past, than to take a chance on a promising beginner. the business side of the movies, has, in the past, been nothing more nor less than a tremendous gamble wherein the men who had staked their fortunes on a single photoplay walked about in fear of their very shadows--desiring new ideas, yet afraid to risk testing them, calling for new artists yet fearing to give them the opportunity to break in. the very nature of the industry was responsible for this situation and, to a large extent, it is a condition which still prevails in a majority of the smaller studios. the greatest obstacle which every beginner must surmount is the one which first confronts him--the privilege of doing his first picture--the first chance. the larger companies, however, in the last year or so have awakened to the fact that by excluding beginners they have themselves raised the cost of motion picture production many times. they have found themselves with a very limited number of stars and directors and writers and technical men to choose from, all of whom, for this very reason, could demand enormous salaries. one by one these companies are instituting various systems for the encouragement of embryo talent. now, if ever, is the time to break into the movies. but much more to blame for the general mix-up in the movies are the beginners themselves. in the majority of cases they state in loud, penetrating accents that they desire to break into the movies, here and now; but when questioned as to the exact capacity in which they desire to accomplish this ambition, they appear to be a bit hazy. anything with a large salary and short hours will do, they say. the organization of the business and the sordid details connected with the various highly specialized jobs in the studios concern them not at all. they let it go with an unqualified statement that they want to break in the worst way--and generally they do. now making movies is not child's play. it is a profession--or rather a combination of professions--which takes time and thought and study. true, there are fortunes to be made for those who will seriously enter this field and study their work as they would study for any other profession. but unfortunately, most of those who head towards the cinema studios do not take time to learn the facts about the industry. they do not look over the multitude of different highly specialized positions which the movies offer and ask themselves for which one they are best suited. they just plunge in, so intent upon making money at the moment that they give no thought at all to the future. therefore, in writing this series, we shall start with an old saw--a warning to amateurs to look before they leap. no industry in the world presents so many angles, varying from technical work in the studio, to the complexities of high finance. if you really wish to break into the movies, go to the studios and see for yourself what you are fitted for. perhaps you think you are an actor, and are really a first rate scenarioist. perhaps you have an ambition to plan scenery, and instead find that your forte lies in the business office. men who started as cameramen are now directors. men who started as directors have ended as highly successful advertising managers. so there you are. you pay your money--and--if you are wise--you take your choice. chapter ii what the jobs are most people seem to think there are concerned in the making of motion pictures just four classes of people--actors, scenario writers, directors and cameramen. it all seems very simple. the scenario writer sits down in the morning and works out a scene; he wakes up the director, who packs some actors and a cameraman in an automobile, together with a picnic lunch, and goes out to make the picture on some lovely hillside. then, having finished the photoplay, they take it around to your local theater and exhibit it at twenty-five cents a seat. as a matter of fact, the movies, now the fifth national industry in the united states, has as many phases, and as many complexities as any other industry in the world. broadly speaking, the movies are made up of alliances between producing companies and distributing companies. for example, the constance talmadge corporation produces the photoplays in which miss talmadge is starred, and this company is allied with the first national exhibitors circuit which takes the completed film and sells it to theater managers in every part of the world. the constance talmadge corporation's duty is to make a photoplay and deliver it to the first national exhibitors circuit; the latter company duplicates the film in hundreds of "prints," advertises it, rents it to exhibitors, and sees to the delivery of the film. in the same way, nazimova makes comedies and releases them through the metro corporation, her distributor. the great distributing companies employ the salesmen, advertising experts, business men, and so forth. all the technical work concerned with the making of the picture, however, is in the hands of the producing company, and, since we are engaged in such work ourselves, it is about these posts that we must talk. if we are to take the studio jobs in their natural order, the first to begin work on a picture is, of course, the author. each studio employs a scenario editor who is on the lookout for good magazine stories or plays or original scripts. he himself is not so much a writer as an analyst, who knows what kind of stories his public wants; generally he is an old newspaperman or an ex-magazine editor. having bought the story, he turns it over to a scenarioist--the "continuity writer." this type of specialist is much in demand, since no story can survive a badly constructed scenario. the scenario writer puts the story into picture form exactly as a dramatist may put a novel into play form for the stage. it is the scenarioist or continuity writer who really gives to the story its screen value--hence the very large prices paid for this work when it is well done. next in line is the director, who takes the scenario and sets out to make the picture. there is a shortage of directors at present, and for that reason, salaries are particularly high in this line, but of course, direction is a profession which takes many years of study. in beginning work on his picture, the director first consults the studio manager, who is really the head of the employment office. the studio manager consults with him as to the expenses of the scenery and the length of time to be spent in making the picture and then summons the technical staff. the technical staff of a studio is a rather large assembly. there is the art director, who plans the scenery, the technical man who directs the building, the casting director, who selects the actors, the electrician, who assists in working out the lighting effects, the laboratory superintendent, who must supervise the developing of the film, the cutters, who assemble the completed film, and last, but not least, the cameraman. of course there are hundreds of minor posts--assistant director, assistant cameraman, property man, research experts, location seekers, and so forth. the casting director immediately sends out a call for the "types" demanded in the scenario. if possible, he notifies the actors and actresses personally, but more often he is forced to get in touch with them through the numerous agencies which act as brokers in "types." the actors' equity association is now doing excellent work in supplying actors for pictures at the lowest possible cost to the actor in the way of commissions. presently a large number of actors and actresses appear at the studio and the casting director selects from them the individuals best suited to the coming production. beginners are warned against grafting agents who on any pretense whatever charge more than the legal % commission. they are also warned against signing "exclusion" contracts with any agent, as this frequently compels the actor to pay double commissions. meanwhile the art director has built his scenery, and the picture goes "into production." at the end of some six weeks or two months, the directors turn the completed film over to the assembling and cutting department. as a rule both the director and the scenario writer work with the assembler and cutter, and if they are wise, they insist on doing the cutting themselves, for the success of the picture depends largely upon this important operation of assembly. at the same time, another specialist designs and works out the illustrations on the borders of the written inserts. finally the assembled picture is shown to the studio staff, and if they are satisfied, the negative is forwarded to the distributing company. the studio's work on that picture is ended. from this brief survey, you can see that the avenues for breaking into the movies are almost unlimited. you can be an actor, director, cameraman, scene builder, cutter, titler, scenario writer, or anything else if you will begin at the bottom and learn the game. all of these positions are highly paid and all require a high knowledge of motion picture technique. the important thing is to _start_--to get into the studio, in any capacity. then choose the type of work in which you desire to rise, and learn it. everybody will help you and encourage you if you start this way, instead of trying the more common but less successful method of starting at the top and working down. chapter iii acting for the screen in new york resides a dramatic critic, now on the staff of a great newspaper, who has his own ideas about movie acting. the idea in question is that there is no such thing as movie acting--and the gentleman carries it out by refusing to allow the word "acting" to be printed in any of the notices and reviews in his newspaper. when he wishes to convey the thought that such and such a star acted in such and such a picture he says, "miss so-and-so posed before the camera in the motion picture." now this critic is a good critic, as critics go, but he would be improved physically and mentally by a set of those monkey glands which the medicos are so successfully grafting upon various ossified personalities. anyone who thinks that there is no such thing as motion picture acting is probably still wondering whether the germans will win the war. motion picture acting is a highly developed art, with a technique quite as involved as that of the legitimate stage. the fundamental principle to remember in undertaking screen acting is that the camera demands far greater realism on the part of the actor than the eyes of an audience. an actor in the spoken drama nearly always overplays or underplays his part. if he recited the same lines in the same tone with the same gestures in real life, he would appear to be just a little bit spiffy, as they say in english drinking circles. on the stage it is necessary to overdraw the character in order to convey a realistic impression to the audience; exact naturalism on the stage would appear as unreal as an unrouged face under a spotlight. the camera, however, demands absolute realism. actors must act as naturally and as leisurely as they would in their own homes. their expressions must be no more pronounced than they would be in real life. above all, they must be absolutely unconscious of the existence of the camera. any deviation from this course leads to the most mortifying results on the screen. the face, enlarged many times life size, becomes clearly that of an actor, rather than a real character. the assumed expression of hate or fear which would seem so natural on the stage is merely grotesque in the film. unless the actor is really _thinking_ the things he is trying to portray on the screen, the audience becomes instantly aware that something is wrong. in the same way the camera picks up and accentuates every motion on the part of the actor. an unnecessary gesture is not noticed on the stage. on the screen, enlarged many times, it is instantly noted. the two most important rules to follow, then, in motion picture acting are: act as you would under the same circumstances in real life, and eliminate all movement and gesture which does not bear on the scene. it is better not to move at all than to make a false move. beginners must adjust their walk to the camera. there is no rule for this, however, as every individual's way of standing and walking is different. only through repeated tests can the beginner discover and correct the defects which are sure to appear in his physical pose the first time he acts before a camera. often in making a picture, the director will instruct his cast to "speed up" or "slow down" their scene. sometimes, also, he will alter the tempo of the scene by slowing down or speeding up the rate at which the camera is being cranked. beginners must follow such instructions to the letter, for the timing of a scene is a vitally important part of picture production and a duty which is entirely in the hands of the director. the best way to learn the principles of motion picture acting is to watch the making of as many scenes as possible before attempting to act one. most of the stars of to-day learned their art by watching the efforts of others before the camera. only by constant observation in the studio and, more important, in real life, where the actions and reactions of real people can be noted, can an actor hope to become proficient. chapter iv would you film well? probably the number of people who have not at one time or another wondered in a sneaking sort of way if they wouldn't look pretty well on the screen is limited to the aborigines of africa. and, believe it or not, two of the aborigines themselves applied at our studio for jobs not long ago. they had acted in several travelogue pictures, taken in darkest africa, had traveled as porters with the company to the coast, and had finally become so enamored of the work that they "beat" their way all the way to america, with an english vocabulary limited to about fifty words, twenty-five of which were highly profane. it just goes to show that we are all human. needless to say, both beauty and character are the characteristics in demand in the films, as everywhere else. the curious fact is that faces which in real life possess great beauty or deep character, frequently fail to carry this across to the camera. the chief reason for this lies in the fact that the camera does not accept color values, and at the same time accentuates many defects which are ordinarily imperceptible to the eye. for example, a wonderful type of italian beauty appeared at our studio while we were casting "mama's affair" for constance talmadge. she had never before appeared in motion pictures, and our casting director was quick to seize the opportunity to make a test of her face. when the picture was shown, her extraordinarily fine coloring of course went for nothing, and her beauty was entirely marred by the inexplicable appearance of a fine down over her upper lip and a large mole on her left temple. both the mole and the down had been entirely unnoticed in daylight, but under the fierce mercury lights of the studio and the enlarging lenses they made her face grotesque. at another time we attempted to make a leading man of a famous war hero. this boy had been a college athlete and had subsequently distinguished himself as a bayonet fighter on four battlefields. when his test films were projected, to the astonishment of everyone he appeared as an anæmic, effeminate stripling, whose every gesture aroused the ridicule of the audience. the skin of the face must be entirely smooth and unbroken. the slightest eruption or blemish is visible on the screen, especially in this day when "close-ups" are the vogue. the teeth must be perfect. considerations which do not matter in the slightest degree in facial beauty on the screen are those of coloring and of fineness of the features. the pinker a woman's cheeks may be, the hollower they appear to the camera, for red photographs as black, and a face which is beautiful, but coarse in its outline, frequently photographs quite as well as the beautiful face which is exquisite in every detail. a screen star should be equally beautiful in every expression and from every angle. this is not so true of the stage star, for when she is moving about, speaking and gesticulating, the question of her beauty becomes comparatively unimportant. on the screen, however, important scenes are always taken in "close-ups" wherein the star, whether portraying rage or pain, love or hate, must be equally charming, at the risk of making a permanently bad impression upon her audience. many people who are beautiful when seen in "full face" are most unattractive in profile. in fact, the matter narrows down still further, for quite often those who have a lovely profile are, for some inexplicable reason, gross and unattractive when the face is turned to show three-quarters. a number of the present movie stars have risen to the top despite such impediments by stipulating in all their contracts that they be never shown in close-up in the pose in which they are unattractive. one star in particular never shows the left side of her face for this reason. this, however, is obviously a great handicap. the male types which are most in demand are not those whose appeal is through physical beauty. audiences are sick of large-eyed, romantic heroes, and are demanding a little manly force and character in their heroes. to film well, a man's head should be large, rugged, with the features cut in masses, like a rodin bust. whether he is attempting to play "juveniles," "leads" or "heavies" his face must possess the cardinal requisites of character. deep-set eyes, a strong chin, a jutting forehead, a prominent nose, are all desirable. again, the high cheekbones and long face appear desirable characteristics. william s. hart's success depends largely on these two simple characteristics of facial structure. neither in men nor in women is the hair an essential for screen beauty. wigs and trick arrangements of the hair are a function of the make-up department, and a man or woman with no hair at all could still be made to appear most attractive to the unsophisticated camera. in analyzing your own face, then, ask yourself the following questions: are my eyes large? is my skin fine and well kept? is my mouth small and are my teeth good? is my nose straight? has my face character, something which makes it not only beautiful, but which portrays the underlying personality? if you can answer these questions in the affirmative you may have a career before you in the motion pictures. if you cannot answer any of them but the last in the affirmative, you may still be successful as a movie actor, for "types"--whether of gunmen or millionaires, villains or saints--are much in demand. one man has made himself a small fortune by playing parts in which a particularly villainous expression were required--such as dope fiends. another chap, in the western studios, has made a good living for years by acting "stained glass saints," having been equipped by nature with an unusually æsthetic expression. in any case, if you are to essay a career in the movies, remember that your natural characteristics are all that count. tricks of rolling the eyes or puckering the lips or setting the jaw are buncombe and are instantly discovered by the camera. be natural. keep healthy and happy. that, in the movies, as in real life, is the way to charm and beauty. chapter v make-up [illustration: rouging the lips for the camera red photographs black, so particular care must be taken in rouging the lips for movie work. john emerson is helping may collins with her make-up, while anita loos and the director, victor fleming, give suggestions.] although most women use cosmetics in their every-day life, they are lamentably ignorant of the principles of make-up. for example, not one woman in a hundred knows that she should never rouge her face until she has put on her hat, since the shadow and line of the hat changes the whole color and composition of her face. the average man's knowledge of the subject is limited to the use of powder after shaving. and yet thousands of men and women secure work in the mob and ensemble scenes in the movies and find themselves expected to make up for the camera, the most difficult task of all, with no previous instruction whatsoever. no wonder they are discouraged when they see themselves peering out from the crowd scene with a face they hardly recognize themselves. nevertheless, almost all the stars of to-day--norma talmadge, constance talmadge, mary pickford, and dozens of others--have risen from these mob scenes. their faces, even when seen among hundreds of others, attracted instant attention. perhaps it was natural beauty. perhaps, too, they had, by accident or design, solved at the start the great problem which confronts all movie actors, that of finding the correct make-up. movie make-up strives only for a photographic effect and has no relation to street or stage make-up. almost every face contains numerous imperfections which are invisible to the eye, yet which, when enlarged many times on the screen, are very obvious. there are fundamental rules of make-up, but the only way to perfect your technique is by constantly viewing your own "stills" and movies, and changing your make-up to the best advantage. red photographs black, and for this reason rouge is little used in the studios, except for special effects. rouge on the cheeks gives the illusion of dark shadows and makes the face look hollow; it deepens the eyes, and is sometimes used on the eyelids for this reason. light carmen may be used on the lips. to start your make-up you will need cold cream, special yellow film powder, film grease paint, and a soft towel. massage your face with cold cream and then remove it with the towel, so that the surface is absolutely clean. then apply your grease paint with the fingers, and cover every bit of the face from the collar-line to the hair. when you have a smooth, even surface of grease paint, spread special film powder upon it and pat it in lightly with a powder puff. there are a number of shades of grease paint and by changing the grease tint before applying the powder you can darken or lighten your complexion in accordance with your part. before going further, make sure there are no blotches on your make-up's surface and that the grease has left no sheen. [illustration: making up the eyes the eyes are the most expressive of the features and their make-up is correspondingly important. here john emerson and anita loos are helping basil sydney, the noted english actor, to darken his eyes in accordance with movie technique.] the eyes are the most important and expressive features. the make-up which relates to them is all important. first you must ascertain by actual test the correct color with which to line your eyes. almost every color is used, for the effect seems to vary with different faces. black, blue, green, brown and red are all used in varying proportions and mixtures by different actors. naturally, you should try to find the color which makes your eyes look deepest and most luminous. the edge of the upper eyelid is clearly lined. then the shade is worked back toward the eyebrow, getting constantly lighter, until it finally blends with the grease paint of the face. the process is reversed for the lower lid, which is darkest at the edge and grows lighter as you work down. your eyelids should be lined with black cosmetic. do not bead them. this shows clearly in close-ups and looks rather ridiculous. the slapstick comedy people sometimes use beaded eyelids to burlesque the "baby-doll" expression. the corners of the eyes are shadowed with brown or red. it is this shadowing that gives most of the character to the eyes; but at the same time it is apt to age the whole face. for this reason it must be done in conjunction with actual tests. finally, apply light carmen to your lips and make sure you do not overdo it. there are numerous special recipes for producing pallor, scars, bruises, and the like. blackface make-up is done most successfully with charred cork dust mixed with water to produce a heavy paste. tom wilson, the best known player of negro parts in the movies, who played in "the birth of a nation," and more recently in our own special production, "red hot romance," advises amateurs to use this recipe and, further, to high-light the natural lines of their faces by scraping off the cork with a sharp stick, wherever a line is to show, and letting the natural white of the skin appear. high-lighting for most character parts is a special art. such characters as indian faces or the weather-beaten and wrinkled countenance of an old sea captain may be done in brown with white high-lights. you should ask your cameraman to help you with high-lighting, as it is very difficult. there are tricks of make-up which alter the entire character of the face. for example, by shading the outline of the face with red you can make it appear much thinner. in this case the grease paint is slightly reddened--or, if you desire, darkened--near the ear-line. if you desire to make your face rounder and fuller reverse the process and lighten the grease paint at its outer edge. if your eyebrows and hair are dark, you can tinge them gray by rubbing the hair with mascaro and then combing. if they are light, white and black grease paint, applied alternately and then combed, will do the trick. beards and bushy eyebrows are made of crêpe hair and glued on with spirit gum. as a matter of fact, if you are really serious about making a career of movie acting, it is best to grow, so far as possible, the hirsute appendages required in your parts. for an unshaven tramp or a robinson crusoe effect, for example, it is much better to go unshaven for a week or so than to produce a false effect by attempting to imitate the real thing with crêpe hair. [illustration: glueing on a crÊpe hair mustache. john emerson is affixing a villainous mustache to frank stockdale. spirit gum and crêpe hair are used.] finally, lest you be left in the position of the man who starts his first ride on a motorcycle without knowing how to shut the power off, we may add that all this nasty mess of grease paint and powder and gum and hair will come off in an instant when cold cream is applied. it is hard to feel natural in make-up at first; but presently you will forget that you have it on at all. all of the necessary cosmetics may be secured through any drug store or theatrical costumer. if you want to find out how you will look in the movies, it is not necessary to have a film test made. just buy some make-up and have someone take a few "close-ups" of your head with an ordinary camera. but do not retouch the negatives--for movies are not retouched, you know. look for imperfections of every sort in pose and expression. then try to find a make-up which will eradicate them. if you solve your make-up problem before you go to the studio you will be well repaid. among the dozens of flat, uninteresting countenances a well made-up face stands out and attracts the attention of the director at once. chapter vi how to dress for a picture there is only one drawback to the pleasurable life of the movie actor or actress. they draw big salaries; they get their names in the papers and are deluged with "fan" letters to such an extent that special postal departments are installed in their offices; the work is interesting and the hours comparatively short. but, alas, they have to have a lot of clothes. to be sure, the buying of clothes is a most pleasurable experience to all women and to many men. and, forsooth, if they draw big salaries, why cavil about the cost of replenishing a wardrobe every now and again? the fact is, the wardrobes are not replenished every now and again; they are constantly in a state of replenishment, and for that reason the average actor's bank account, no matter how big the salary, is also in constant need of being similarly replenished. for every new scene is apt to require completely new gowns and suits, and, in the case of the actors who play the more important parts, no two suits or gowns can be worn in any two pictures or the fans will be sure to discover it and write uncomplimentary letters to the studio. in the case of the beginner, however, no such expenses need be met if he or she has one complete wardrobe to start with. people playing minor characters must dress for the part at their own expense, but no one notices or cares whether they wear the same clothes with which they recently graced the studio next door. if they play a part requiring a special dress or uniform the management will supply it without charge. it is rather difficult for a newcomer to the movies to know exactly what clothes are required for their wardrobe. therefore we are including the following comments on clothes and styles, as applied to motion picture work: men should have at least three business suits, one of which should be light and one dark. for summer scenes, white flannels, with a blue coat and a soft shirt--_not_ a sport shirt--are required. white duck shoes complete this outfit. tweed suits are the proper thing for wear in the country club scenes and in most pictures calling for scenes on english estates. for dress wear three outfits are necessary. there is the cutaway for afternoon weddings, society teas, and so forth, a tuxedo for club scenes and semi-dress occasions, and finally, full dress for balls and dinners where ladies are in the scene. a dark four-in-hand or bow tie, with a stand-up or wing collar, should be worn with the cutaway, and regulation dress bow ties, black with the dinner coat and white with the dress suit. these clothes are an essential part of a motion picture actor's outfit. the great difficulty with young actors is a tendency to overdress and to attempt to hide bad tailoring with a flashy design and a freak cut of the coat. since clothes are an actor's stock in trade, he should patronize only the best, if the most expensive tailors, and stick to conservative lines unless the part requires eccentric dressing. jewelry should be avoided, unless called for in the character; cuff links and a watch chain are all that should be worn, with the exception of dress studs with the dinner or dress coat. girls will need a simple afternoon suit and an outer coat to match. they must have two summer frocks, a sailor blouse with a dark skirt, negligée, and an evening gown and wraps. hats to match are necessary, of course, as are dancing slippers and white duck shoes. the evening gown is perhaps the most important part of the young actress's wardrobe, since she is more apt to be called in for ball and dinner scenes than any other. simplicity should be the keynote of such gowns. simple french models are very attractive, but few women can wear them well, since most american girls are too broad in the shoulders for the parisian styles. clothes for character parts must be assembled on the moment according to the demands of the director and the imagination of the actor or actress. realism is the great essential of character dressing. to wear the rags of a vaudeville tramp in the movies would turn the picture into a slapstick comedy. a real tramp's clothes are a mighty different matter. the greatest difficulty which a casting director experiences is that of finding people to play the part of society folk. these parts require an understanding of drawing-room manners and ballroom etiquette, and the ability to wear smart clothes. if the clothes are not up to the moment they will be obsolete when the picture reaches the country at large, and the audiences will think that because the styles are out of date the picture is out of date also. also if any extreme styles are worn they are sure to be out of date when the picture is shown. in the same way, the slightest error in etiquette is sure to be noted and commented upon. it is more of a trick than one might think to know, at a moment's notice, how to act as best man at a fashionable wedding, or how to serve a ten-course dinner according to the latest vogue. the best way is to dress conservatively and to act as any well bred person might be expected to. a man who fails to take off his hat upon entering a fashionable house would be laughed at. a man who took it off with a grand flourish would be hooted out. recently a director read in a certain short story that the newport set had instituted the custom of supplying a single green glove for each dinner guest to wear while the olives were served. this was merely a bit of satire on the part of the story writer--but the director took it seriously, and instituted the fad in a dinner scene with dire results when the picture was shown to the newspaper critics. chapter vii movie manners this chapter does not deal so much with how to act in a picture as how to act in a studio. motion picture people live, more or less, in a world of their own. it is a world which may seem a bit topsy turvy to the outsider, with its own peculiar customs, and a greater freedom from restraint than is customary in the conventional world outside. examined a bit closer, these outlandish ideas appear to be the very same ones which are always associated with artists--a bohemian spirit which is the same whether in hollywood or the latin quarter of paris. if the newcomer to the studio wishes to establish himself as a bona fide member of the movie world he must always remember that no matter how cynical they may seem, no matter how pessimistically they may talk, these people, in the bottom of their hearts, consider a photoplay a form of art and themselves as artists. the actor or director or author who does really good work, who has something new to offer, or who at least is sincere in his desire to do something big and fine in the motion pictures, will always be tolerated no matter how bizarre his character in other respects. in short, people are ranked according to their artistic understanding rather than according to their ancestry, their bank account or their morals. most of the leaders of the motion picture world have risen from poverty and obscurity, a fact which accounts for the democracy which prevails in the studio. there are a few rules which beginners would do well to follow. here they are: be modest. because you don't understand why something is done, don't believe it is all nonsense. and remember that you have ever so much to learn about the business. don't criticize. try your best to please everyone, particularly the director, whose shoulders are carrying the responsibility for the whole production and whose manner may be a bit gruff--as it usually is when a man is laboring under a heavy load. don't be ashamed of being in the movies. if you think movies are a low-brow form of making a living your associates will surely become aware of your state of mind and you will be quietly frozen out. in the old days of the movies social status in the studio was determined by a curious system, based upon the pay envelope. actors--for the movie world is composed for the greater part of actors--are classed as stars, the "leads," the "parts," the "bits," the "extras" and "mobs." the star is, of course, the highly paid actor or actress who is the feature of the production; the "lead" is the leading man or woman who plays opposite the star; the "parts" include all those characters which appear on the program--the minor characters of the play; the "bits" are those who are called on to perform a bit of individual action, such as the butler who opens the door, or the chauffeur who drives the car, but who have no real part in the play; the extras are simply members of the crowd, as the ballroom throng, while a mob is just a mass of people, like an army or the audience at a football game. the large producing companies frequently give elaborate dinners, seating three or four hundred people, and under this ridiculous old system the star sat at the head of the table, with the "leads" near at hand. then came the "parts," then the "bits," and finally, away down at the foot of the table, were the "extras." in the same way directors, assistant directors, studio managers, and so forth, were graded down according to how much money they drew from the cashier every week. to-day all this snobbery has passed away. the movie world has its smart set and its slums, as in any other world, but the criterion is artistic worth, not money. we know of one rather unpleasant personality who has risen to stardom, but is completely ignored by the lesser lights of the profession despite this star's attempts to break into "film society." chapter viii reading your part on the legitimate stage actors and actresses are called on to read their parts before beginning rehearsals. in the movies the part is read to them. before the company begins to make even the first scene in a photoplay the scenario writer and director call a meeting and rehearse the company, reading the scenario and explaining the meaning of each scene. if the author and director are wise the story is then carefully rehearsed clear through, scene by scene, before anything is photographed. in this way the actors learn the sequence of their scenes and the relation of their parts to other parts and to the whole. [illustration: rehearsing the company movie authors should rehearse their own stories, at least, according to john emerson and anita loos. here these authors, on the left, are rehearsing their scenarios for "wife insurance" while the director, victor fleming (with the cap) takes notes. rehearsals are arranged before the scenery is built, and the above tableau is supposed to take place in a restaurant.] it is up to you to make the best of your part. secure a copy of the scenario, or at least of your scenes, as soon as possible. then go over the story as many times as possible, trying to grasp the relationship of your own character to that of the other characters in the story. work out your own conception of the part. perhaps at first the director will never give you a chance to do a piece of original acting. he will work out every bit of action for you. eventually, however, your opportunity will come to "create a part," and you must be ready for it. all the action of a motion picture story is contained in the numbered scenes of the scenario. your bit of acting will be in one or more of these scenes. here is a sample bit of one of our own scenarios, based on the stage play "mama's affair," which we recently wrote for constance talmadge. these are the last few scenes of the photoplay: eve watches her mother go out, then turns to the doctor, goes to him, gives him her hand, and says very quietly: sp: "good-by, doctor." the doctor looks at her, astonished, and says, "what!" eve looks up at him sternly and says: sp: "good-by; i can hardly hope to see you again. she then starts out the door. the doctor hurries after her, stops her, and says, "what do you mean?" eve turns to look at him, and then says very calmly: sp: "i shall be leaving to-morrow." the doctor, taken aback, steps back a couple of steps, looks at her in astonishment, and says: sp: "i just told you that i'd marry you!" eve looks at him commiseratingly, smiles a cynical smile, and says: sp: "you just told me you would take me in because you see no way to prevent my becoming a chronic neurasthenic." the doctor looks at her, flabbergasted at the plain way in which she is putting things. she then goes on and says: sp: "you don't want me, but you'll take me in as you'd take a patient into a hospital." the doctor looks at her, tries to speak, stammers, stops, not knowing what to say. eve then takes a step toward him, smiles commiseratingly, and says: sp: "you don't have to do that. i have learned how to handle mama. you don't have to worry about my health." the doctor looks at her, surprised at this new eve, who is in no need of him at all in his professional capacity. eve looks at him, throws out her arms with gestures of complete victory over all her worries, and says: sp: "i am going back to new york, and i am going to live." eve then turns, starts, goes toward the door and starts to go out. the doctor looks at her, struggles with himself, worries over the fact that he is losing her, goes toward her, and says: "eve!" she turns, looks at him, and says: "yes?" he looks at her helplessly, trying to find words to express himself, and then says: sp: "i can't let you go like this." eve looks at him calmly, and asks why. the doctor looks around helplessly, stalls a moment, and then says: sp: "because i love you." eve looks at him a moment, and then, dropping all her pose, simply overcome with intense relief, she says: sp: "well, that's what i've been trying to get at." the doctor rushes over to her, grabs her, takes her in his arms, looks into her face, and says: sp: "you bold-faced, shameless little darling." then gives her a good kiss, and we fade out. you will observe that in the scenario there are many lines written in for the actors to speak which never appear on the screen (only those in capitals are shown on the screen). this is to give the cast a chance to say the things they would say in real life under the same circumstances, and so to make the scene entirely natural. the actor speaks all the lines in small type and also those in the capital letters, following the abbreviation "sp," which stands for "spoken title." contrary to common belief, the actors really speak the words of their lines. there was a day when the hero, kissing the heroine in the final close-up, might say something like "let's go out and get a cheese sandwich, now that this is over." but just about this time large numbers of lip-readers began to write in to the producers, kicking against this sort of thing. it seems that constant attendance at the movies develops a curious power of following a speech by watching the character's lips. and from that day the slapstick comedians who used to swear so beautifully before the camera and the heroines of the serial thrillers who used to talk about the weather in their big scenes began to speak their proper lines. chapter ix inside the brain of a movie star "but they have no brains!" someone is sure to say. that sort of thing is rather cheap cynicism. as a matter of fact, they have plenty of brains, but of their own peculiar sort. a movie actor, like any other type of artist, is an emotional, temperamental creature; but the problem which worries him the most is one of intellect rather than emotion; in short, just how to control the reactions inside that discredited gray matter of his. every movie actor--and you, too, if you enter this field--is at one time or another confronted with the perplexing problem of just how much thought he should allow to go into his work; that is, whether his acting should be emotional or intellectual. the question resolves itself into this: does an actor feel? should he feel? there are two schools of thought on this seemingly academic but in reality most important subject. first are those who say that an actor must feel the part he is playing. the greatest actors, they say, have always been those who wore themselves out in an hour's time, because they felt the emotions they portrayed. they tell stories such as that of mrs. kendall, who, having lost her own child, electrified an english audience by her portrayal of the bereaved mother in "east lynne" to such an extent that women leaped to their feet in the pit, shouting, "no more, no more." they point to the fact that the great stars of the screen and the stage alike are able to simulate the three reactions which are quite beyond the control of the will--pallor, blushing, and the sudden perspiration which comes with great terror or pain. this, they say, is proof positive that these actors are feeling every emotion as they enact it. the second group declares that all this is nonsense and that if an actor really felt his part he would lose control of himself, and perhaps actually murder some other actor in a fight scene. acting, they say, is an art wherein the artist, by the use of his intellect, is able to simulate that which he does not feel--using his face merely as the painter uses his canvas. the moment an actor begins to enter into his part, his acting is either overdone or underdone and the scene is ruined. the whole trick of it, they add, is to keep perfectly cool and know exactly what you are doing, no matter how spectacular the scene. still a third school declares that both these views are wrong, and that acting is neither a matter of thought nor of emotion, but is purely imitative. an actor observes his own emotions as he experiences them in each crisis of his real life, they say, and remembers them so well that he is afterward able to reproduce them before the camera. the truth of it seems to be that all of them are partly right and partly wrong. the great stars of the movies to-day, when one is able to draw them out on the subject, say that when they are acting they are thinking not about one thing but about several things. the brain is divided into different strata, and while one section is thinking about the part, another section is entering into it, while still a third stratum is busying itself with idle speculation about the cameraman and the director. there are two important secrets, connected with the psychology of screen acting, which every beginner should know, even if he never makes use of them. the first is that of preparation; the second, that of auto-suggestion. a movie actor or actress is in a more difficult position, so far as the artistry of his work is concerned, than the players of the spoken drama. in the movies the scenes are nearly always taken out of sequence, the first last, the last first, and so forth. for that reason the motion picture stars have great difficulty in working themselves up to the proper "pitch" to play a scene, inasmuch as they have not been through the action which leads up to it. the movie directors know this, and in most studios try to help them up to this "pitch" by employing small orchestras to play during the important scenes. in nearly every large studio where more than one company is working there are to be heard the faint strains of sonata pathetique, where some melancholy scene is being taken, or livelier music for a bit of comedy in another set. also the directors are always behind the camera to guide their actors with spoken directions as the scene is made. this orchestra business has always seemed to us pure buncombe, but if the director or actor gets any fun out of it, it doesn't do any particular harm. the wise movie actors of to-day are borrowing these two tricks of preparation and auto-suggestion from their brethren of the stage. preparation consists merely of spending a little time before the scene is begun in going over the part, in thinking about it, and in trying really to feel all the emotions of the character in question. this seems a simple matter; but it makes the difference between real acting and routine work. once an actor has carefully worked out the part for himself he can easily conform to the director's ideas; and once he has let himself feel his part he need waste no emotion upon it when on the "set," for his mimetic powers will reproduce his feelings of an hour before. auto-suggestion consists in working oneself up to the part before going before the camera by various expedients. for example, one actor, before playing a part calling for extreme anger, spends some ten minutes in clenching his fists, swearing at the handiest fence post, setting his jaw--and so making himself really angry. it is not hard to reproduce emotion by these tricks of auto-suggestion. try thinking of something sad--draw your face down--and before long you will be in a very glum mood. that is the way such stars as norma talmadge and mary pickford produce tears on short notice. most people think they are tricks of make-up, such as drops of glycerine; as a matter of fact, it is a matter of puckering the face and a few gloomy thoughts. all this sort of thing sounds very intricate and unnecessary. and yet it is the really practical side of screen acting. the psychology of each actor is different and his manner of preparing for a scene and of enacting it will be different. the important thing is that he be aware that there is such a thing as psychology, and that if he will only understand it as applied to himself he can improve his work as a film player. chapter x salaries in the movies so much propaganda and press-agentry has been at work during the last few years that no one knows what to believe of the movies. there appears to be a sort of attenuated smoke cloud thrown up about all connected with the artistic, and, more particularly, the financial side of the movies. and naturally the first question to be asked by one who is considering entering this field as a vocation is "what do they pay? is it all true? is there money in the movies?" the leading stars of the screen get anywhere from one thousand to ten thousand dollars a week. there are only two or three stars, however, who get as high as ten thousand. the majority range between one and three thousand. a few stars are paid a percentage of the profits of the picture. one or two others are paid a lump sum for a picture, rather than a weekly salary, and in one case this lump sum comes to eighty thousand dollars. a good leading man or leading woman gets four or five hundred dollars a week--some much more. first rate character people, or "heavies," get from three to five hundred a week, or, if called on to play by the day, get anywhere from fifty to a hundred dollars. the smaller parts bring salaries ranging from fifty to two hundred dollars. "bits," such as the butler who opens the door, which involve a small bit of individual acting, although really merely atmospheric work, bring ten dollars a day or thereabouts. extras for the crowd scenes get about five dollars a day. the salaries of directors range all the way from ten thousand dollars a week, which is the emolument of one great artist, down to the hundred and fifty a week of the fly-by-night concerns. the average director in a large company gets anywhere from five hundred to a thousand dollars a week, especially as at present there is a great shortage of good directors. scenario writers are paid according to the type of work they do. if they write original stories they may get from one thousand to twenty thousand dollars for them. of course, the published works of notable authors or the stage hits of famous playwrights bring more. writers doing the adaptations or "continuities" of the stories of others are more often paid by the week. the big scenario writers get salaries ranging up to hundreds of thousands of dollars a year, for this is fast becoming the most important work of the entire industry. the lesser lights seldom receive less than twenty thousand dollars a year. cameramen get from one hundred to three hundred dollars a week. art directors receive several hundred dollars a week, but few companies have as yet realized the necessity of employing specialists in scenic art. a good five-reel feature picture to-day costs about sixty thousand dollars to produce. if a famous star is employed, the cost of the picture goes to a hundred thousand dollars, or even a hundred and fifty. "'way down east," griffith's latest production, cost just under a million dollars to produce. the profits of the picture come out of its run, which may last seven or eight years, and even longer in europe. a one hundred thousand dollar picture may eventually make half a million dollars for it's backers, but, of course, they have a long wait for their money. on the other hand, the risk is stupendous, for the picture may be a flat failure. one cheering fact, attested by all motion picture magnates, is that, whatever may be the case in other industries, salaries are not going to drop in the movies. on the contrary, the movies are growing bigger and bigger and the demand is greater than ever before. there is money in the movies now, and there will be even more in the next few years. chapter xi scenarios on the legitimate stage nearly every actor at one time or another writes a play. in the same way, in the movies nearly every actor tries his hand at scenario writing. in fact, many of the most successful playwrights and photodramatists have had stage or screen experience as actors. for this reason, although this series is designed more for those who wish to act than for those who wish to write--and although we have already one book on "how to write photoplays"--nevertheless, a chapter on scenario writing is not out of place. there is a fine career for any writer in scenario writing if the writer will only take the trouble to study it seriously. there is technique in writing plots and still more technique in adapting those plots to the screen, by writing them into scenario form. studio experience is of vast benefit to anyone who wishes to write movie stories; and that is where the actor has the advantage over the outsider who tries to write scenarios with no practical knowledge of how movies are really made. first write your plot into a five hundred or thousand word synopsis, just as you would write it for a magazine. make it brief and clear. be sure it is based upon action, mental or physical, and try to give real character to your plot people. in choosing your story be sure it has the dramatic quality. it must not be rambling; and it must have an element of conflict between opposing factors--a man and a woman, a woman and her destiny, or simply good and evil--which leads up to a crisis in which the matter is fought out and finally settled. stories which have not these qualities are suitable for novels, perhaps, but not for plays. it is, as a general rule, inadvisable to try historical stories or stories which require elaborate scenes. battle stories and stories of the jules verne or h. g. wells type are also difficult to place. the great demand to-day is for sane, wholesome stories of modern american life, wherein character is the paramount interest rather than eccentricities of the plot or camera. send your story in synopsis form to the scenario editor of the studio which employs the star for whom you think the story is best suited. send with it a stamped and self-addressed envelope for the return of your script, if it is not suitable for their use. keep on sending it; don't be discouraged by rejection slips. you may write dozens of stories and then sell the very first one you wrote. if the studio buys your story it is well to ask for an opportunity to help write the "continuity," or scenario form. this is a highly technical but very well paid task, and one which every screen author should learn. the chance to enter the studio and help work out the scenario of your own story is worth trying for. [illustration: testing make-up and expression. every make-up must conform to the part. here the authors, john emerson and anita loos, are helping their director, victor fleming, to make a test of basil sydney and may collins, who played the leading roles in "wife insurance." the tests are usually taken in some corner of the studio under the best possible lighting conditions.] scenarios to-day are more in demand than ever before; but producers are still chary of taking chances on untried amateurs. the amateur author's greatest success is when he sells his first story. the road is comparatively easy after that. original plots for five-reel pictures sell from $ , to $ , , depending upon the reputation of the author and the standing of the company which buys them. of course, some of the smaller companies pay less than this, and two and three reel features sell for less. published stories and novels, and plays which have had a run, bring enormous prices. griffith recently paid $ , for the film rights on a play. fifty and seventy thousand dollars are frequently paid for similar plot material, but that is because of the advertising value in the names of the plays or books, or the reputation of the writers, which assures the producers that the story is almost sure to make a good photoplay. the highest paid workers in the movies to-day are the continuity writers, who put the stories into scenario form and write the "titles" or written inserts. the income of some of these writers runs into hundreds of thousands of dollars a year. it is extraordinarily interesting work and well worth while learning; but unfortunately the technical training for this sort of thing takes as much time as the training necessary to enter any other profession. scenario writing does not require great genius. it does require a dramatic insight and certain amount of training. it is the latter factor that most amateurs overlook. if you are to write scenarios, you must take your work as seriously as you would if you were trying to write music or paint pictures. chapter xii how others have done it the histories of the movie celebrities are as picturesque as the story of their industry. nearly all of them have risen from the ranks. few of them, in the days when the motion picture was classed as a freak novelty, expected the present amazing expansion of the industry; still fewer had any conception of their own latent talents in photodramatic art. but characteristics which they all had in common were determination to succeed in their profession, a modest faith in its future, and a desire to learn the business from the ground up. it is a curious fact that many of the directors of to-day were once automobile mechanics. this is not because automobile mechanics are as a class better fitted for such work, but because, in the old days of and and , when everything started, they had a singular opportunity to apprentice themselves to the profession. in those days companies worked almost entirely out of doors, and the cameraman transported his paraphernalia in an automobile. the driver of the automobile would usually assist the cameraman in "setting up"; a friendship would spring up between them; presently the driver would be assistant cameraman, then chief cameraman, and finally director. of course, directors have been recruited from every profession and every class--actors, authors, professors, newspaper men, scene carpenters, artists--for the dramatic gift is not confined to any class. what a man's profession was before he entered the movies has nothing to do with his career thereafter; he has to learn everything all over again, and a very good actor, with years of studio experience, may make a very poor director, whereas an unsuccessful tinsmith might suddenly rise to the top by virtue of an innate gift for this type of work. the scenario writers of to-day have also grown up with the business. some were newspaper men who broke into the game as press-agents; some were actors; others were directors. recently a large number of professional playwrights, novelists and authors with magazine experience have entered the movies to learn scenario writing, but this is a new development. the writers of this series have been asked to tell how they themselves broke into the scenario offices. unlike the others, our own story has nothing picturesque about it. miss loos was born and bred in a california town; she was the daughter of a newspaper proprietor and inherited that fatal desire to write. at the age of fourteen she sent her first scenario to griffith; for a miracle, it was accepted--but, of course, it was easy to sell stories in those days, when scenario writing was almost unheard of outside of california. soon after this she paid a personal visit to the griffith studios and became the youngest scenario editor in the world, turning out a new story about every six weeks. some six years ago mr. emerson left his post as producer for frohman on the legitimate stage and went to hollywood to keep an eye on the filming of one of his own plays which was being adapted from the "speakies." he decided to make the movies a permanent profession, and with this in mind worked as an actor about the griffith studios to learn the rudiments of the game. some months after this he was allowed to direct his first picture; and at this time he met miss loos, who was to write the scenario. after that they collaborated in the doug' fairbanks' pictures--and that's that. most of the present-day movie actors and actresses gained their experience as extras, although a few have first made their success on the legitimate stage and then stepped directly into film stardom. doug' fairbanks was one of the latter, and so was mary pickford. charley chaplin and wallace reid, on the other hand, have done little of note outside of the movies. both norma talmadge and constance talmadge rose from the ranks. they took small parts in the old vitagraph pictures; but their extraordinary beauty and talent was immediately recognized by the directors, and they were permitted to try bits, then parts, and finally leads. norma talmadge went in for the more emotional rôles, while constance developed her ability as a comedienne. within six years they have attained to position of leadership in their respective fields. d. w. griffith himself was once an extra. he was a good extra, too, according to some of his former employers who now work under him in his great studios at mamaroneck, conn. but he had all manner of queer ideas as to how pictures should be acted, and directed and photographed. for example, he thought that more effective scenes might be made, at times, by photographing actors "close up," cutting off their legs and arms with the frame of the picture and showing only their faces many times enlarged; also he had a theory that one might heighten the dramatic suspense by "cutting back" from one scene to another, instead of following one line of action in a monotonous sequence through an entire photoplay. the directors and actors and cameramen of those days, who would no sooner have thought of taking a character's picture from the bust up than of taking the picture upside down, were nevertheless interested in this eccentric chap, and even asked his advice from time to time. finally, the eccentric extra got his chance as a director to try out a few of these radical theories. his "the birth of a nation" changed the entire technique of the movies. many noted directors received their training in directing plays for the legitimate stage, as, for example, hugh ford. others, like marshall neilan, or allan dwan, came in from outside professions. victor fleming, formerly director for douglas fairbanks and constance talmadge, was one of the latter. his first success, many years ago, was as an automobile designer, but his interest always lay with the theater; he resigned his post with the automobile company at about the age when most young men are seeking their first jobs, and decided to learn the business of making movies. the same creative faculty which made his automobile designs distinctive in the old days manifested itself in his pictures last year, "the mollycoddle" and "when the clouds roll by." there are a million ways to break into the movies. no one can imitate the career of another. don't read other people's biographies; go out and make one for yourself. chapter xiii amateur movie making amateur theatrical clubs, theater guilds, and the like, have done much to make the modern drama the great art that it is. but because of the overwhelming expense heretofore attached to the making of movies there have been no attempts at any similar activities in the films. the movies have never had the advantage of the experiments of amateur societies. to-day, however, the making of movies by amateurs is a distinct possibility. the possibilities of making a motion picture at comparatively little expense were first drawn to public attention five years ago when two young men, both of whom have become well-known directors, made a saleable photoplay in their own back yard. these boys had many theories about what a movie should and should not be, but they could never find a company willing to give their theories a trial. finally they hit upon the original expedient of buying their own camera and making a picture in which nearly all the actors were children and which therefore cost very little money. nearly all the scenes were exteriors, so that practically no scenery was required. the picture was most original and in spite of their technical shortcomings, they found a fairly profitable sale. if you desire to write, direct or act in the pictures, you can have no better experience than trying to make a picture of your own, even if at first you are not very successful. the great initial expense for this sort of thing is, of course, the outlay required to buy a camera. in most towns of any size there are now professional movie cameramen who work for the news reel companies and who may be hired for a comparatively small sum. if, however, you desire to make your photoplay an entirely amateur affair, you can buy a usable second-hand camera for outdoor work for as low as a hundred dollars. some one of your associates must make it his business to learn to run this camera with sufficient skill to insure that your film will not be wasted. the next important outlay is that of the film itself. film costs about eleven or twelve cents a foot when developed and printed. therefore, the cost of production depends largely upon the length of your picture. for a first attempt we should advise you to keep your photoplay within , feet, or two reels. start by writing a simple story into a scenario with as many exterior scenes as possible. the necessary interiors, such as rooms or hallways, may be built by your own amateurs, outdoors, as they are often built in california, so that no lights will be necessary. you can paint your own subtitle cards--the written inserts--and film them yourself. [illustration: making a "close-up" sun reflectors, consisting of silvered canvas screens, are used to lighten the shadows, which are apt to make the cheeks seem hollow. the actors are basil sydney and may collins.] it is not necessary to make the scenes in their natural sequence. after the picture is finished and developed, however, someone must assemble and cut it. this means that you must rent the use of the projection machine at your local theater for a few mornings, and get the local operator to help you splice and cement the film together in its correct order of long shots and close-ups. there is no rule for this work except that of practical values on the screen. just run your bits of film through the projection machine and stick them together the way they look best. it is a matter of artistic perception rather than any set rule. if your scenario calls for an outdoor picture--for example, a cowboy story--which does not require costumes, you should be able to make it for a thousand dollars, provided your amateur actors, and amateur cameramen, and amateur authors are working for nothing. there are mighty few amateur theatricals of any pretention whatsoever which do not cost as much as this, and you should be able to take in a good profit if your picture is exploited in your local theaters. as a matter of fact, pictures have not always been produced on the scale that they are to-day. ten years ago feature pictures cost from $ , to $ , to make, and in those days film and cameras were much more expensive. the producers simply made outdoor pictures which required no lights or scenery, and saved on the salaries of actors and directors, which have multiplied twenty times since then. to-day the average feature picture costs from $ , to $ , to produce. griffith's "'way down east" cost nearly a million to produce. that is because the salaries of actors, directors and authors have risen so enormously. but there is no reason why an amateur company in which the cost of salaries is completely eliminated cannot make their own picture at a minimum expense. if you want to break into the movies, here is a way to do it, right in your own home town. introductory note to part ii whether you desire to break into the movies as writer, actor or director, your most important consideration will be the scenario. in the scenario you will find all the elements of the photoplay; everything is built upon that as a foundation. the actor or director who sincerely desires to do good work studies his script assiduously. the ambitious writer analyzes not only his own photoplays, but those of other people. it is exceedingly difficult to talk technique to anyone who has never read a scenario. for this reason we have incorporated a "continuity" in this book. it is the dramatic form of a screen story which we have made as a special production. the titles, which are the written inserts to be flashed on the screen, are in capital letters. the inserts refer to such articles as letters, telegrams, pictures, and the like, which may be shown in close-up. the "iris" is the broadening or narrowing of the frame of the picture to open or close a scene, or to emphasize some particular object which is "irised" upon. the "fade" effects are used very much as the curtain of the legitimate stage is used to open and close scenes. the abbreviation "sp" means "speech," indicating that the title which follows is to be spoken by the actor. some of the quoted lines--the ones not set off in capitals--are not shown on the screen, but are merely given as a guide for the players. most of the directions concerning the scenes are also given in capital letters. "exterior," or the abbreviated "ext.," for example, refers to a scene outdoors, while "interior" or "int.," is an indoor scene. the terms "long shot" and "close-up" refer to the distance at which the camera is placed from the scene. "red hot romance" is played as a romantic melodrama, but is intended as a satire upon this very type of story, with its incredibly heroic hero, its american girl, its marines-to-the-rescue and all the rest of it. basil sydney and may collins played the parts of roland and rosalie, and victor fleming was the director. red hot romance t: it's bad enough for some to boss the rest of us while they are alive, but the limit is reached when they want to keep right on after they have cashed in. t: for instance, there was old harder n. stone, the vice-president of the british-american insurance co. . library, stone home in washington. (fade in.) harder n. stone, an old skinflint, is seated at his desk writing. insert--stone's hand writing the following: "i, harder n. stone, of washington, d. c., hereby direct that, should i die before my son, roland stone, he is to receive from my estate the sum of $ . per week and the use of my residence in washington, d. c, until his twenty-fifth birthday." stone sits back and regards what he has been writing, smiles smugly, and then continues writing. insert--stone's hand writing the following: "on his twenty-fifth birthday, provided he has lived according to instructions herein set down, my son, roland stone, is to receive his inheritance at the hands of my chosen executor, lord howe-greene, of london, president of the british-american insurance co." stone sits back and reads over what he has written and is highly pleased. he then rings for a servant and presently briggs enters. he is a little english butler, who has been in the family for years. stone turns to him and tells him that he has just been making out his will. briggs is properly impressed and stone says to him: sp: "briggs, i have provided in my will that if i die before my son you are to stay on with him as long as you live." briggs is highly pleased, thanks him, stone dismisses him, goes on writing. (fade out.) the old boy did die, as he deserved to, and left his son and heir, roland stone, with nothing to do but live on $ . per week. . roland's bedroom. (fade in.) he is lolling in bed in pajamas and dressing gown, smoking a cigarette and opening a stack of bills and reading them. insert--top bill--tailor's bill with a balance from the month before and about $ . for this month with a note in heavy letters "please remit." this one is turned over, and the second one is from a club with a statement "you have this day been posted for $ . and your credit is hereby suspended until same is paid." this bill is turned over and the third bill is from a florist's for $ . worth of flowers sent to miss rosalie bird and has a note reading: "impossible for us to fill any more orders until these bills are paid." roland puts down the bills in disgust, not looking further, as he knows they're all alike. briggs, the butler, now enters and takes up the breakfast tray which is lying on the bed opposite beside roland. roland looks up to him, then looks at the bills, and says: sp: "how do you expect me to pay these bills on $ . a week?" briggs shrugs his shoulders as though he had nothing to do with it, and suggests that roland's bills are too big. he then leaves. roland looks after him, disgusted, runs through a few more bills, throws them on the floor and at this juncture, tom, roland's valet, a big husky negro with a child-like, innocent smile, enters the room with letters, goes to roland and hands him the letters. roland looks at them and sees they are more bills, puts them down. tom picks up others from floor and gives them to roland, much to his disgust. he looks up to tom and says: sp: "you're a fine 'secretary'! what do i pay you for?" tom looks up at him, round-eyed and smiles and says: sp: "you don't." this is a poser for roland for a moment, he finally regains his composure and says: sp: "well, i am going to when i get my inheritance next april." tom nods his head quizzically as he has heard this many times before. roland then picks up the bills, runs through them again and says: sp: "the question now is--how are we going to live untilapril?" he sighs, reaches over to a table which has a little calendar on it, picks up the calendar, sees that it is the th of january, and runs through the pages very dubiously. he finally looks up at tom, shows him how many days they have to live through on the calendar, and says: sp: "i haven't a nickel and i can't borrow anything now. how are we going to live until april?" tom looks about very dubiously. finally he gets an idea, he looks from one object of furniture to another, and his idea grows until he is fairly beaming and he says: sp: "they's a mighty lot of hockable stuff around heah, boss!" he indicates the things around the room, and roland is delighted with the idea. he picks up the bunch of bills, looks at the top one. insert--tailor's bill. roland then looks around for something to pay that with and his eye falls upon an antique vase. he jumps out of bed, takes the vase and hands it to tom together with the tailor's bill, saying that that will pay for that. roland looks at the next bill. insert--bill from club. roland then takes a couple of ornaments from the mantel, gives them to tom together with the club bill saying that they will pay for that. roland then looks at the next bill. insert--florist's bill. roland then takes a picture from the wall, leaving a discolored place behind it, saying that will pay for that. he then thinks a moment and picks up a little antique clock and hands it to tom, saying: sp: "and buy her some orchids with this." tom grins, goes out loaded down with all the junk. roland looks after him, very pleased with himself, and, probably thinking of his girl and the orchids, smiles, and fade out. t: indicating that it's tea time. . exterior colonel bird's house. (fade in.) roland comes down the street with a bunch of orchids in his hand and goes up and rings the bell. t: colonel bird, of virginia, who has been hanging around washington for thirty-five years, waiting for a job which was first promised him by president cleveland. . parlor, colonel bird's house. colonel bird, seated at a desk, very busily reading several large law books and making notes, trying to "kid" himself into believing that he is busy. a colored mammy presently shows in roland, who greets the colonel very effusively. the colonel asks roland to sit down, which he does. the servant exits. the colonel, not being very greatly impressed with roland, excuses himself and goes on with his work, explaining that he has some very important matters on hand. roland looks at him, smiles to himself, then looks out expectantly toward the hall. t: the colonel's daughter, rosalie, the lady of the orchids. . hallway, colonel's house. rosalie comes down the stairs and enters the parlor. . parlor, colonel's house. rosalie rushes over, greets roland. the colonel rises until roland and the girl are seated when he sits and goes on with his on a sofa, work. roland gives rosalie the orchids. rosalie thanks him, but says: sp: "roland, you shouldn't buy orchids every day." she then points around to different vases in the room, all of which are full of orchids. she holds on to the orchids and gives roland a little lecture on economy, telling him he has no business to spend his money so foolishly. and roland says he thought she liked orchids. she says she does and he's a dear sweet boy to bring them, but he sees she is not pleased and is correspondingly depressed. . exterior colonel's bird's house. a low rakish roadster drives up and out of it gets jim conwell. he has a small sized package in his hand. close up--and he runs up and rings the bell. t: jim conwell is one of that brotherhood of diplomatic hangers-on who make a shady livelihood by doing the dirty work of the various washington embassies. . ext. colonel bird's porch. the colored mammy opens the door, lets in conwell, takes his hat and coat and shows him into the parlor. . parlor colonel bird's house. the colored mammy shows conwell sp: "here's a little thing i picked up in an antique shop. i thought you'd like it." rosalie puts down her orchids in roland's chair. she then takes the package, opens it up and takes out roland's clock. she lets out a cry of surprise and delight, then turns to conwell and says: sp: "it's lovely! i've always wanted a clock like that." roland looks at this, open-mouthed and in absolute astonishment, sits down in his chair, smashing the orchids. rosalie then shows the clock to the old colonel and the two of them rave over it, forgetting the existence of roland, who finally comes to sufficiently to see that he's sitting on something, gets up and picks up the mashed orchids, looks at them disgustedly. the clock is finally put in place on the mantel and rosalie comes back and joins roland, who stands looking ruefully at the flowers in his hand. he dolefully shows them to her, and she, seeing he is hurt, comforts him, telling him he's a dear boy and she loves the orchids. she takes them from him and tenderly straightens them out, but roland is still in the dumps. conwell is now throwing a lot of "bull" at the old colonel, saying: sp: "i just said to the secretary of state: 'you're not looking very well, elihu, i wish you'd let my old friend, colonel bird, take some of the work off your hands.'" he goes on spouting and the old colonel fairly eats it up. finally, roland, unhappy and jealous and disgusted at conwell, gets up and tells rosalie he has to go. rosalie begs him to stay in her sweetest manner, but roland takes another look at conwell, says no, he's got to go, says good-by to rosalie and says good-by to the colonel and conwell, and leaves. street ext. col. bird's house.--roland comes out and goes dolefully down the street. (fade out.) hallway roland's house. roland enters, disheartened. hangs up hat and coat and stick and goes slowly into library. . library roland's house. (fade in.) tom is fussing about the room. roland enters the room, terribly depressed and upset and starts to tell tom about the scene that just took place. he goes on talking about conwell and finally says: sp: "the old man stands for all of conwell's bunk and thinks he's great." tom is very sympathetic and tells roland he ought to settle the matter. roland agrees with him, pounds on the table, and says: sp: "i think the time has come when i ought to tell rosalie i love her!" tom agrees with him, says that's absolutely right. roland says he knows it's right--the only thing to do is to come to an understanding right away. he then goes over to the telephone and calls a number, and while he is waiting for the number, he goes on talking to tom, telling him just how he is going to settle things and tom encourages him. . hallway colonel bird's house. rosalie comes down the hall to the telephone and answers it. . library roland's house. roland is still talking to tom, telling him how he's going to lay down the law when he suddenly hears rosalie's voice over the 'phone. all his belligerency oozes out. he smiles and stammers foolishly and gulps and tries to get his courage up as if he were going to lay matters right before her and finally weakens and comes out with sp: "how are you?" . hallway colonel bird's house. rosalie, wondering what the devil he's asking her that for when he just left her, frowns quizzically and says that she's feeling all right. . library roland's house. roland goes on talking through the 'phone in a stammering embarrassed sort of way, and tom keeps telling him to go on and tell her what he said he was going to. roland tries to motion to tom and he goes on stammering and stuttering. . hallway colonel bird's house. rosalie still very quizzically listening to roland. she finally asks him what is the matter with him. . library roland's house. roland stammering into the 'phone. finally tom, utterly disgusted, comes over to the 'phone and yells in it: sp: "he's trying to ask you to marry him, miss rosalie! will you?" roland turns angrily to tom, still holding the receiver to his ear, and starts to berate tom soundly, when he suddenly hears something in the telephone which stops him. he listens, overcome with wonderment and finally says: sp: "say that again!" . hallway colonel bird's house. rosalie at the 'phone, laughing, says: sp: "yes. of course i will!" . library roland's house. roland can hardly believe his ears, makes her reiterate it, then turns to tom in great glee and says: sp: "it's all right. she says yes." he then turns back to the 'phone and asks rosalie if she really means it. while he is talking to rosalie, tom goes over to a heavy couch, pulls it out toward the hall. roland still at the 'phone talking, turns and asks tom what he is doing. tom still pulling the couch says: sp: "ah'm going to buy you a engagement ring." roland smiles and nods, and suddenly thinks of the clock episode, stops tom, tells him to wait a minute, then turns toward the telephone and says: sp: "what would you rather have--a ring or a sofa?" . hallway colonel bird's house. rosalie listening at the 'phone is utterly dumbfounded at this odd request, she asks him to repeat it, then finally still puzzled, says: sp: "why, a ring, of course! you silly boy!" . library roland's house. roland listening at the 'phone, hears rosalie wants the ring, turns to tom and tells him to go on and hock the sofa. he then turns to rosalie, starts in to talk to her ecstatically over the 'phone, smiling, as we fade out. t: that night at the hangout of the fringe of the diplomatic set. . a wop restaurant. (fade in.) this is a typical $ . table d'hote joint. seated at the various tables are many diplomatic hangers-on, all of them crooked and all looking out for the main chance. among them is a mexican, a frenchman, an englishman, a german, a russian, an italian, a chinaman, a jap, a bulgarian, a hindoo and their women--perhaps three or four americans, but the atmosphere is generally foreign, the waiters being wops. seated at one table is conwell alone. he is eating spaghetti and looking very sourly about. t: enrico de castanet of bunkonia. enrico is seated at a table talking to a very attractive vamp type of a woman. t: his lady friend (the international vamp and spy), countess pulloff de plotz. the countess is listening very intently to enrico. enrico goes on talking very earnestly, and finally says: sp: "you see, we must have a man who can be bought body and soul." the countess agrees with him, and perhaps suggests somebody, whom enrico says would never do. the countess starts thinking again, and, as she does, her eyes wander over the room and she sees conwell, who has just gotten up, paid his bill and given the waiter a very small tip, at which the waiter shows his disgust. conwell then turns to leaves the restaurant, starts down toward enrico and the countess. the countess sees him, has a sudden idea that he would be fine for the job and points him out to enrico. at this moment, conwell has stopped to talk to someone at one of the tables, enrico looks him over from head to foot, asks the countess if she is sure he can be handled; she assures him he can. sp: "he worked for the shipping board." enrico agrees that he looks like a good bet, and just at this moment conwell comes past the table, sees the countess motion to him. he comes over to the table, enrico rises and the countess introduces him saying: sp: "senor de castanet is minister of war of bunkonia." conwell is mildly interested in this fact. enrico then asks conwell to sit down, so he takes a seat, and the countess then begins to get very confidential. she looks around to see that no one is looking, then getting their three heads together, she says in whispered tones: sp: "we are engineering a little revolution down in bunkonia." conwell is a little more interested now. he pricks up his ears a bit and casually glances around to make sure no one is overhearing, then looks to de castanet for some information, and de castanet, with a quick glance around says to conwell: sp: "the american consul has resigned and a new one is to be appointed next month." conwell is still more interested, asks enrico where do i come in? enrico says, indicating madame: sp: "i am here to see that the 'right' man is appointed." conwell says "oh ho," he sees and looks at the countess, who nods her approval. he then asks her where he comes in. with more mysterious looks, they get their heads very closely together, and the countess says: sp: "what's the matter with you for consul? the pickings are going to be fine for the 'right man.'" conwell considers a moment, smiles quizzically and shakes his head and says: sp: "no, i'm in wrong--the senate wouldn't confirm me." the countess tries to argue with him but heis obdurate and says there's no chance for him, but as they are talking he is suddenly struck with a brilliant idea. he says, "wait a minute." they all wait and finally he speaks and says: sp: "i've got just the man for you!" they are all attention and eager to know who it is. he indicates that this must be very much on the quiet and then says: sp: "old colonel bird--fine record--easy to handle--been waiting thirty-five years for a job." the countess indicates that she knows old bird and tells enrico that he is ideal, that they couldn't do better. enrico asks if he can be handled when the time comes. conwell swells up and tells him to leave that to him. it's the easiest thing in the world. enrico turns to madame, who backs up conwell and enrico is then satisfied. conwell then speaks up and says: sp: "i'll go along as secretary and keep my eye on the old boy." they both express their approval of that, and indicate that he will get part of the swag. the countess leans over and says rather tauntingly: sp: "i suppose the old boy's daughter will go along, too!" conwell says he bets she will and winks the other eye. the countess laughs and enrico smiles, interested at the idea of a romance. he and the countess exchange glances. conwell then says: sp: "remember--mum's the word until after the appointment is made." they all agree to that and put their heads together and go on with their scheming. (fade out.) t: and so it came to pass---- . parlor colonel bird's house. (fade in.) an old trunk in the middle of the floor and the colonel and mammy are packing in his books, papers, etc. the colonel all full of business and very busy. rosalie is helping, but is very sad over the matter. . exterior colonel bird's house. roland rushes down the street with a newspaper in his hand, runs up the steps and rings the bell. . parlor colonel bird's house. rosalie looks up quickly, thinking that this must be roland. mammy starts for the door but rosalie tells her she will answer the bell, and she runs out into hall. . hallway colonel bird's house. rosalie runs to the door and opens it. . exterior colonel bird's house. rosalie opens the door, and roland rushes in. . hallway colonel bird's house. roland, full of excitement, grabs rosalie, shows her the article in the newspaper. insert--article in newspaper stating that colonel bird has been appointed consul of bunkonia and that he is to leave for there immediately with his daughter and his secretary, james conwell. roland asks rosalie if this is true. rosalie nods her head sadly, says that it is and sp: "i didn't know a thing about it myself until this morning." roland protests that she can't go away and leave him, and rosalie asks what she can do and says that her father has waited for this all his life and insists on taking her along. roland asks where her father is, she points into parlor, and roland tells her that he will see about whether she will be taken away or not, and full of worry, rushes into the parlor followed by rosalie. . parlor colonel bird's house. colonel bird is helping mammy pack and roland rushes in followed by rosalie. he goes to the colonel and protests against taking his fiancée away from him. he puts his arm around rosalie and says that he wants to marry her now and keep her. the colonel can't see this at all, and says: sp: "if you marry now, how are you going to support her?" rosalie turns to roland and says that is the trouble--that her father won't let her stay there and marry him because he can't support her. roland then turns to the colonel and says: sp: "but, colonel, in another month everything will be all right!" rosalie seconds the motion and tries to persuade her father that everything will be all right, but her father shakes his head, looks grimly at roland and says: sp: "that's what cleveland said to me in ' ." roland looks discouraged and realizes that he is up against a hard proposition in the old colonel, but tries to explain that if they can just struggle along for a month he will have millions, but the colonel says: sp: "when you have your inheritance right in your hand, come down to bunkonia and get her." roland, much discouraged, still tries to argue with the old boy, but he cuts him off and goes on about his work. roland then turns to rosalie, who by this time is in tears. at the sight of rosalie's tears, roland forgets his own disappointment, and putting his arm around her, leads her off to a secluded corner out of sight of the old colonel, seats her and tries to comfort her, putting his arm around her and saying: sp: "the first of april is my birthday. i get my inheritance that day and i'll start at once for bunkonia." at once rosalie looks up at him with her eyes full of tears and smiles wanly. roland takes her hand, wipes away her tears, kisses her and says: sp: "i'll send you a cable every day!" at this rosalie is greatly cheered up, she looks and says: "will you, dear?" and he assures her that he will and again kisses her. (fade out.) t: the american cable company did well that month but look what happened to roland's house. . hallway roland's house. (fade in.) view of hall without a piece of furniture, bric-a-brac or pictures. (dissolve out.) . library roland's house. (dissolve in.) view of library absolutely bare. (dissolve out.) . roland's bedroom. (dissolve in.) bedroom has nothing in it but one couch, one chair and a soap box on which are roland's mirror and toilet articles. roland is asleep on the couch. presently briggs enters, looks about at the devastated room, then shaking his head over the laziness of his master, goes over, wakes roland up and says: sp: "i wish you a happy birthday, sir." roland wakes up, looks at him, rubs his eyes, realizes that his probation is over. tom enters smiling with a telegram in his hand which he gives to roland who opens it and reads: insert--telegram. new york, march , . "arrive washington four-forty to-morrow, april first, to deliver inheritance. howe-greene." roland jumps out of bed, goes over and claps briggs on the back and shakes hands with him--then shakes hands with tom. then makes briggs and tom shake hands. tells them both he's going to have loads of money and they will be paid. roland then goes over to his soap box on which is a calendar. he looks at page marked "march ." tears it off and looks at page marked "april ." he tears off the page with a flourish which reads march st, turns it over, and, sitting on the floor, writes on the back of it. tom in the meantime sends briggs for his breakfast and gets out roland's clothes, brushing them with great gusto. roland finishes writing and reads what he has written. insert--what roland is writing. "miss rosalie bird, santo grafto, bunkonia. at last the great day is here. lord howe-greene arrives to-day with my inheritance. leave for bunkonia to-morrow to claim you as my bride. roland." he reads it and tells tom to send it. tom takes the message. scratches his head and looks around the room for something to hock. roland wants to know why he's hesitating, and he tells him. roland then says: sp: "take the couch!" tom looks at the couch dubiously, then looks at roland and says: "where are you going to sleep to-night?" roland, in an extravagant manner and with a grand flourish, tells him to take it away. sp: "i won't be able to sleep to-night anyway!" tom goes over, picks up the couch and starts out of the room with it. at the door, roland stops him, picks up the one remaining chair, hands it over to him and says: sp: "cable her some roses with this!" tom takes the chair, starts for the door when he suddenly thinks of the fact that lord howe-greene is due that morning, so he stops, turns to roland and says: sp: "what dat lord howe-greene to sit on when he comes?" roland says that's right, so he leaves the chair and starts out with the couch. briggs in the meantime has entered with roland's breakfast. puts breakfast on soap box. roland tells him to put the chair down in the hall. briggs doleful. roland slaps him on the back--tells him to cheer up. briggs goes out shaking his head and roland sits on chair and starts his breakfast all smiles. (fade out.) t: the new millionaire. . front of roland's house. (fade in.) roland's taxi drives up and stops, followed by tom's. roland and lord howe-greene with portfolio get out. tom also gets out with bags. howe-greene starts up walk. tom stops roland and shows him three cents--all he has and whispers to him, saying: sp: "how do i pay the taxi?" roland signifying that he can't be annoyed with such little things, says grandiloquently: sp: "tell them to wait!" he follows lord howe-greene up the walk while tom goes to the taxis and tells them to wait. then he follows with bags. . reception hall roland's house. it is perfectly bare. briggs is just coming down the stairs carrying the one chair that is left, he puts it down, looks around at the bare hall, shakes his head sadly, dusts off the one chair, then looks up quickly at hearing bell ring, goes over to the door. . front of roland's house. briggs opens the door and lets roland and lord howe-greene in followed by tom with bags. . hallway roland's house. roland and lord howe-greene enter, followed by tom and briggs. briggs is delighted to see the old englishman but is terribly chagrined at the condition of the house. he takes lord howe-greene's coat and hat, and roland engages lord howe-greene in talking, then motions to tom to get the chair into the library. tom sneaks the chair around behind lord howe-greene and into the library. . library. tom sneaks the chair in, puts it down near the fireplace. . hallway roland's house. roland noticing that tom has the chair placed, escorts lord howe-greene into the library with a grand flourish. . library. tom is standing behind the chair. lord howe-greene and roland enter. tom seats lord howe-greene very ceremoniously in the chair. lord howe-greene looks around the empty room and is astounded. he turns to roland and says: "_i say, old fellow, the place looks rather beastly bare? where's the furniture?_" roland thinks for a moment, looks at tom; tom does some quick heavy thinking and finally says, very graciously: sp: "we sent the furniture out to be cleaned in honor of your coming." roland smiles in relief and in approval of tom, and then says: sp: "the cleaners are on strike so they didn't get it done in time." lord howe-greene blandly accepts the explanation and thanks him for his thoughtfulness. roland, who has been fondling the portfolio, can hardly wait for it to be opened, and he gives it to lord howe-greene and then goes and stands by the mantel with tom. lord howe-greene fishes out the papers, finally comes to the will and starts to read the glad news. he reads for a moment and then insert--"that providing said roland stone has carried out previous instructions of the will, his father provides as follows:" roland, overcome with impatience, begins to get even more interested. lord howe-greene clears his throat and goes on reading: insert--"i bequeath to my son, roland stone, one unencumbered position in the anglo-american insurance co. as soliciting agent with a guarantee of $ . per week." roland looks in astonishment at lord howe-greene as does also tom. lord howe-greene clears his throat again and goes on reading: insert--"if at the end of one year, the business said roland stone procures for the company has proven profitable, the same will be a proof of his good business judgment, and he is then to come into possession of my entire fortune." roland stares simply open-mouthed in astonishment and disappointment, while tom can hardly believe his ears. insert--"if on the other hand, the company at the end of one year has suffered a loss through the agency of said roland stone, my entire fortune shall be given to the support of the washington home for incurables." roland, absolutely dumbfounded by the news, stares at lord howe-greene, then looks around at tom. tom looks at roland accusingly. roland then turns in discouragement and asks lord howe-greene if there's any more. lord howe-greene goes on reading: insert--"it is further provided that conditions under which said roland stone is to work, shall be subject to the approval of lord howe-greene." roland is utterly unable to take all of this in, and he insists on reading it himself. lord howe-greene hands it to him, and roland starts in to read it as though he could hardly believe his eyes. tom looks over his shoulder, and, finally disgusted with the whole proceeding, he goes over toward the window, stands there dejectedly and looks out. . street in front of roland's house. flash of the two taxis waiting, taken from an angle of the house. . library roland's house. tom receives a terrible shock on seeing the taxis and realizing that they can't pay them. he then goes over to roland, and tells him that the two taxis are out there, eating their heads off. roland looks out toward the window, thinks about the taxis, then looks over to lord howe-greene, who is sitting comfortably in the last chair, thinks a moment, then goes over to lord howe-greene, excuses himself, takes the chair from under the utterly flabbergasted lord howe-greene, gives it to tom and tells him to take it out to pay the taxis. tom takes the chair and goes out, lord howe-greene looking after him in wide-eyed astonishment. roland then turns to lord howe-greene and starts in to protest about the conditions of the will, but lord howe-greene tells him that there is nothing that he can do. he takes the papers from roland. sits on window sill (especially built) and starts in to read the long document to roland. roland trying to follow howe-greene gets disgusted, leans against wall and at length slips to floor and sits there disconsolate, thinking of his rotten luck and of the girl away off with his rival. (dissolve out.) . studio garden in bunkonia. (dissolve in.) rosalie sitting in a hammock with conwell standing near her, natives playing ukuleles, fanning them and giving them ice drinks, and conwell whispering sweet nothings in rosalie's ear. (dissolve out.) . library roland's house. (dissolve in.) roland, sitting in the corner, very much distressed by the vision he has just seen. lord howe-greene is still sitting on window sill reading document. roland gives him a dirty look, puts his hands on his ears and at length jumps up and stalks out into the hall, leaving howe-greene still reading. . hallway--roland's house. roland rushes in from library, looks back disgusted at howe-greene, who is still reading. at this moment tom enters from street, goes to roland, looks at him despondently, and says: "_what are we going to do now?_" roland puts his hand on tom's shoulder, and says with great emphasis: sp: "look here, tom, you've got to think of some way to get me to rosalie!" tom thinks a moment, finally his face brightens and he says: sp: "if you've got to sell insurance, why not sell it in bunkonia?" roland is delighted at this, and tells tom he knew he'd think up a way out--that they can start for bunkonia to-morrow just as they had planned. tom says of course they can. roland says they will put it up to lord howe-greene at once and they go into the library. . library, roland's house. lord howe-greene still sitting reading. roland and tom enter, see him, and stop, both disgusted. howe-greene finishes his reading. gets up and goes to them--gives roland the document, tells him it is very important for him to keep it safe. roland puts it in his pocket then turns to howe-greene and says: sp: "i've been thinking things over, and i've decided that if i have to sell insurance, i would like very much to get away from washington." lord howe-greene indicates that he understands his feelings in the matter, thinks a moment and says: sp: "i have it! you shall try new york." roland looks at him in utter astonishment and says he is surprised that lord howe-greene would suggest such a terrible place to sell insurance. he then turns to tom and tom agrees with him. roland then says to lord howe-greene, sp: "new york would never do! it's a terrible place for insurance!" lord howe-greene is interested, and wants to know why, and roland goes on saying: sp: "why thousands of people are killed there daily!" lord howe-greene is tremendously interested and surprised and wants to know how. roland then goes on to describe the terrible life that new yorkers lead and we fade out. insert--animated cartoon of subway entrance--people pushing their way madly into the subway. _interior of subway car._ animated cartoon. conductor is packing people in, smashing them in so they can hardly breathe and mashing them against the wall so that they collapse. he hammers others on the head with mallets to get them to move back. everybody about him is mashed flat but still he pushes more in. (fade out.) roland concludes his story about the terrible life in new york and lord howe-greene greatly surprised at this says: sp: "my word!" roland appeals to tom for confirmation and tom nods his head and says that he hasn't heard the half of it. lord howe-greene shakes his head, thinks a moment and says: sp: "then you shall try chicago!" roland is surprised at his suggesting chicago, shakes his head, and says: sp: "chicago is worse. people are blown to death in chicago by millions!" he turns to tom and tom confirms this and lord howe-greene, extremely puzzled and surprised, wants to know how. roland then goes on to describe a scene of how people are blown to death in chicago, along michigan avenue. (fade out.) insert--animated cartoon. (fade in.) michigan avenue. people are being blown down the avenue and slammed up against walls where they mash out flat. some of them are blown over and over and some of them are rolling like barrels. (fade out.) roland finishes his tale about chicago, and tom agrees with him, shaking his head and saying: "it is indeed a terrible sight to see this thing that roland just described!" lord howe-greene shows great distress, and shakes his head again and exclaims: sp: "my word!" roland looks over at tom and gives him a wink. tom gives roland the high sign and the two of them feel that things are going fine when suddenly lord howe-greene scratches his head and gets a brilliant idea. he then tells roland that he has just the place for him and says: sp: "i have a cousin--a real estate agent in los angeles--who writes me that the climate is so salubrious that every one lives to a ripe old age." roland looks at lord howe-greene in astonishment, feeling that he has been stuck at last. lord howe-greene then pats him on the shoulder and says: sp: "that's the place for you, my boy!" roland looks genuinely alarmed and turns to tom for aid, but tom himself is pretty much stumped at this. lord howe-greene feeling that their problem has been settled, says that that's exactly the place and everything will be fine. roland stalls, does some quick, heavy thinking, finally gets an idea, and says: "lord howe-greene, that's exactly where you're wrong." sp: "the trouble out there is that people never die. they won't buy insurance!" roland is rather pleased with himself for thinking up this and tom congratulates him on it, smiling his approbation. lord howe-greene can hardly believe this angle of the situation, says he doesn't think that's possible. roland, realizing that he has got to spike this says: sp: "why, i tried to sell insurance out there once and what do you think happened?" lord howe-greene is interested and wants to know what did happen to him. tom looks rather quizzically at roland, feeling that he is getting out beyond his depth. roland clears his throat and starts in to describe what happened. (fade out.) . front of bungalow in los angeles. (fade in.) three men with white whiskers to their waist are playing leap-frog on the lawn. roland comes down the street, approaches one with an insurance circular in his hand and asks if he could interest him in some insurance. the old fellow says: sp: "no, i don't want any insurance, but you might see pa." roland is surprised that a man of his age should have a father and asks where he is. the old fellow points to the front door of the bungalow and says: sp: "he's helping grandpa carry the piano up in grandma's room." roland can hardly believe his ears at this and says: "what?" the old man nods and says: sp: "yes, grandma is going to take music lessons." roland looks aghast at the old man who goes back to his leap-frog, and finally coming to, goes up to the house and rings the bell while the three old boys continue their leap-frog. presently a youthful looking jap with long, white whiskers opens the door. roland asks for the father and is shown in. . hallway los angeles bungalow. roland enters with the jap servant. pa and grandpa--one with whiskers to the knees and one with whiskers to the ankles--are lifting a piano up the stairs. roland approaches pa and asks him if he could interest him in insurance. pa holds the piano with one hand, with the other takes the young man's circular and looks at it. he then shakes his head no, turns to grandpa and says: "father, do you want any insurance?" grandpa asks to see the circular and pa hands it up to him. grandpa looks at it a minute, then looks at roland, shakes his head and says: sp: "i think not, son. i can look after my family for a few years yet, and by that time they'll be able to take care of themselves." he hands the circular back to roland and he and pa pick up the piano and go on upstairs, roland looking after them in absolute amazement. (fade out.) . library, roland's house. (fade in.) roland finishes his story about los angeles. turns to tom who confirms everything he has said. lord howe-greene, shaking his head in amazement over these extraordinary conditions in america, says very weakly-- sp: "my word" (in very small type). and lord howe-greene is very much distressed. he feels that this case is baffling him. he finally looks up hopelessly and asks roland what they're going to do. roland, puzzled, turns to tom and asks him what he thinks of the situation. tom thinks a moment, finally gets an idea, turns to lord howe-greene and says: sp: "if you could only get him to go down to bunkonia." roland pooh-poohs this idea and says no, he never would, he couldn't go there because it is too far away. but tom goes on into raptures about bunkonia, telling him what a marvelous place it is for business of all kinds, and lord howe-greene, glad of some solution to his problem, finally jumps at the idea--turns to roland and says: sp: "that's an idea! new country--virgin field--it's just the place for you!" roland thinks a minute as though he had to be convinced, but lord howe-greene keeps on begging him to take a chance. tom joins lord howe-greene in urging him, and finally roland allows himself to be persuaded, decides that he will go, lord howe-greene shakes him warmly by the hand and--(fade out). t: santo grafto, capitol of bunkonia, the beautiful land of sunshine and flowers, music and laughter, tamales, typhoid and ptomaine. . exterior view of town of santo grafto. (fade in.) showing natives, equipages, a few soldiers, etc. (dissolve out.) . park (dissolve in) singers, dancers, musicians, flower sellers, children, etc. (dissolve out.) t: king caramba and his council engaged in their favorite indoor sport of raising taxes and downing liquor. . the king's council chamber. caramba sitting at the head of the table with three councilors on his right and three on his left--among them being enrico. some servants in livery are standing about. one of the councilors has just finished reading the text of a bill to raise the taxes. king caramba is sound asleep with a bottle in his hand. enrico, the only sober one in the lot, is looking in a sinister, calculating way around the table. the councilor who is reading the bill sways as he reads and the paper jiggles in his hand. . insert paper raising taxes. the councilor finishes reading, puts paper in front of king and guides his hand while he signs it. insert--king's hand is signing the paper--it wanders all over the paper so that most of the name is written on the table with a grand flourish at the end. after signing the paper, the king takes another drink. the man takes the paper and blows on it. enrico, with a sinister smile, gets up and starts to go. the councilor takes the paper, waves it aloft to the other councilors who cheer in a drunken manner. they all pour out another bumper, enrico stands by the doorway in a calculating manner, then smiling a satisfied smile, he turns on his heel and leaves. (fade out.) t: the revolutionists await their leader at their rendezvous in the rue de stiletto. . revolutionists' rendezvous. (fade in.) a number of revolutionary leaders are there, including the countess, conwell, the general and two men in citizen's clothes. they are discussing matters more or less violently and waiting for enrico. . rendezvous at gate. enrico enters, looks about stealthily, sees that no one is watching and then wraps three times on the gate. the gate is opened by a villainous servant and enrico enters. . revolutionists' rendezvous. the revolutionists are still talking together and they see enrico entering. they gather about him to get the news and enrico says: sp: "they were _all_ drunk to-night. it will soon be time to strike." they all rejoice at this. enrico asks the general about the army and he replies: sp: "two hundred of the army are with us now. it will take a hundred pesetas to win over the other fifty." enrico is very angry at this, and asks him what he means by a hundred pesetas, and is very sore at the tremendous cost at buying these men. the countess stops his raving, putting her finger over his lips, goes into her stocking, takes out the money and gives the general two bills, which amount to more than he has asked for. he then turns to conwell and starts in to talk. the general puts the money in his pocket but enrico notices him and says: sp: "here! here! give us the change!" reluctantly the general digs it up, starts to pass it over to the countess but enrico stops him before the countess notices, grabs the money and puts it in his own pocket. enrico then crosses over to conwell and says: sp: "are you sure we can handle old bird when we're ready?" conwell tells him it's the easiest thing in the world, that the old man has got to do just what he says and winds up with: sp: "didn't i get him this job?" they all seem satisfied with this and go on plotting. (fade out.) t: on the edge of this political volcano sits our old friend, colonel bird, at peace with all the world in the fullness of his ignorance. . colonel bird's room in the consulate. (dissolve in.) colonel bird is sitting at his desk reading a political book. mammy is straightening room and dusting. rosalie enters dressed for the street. she goes to the colonel, looks over his shoulder, tells him that he works too hard, makes him promise he will get some rest and kisses him good-by and goes out. . conwell's room in the consulate. conwell is sitting at his desk very busily but rather slyly making out a report. rosalie comes from her father's room, says good morning to conwell and starts to pass through. conwell immediately jumps to his feet, comes to her, and stops her, admiring her dress, etc. rosalie shows by her attitude that she has begun to fear this man. she starts to pass him but he takes her by the hand, restrains her and says: sp: "how much longer are you going to keep me waiting?" rosalie is embarrassed and doesn't know what to say. she tells him that she doesn't care about him in that way and he finally says: sp: "don't you think you owe me something after all i've done for your father?" she expresses her gratitude for the help he has been to her father but doesn't quite see why she should marry him for that reason. conwell is getting impatient and finally says: sp: "your father as good as promised that you'd marry me." rosalie is surprised and incredulous, says she doesn't believe it and turns and goes to the door. conwell tries to restrain her but doesn't succeed. rosalie calls in to her father and asks if he will come in. . colonel bird's room at consulate. colonel bird puts down his book and goes in to conwell's room. . conwell's room at consulate. rosalie looks up at her father almost in tears and asks if he promised that she marry conwell. colonel bird berates conwell for suggesting such a thing, tells her she shall marry the man of her choice. conwell protests that bird is indebted to him for his job, colonel bird straightens himself up with great dignity and says: sp: "well, sir, didn't i make you my secretary?" conwell looks at him as much as to say--"you poor old simp--just wait." colonel bird takes rosalie to the door, kisses her good-by and she goes out. he then turns to conwell and tells him to stop annoying his daughter. . exterior consulate. rosalie comes out and goes down the street toward the station. . conwell's room at consulate. colonel bird is still laying down the law to conwell who nods his head, and colonel bird goes back to his own room. conwell looks after him in a menacing way, then shakes his fist after him and suggesting that he will get even with him yet. he then gets his hat and goes out. (fade out.) t: . railway station at santo grafto. station master is there, baggage man, three or four natives, some kids and several pretty native girls. rosalie also is waiting. the train comes in, a couple of soldiers get off and greet the girls. two natives get off and then tom and roland get off. rosalie rushes to them. roland kisses her, she greets tom and leads them off. . back of santo grafto station. carriage waiting with native driver. rosalie enters with roland and tom, they get into the carriage and drive off. (fade out.) t: the hotel del mosquito. . front of hotel. (fade in.) there are several tables in front of the hotel and also several booths and a sign over the entrance. several people are sitting at the tables drinking. at one table sits the countess and enrico. conwell enters and joins them, rather sore over his rebuff by rosalie. they ask him why so grouchy and he tells them. they give him the laugh but enrico slaps him on the back and tells him she will come around all right. waiters are going in and out. a pretty girl is selling flowers, a couple of musicians are playing guitars. carriage drives up with rosalie, roland and tom. tom and roland get out, a native porter comes from the hotel and takes their bags into the hotel followed by tom, while roland stops to speak to rosalie. conwell looks up, sees roland and is very much disturbed. he calls the attention of his two friends to roland and tells them who he is and they all look searchingly at him. roland says a very affectionate good-by to rosalie and says: sp: "may i come to see you this evening?" rosalie tells him that he may, bids him good-by and he watches her drive away, sighs and turns and goes into hotel. conwell half hides so that roland won't see him. after he is well out of sight conwell starts to grumble at his ill luck at having this fellow come down here. enrico pats him on the back, whispers in his ear and says: sp: "we can put him out of the way during the revolution." the countess nods that this will be easy but conwell looks doubtful, shakes his head and says: sp: "no, it would be dangerous for us--he's too well known in washington." conwell shows his anger and chagrin at the turn of affairs. enrico shrugs his shoulders but the countess starts in to think of some way out. . hallway outside roland's apartment. porter enters with roland and tom, opens door and they enter roland's room. . roland's apartment in the hotel. the porter shows tom and roland in. roland is quite pleased with the place, tips the porter generously; the porter leaves, followed by tom and his bag. . front of hotel. conwell is still cursing his luck. enrico is sympathetic but helpless. the countess is thinking heavily and finally gets an idea. she leans over, pats conwell on the and says: sp: "there's something on every man if you can only find it. leave it to me. i'll find something to hang on him." enrico approves of this, conwell is slightly interested and the countess goes on explaining that she has tackled many a difficult proposition and won out. just to leave it to her. (fade out.) t: evening. . beautiful courtyard or garden at the consulate. roland, dinner coat, and rosalie, evening dress, and the colonel are there. roland has just finished telling the story of his dad's directions regarding his fortune and he finishes up by saying to rosalie: sp: "so we've got to wait another year, rosalie." she takes his hand and says she doesn't mind at all, she knows he'll be a great success. the old colonel comes to him, takes him by the hand and says: sp: "i'm glad something has set you to work, but you've got to win to get rosalie." roland thanks the colonel, tells him he knows it and that he's going to make good. the colonel rather brusquely tells him he hopes he does and then leaves. rosalie runs to roland, tells him she knows he's going to make good. . hallway outside roland's apartment. the countess enters, looks around stealthily, goes to the door, tries it, finds it locked, takes a hairpin from her hair, unlocks the door with it, looks around and enters. . roland's room in hotel. the countess in dark evening dress enters and closes the door. begins to rummage around among roland's things in his wardrobe trunk. she finally uncovers a lot of blank insurance policies. she shows great interest in the discovery of the papers, as papers are one of her main stock in trade. she starts feverishly to examine them. insert--handful of insurance blanks. the countess looks at them in disgust, puts them back where she found them and goes on hunting. . garden of consulate. another very beautiful shot with rosalie and roland standing or sitting on a bench planning their future. . roland's bedroom in hotel. the countess still rummaging around. down in the bottom drawer of the trunk, she discovers a copy of roland's father's instructions which have been given him by lord howe-greene. she pounces on this and reads it. insert--if at the end of one year the business said roland stone procures for the company has proven profitable, the same will be proof of his good business judgment and he is then to come into possession of my entire fortune. countess ponders over this a moment, then reads next paragraph: insert--part of statement as follows: "if, on the other hand, the company at the end of one year has suffered a loss through the agency of said roland stone, my entire fortune shall be given to the support of the washington home for incurables." the countess gloats over this discovery, carefully replaces everything just as she found it, conceals the paper in her dress and stealthily leaves the room. . exterior of consulate. roland is just bidding rosalie good-night. she is expressing her good wishes for his success. roland looks out toward the view of bunkonia, then turns to rosalie and says: sp: "why, in a virgin field like this, i can't help but make the company money." rosalie is just as certain as he is about it. he then goes on telling her that in just one little year he will be claiming her. rosalie is delighted. roland timidly kisses her, says good-night and leaves. rosalie looks after him and sighs. . cafe of the hotel. enrico and conwell sitting at a table smoking and drinking. conwell is quite nervous and irritable. enrico is trying to jolly him up. the countess enters in a very mysterious way, sits beside them and tells them with much glee but in great secretiveness that she has great news. she stealthily draws the paper from her dress and shows it to them. insert--same clause as before with the countess' finger pointing to it. conwell and enrico are puzzled over this, and conwell asks the countess how it concerns him. the countess looks furtively about and says: sp: "don't you see--if he loses money for the company, he loses the fortune and the girl!" enrico and conwell consider this for a moment, and finally realize the truth of it but ask the countess what she has in her bean. the countess looks furtively about and says: sp: "we'll have him insure the lives of the king and council." enrico and conwell look at her, then at each other and ask what good that will do. the countess looks at them in a surprised way and says: sp: "aren't they all to be killed in our revolution?" slowly the force of this breaks over the minds of enrico and conwell, their faces become wreathed in smiles, at length both laugh boisterously. conwell takes the paper and looks at it again, then rises, takes his glass, holds it out toward the countess and says: sp: "to the women--bless them. what would we do without them?" he and enrico raise their glasses and drink to the countess who smiles and blushes. (fade out.) t: the next morning--the plant. . front of the hotel. (fade in.) roland is sitting at a table in the f.g. having his breakfast. conwell and enrico come to the hotel doorway and look out. they finally spot roland. conwell then gives instructions to enrico as to what to do. he then goes out toward roland while enrico backs into the hotel doorway and waits. conwell goes over to roland, slaps him on the back, greets him heartily. roland rises, rather embarrassed, conwell shakes his hand cordially and sits beside him. enrico in the doorway watches with a sinister smile. conwell asks roland what he is doing down in bunkonia. roland says: sp: "i've come down to sell insurance." conwell is interested in this and roland tells him in a few words what he wants to do. conwell is quite interested and says: sp: "perhaps i can give you a boost. i know all the big guns down here." roland is mildly interested but not overly enthusiastic as he knows something of conwell's boasting proclivities. however he thanks him. conwell offers roland a cigarette and while roland is taking it, conwell quickly signals to enrico. enrico sees the signal and walks down to the front of the hotel. conwell looks up sharply, pretending he has just seen enrico, points him out to roland, who looks also, and conwell then speaks, saying: sp: "that's enrico de castanet, secretary of war, and a great pal of king caramba." roland is quite impressed. conwell says he will bring him over and gets up and goes over toward enrico. enrico turns, sees him, greets him very enthusiastically, saying, "ah, my friend," shakes his hand and raises his hat at the same time conwell is doing it. conwell then asks him if he won't come over and meet his friend, at the same time giving enrico the wink. enrico says he will be pleased and they both go over to roland's table. conwell introduces enrico to roland. enrico again raises his hat. they all sit, roland orders drinks and conwell briefly tells enrico about roland's business. enrico says he is interested in any friend of conwell's and after a few words of explanation from roland, enrico says to conwell: sp: "there's a meeting of the council to-night. why not bring your friend? i'll have him meet the king." roland is quite overcome by all this kindness, and conwell says: "_that is exactly the thing to do_." conwell takes his drink, holds it up and says: sp: here's hoping you insure the lives of the king and all his council." they all drink to roland's success. roland is overcome by their kindness. (fade out.) t: at the council meeting. . king caramba's council room. (fade in.) king caramba and his councilors are there, boozing as usual. conwell is standing making a speech to them which they are not listening to very intently. conwell is telling them what a great thing insurance is, and says: sp: "right at your very door, gentlemen, is a young yankee who is able to sell you this wonderful life insurance." the councilors listen in a drunken way, all except old señor frijole, who is very sore and grouchy and signifies that he wants nothing to do with this yankee and his business. enrico rises to speak, telling them what a wonderful thing insurance is, and then he says: sp: "why, do you realize, gentlemen, that we get thousands of pesetas for a mere few hundred?" he turns to conwell and asks him if he is right. conwell assures him he is right, and then continues his speech. at this the councilors begin to take very much more interest. they signify that this must be very good after all, all except old señor frijole, who is sitting next to enrico. he pulls enrico's sleeve and says: sp: "but you have to die to get it--don't you?" enrico gives him a quick, dirty look, tells him to shut up, which squelches him somewhat, but he goes on mumbling to himself. conwell goes on talking, saying that this opportunity should not be overlooked. he sits down. enrico says he thinks it is a fine idea and says: sp: "i'll take , pesetas myself." at this the councilors are more interested than ever as they know enrico is not the type to be done. old frijole goes on grumbling into his glass of liquor saying he will have nothing to do with it. conwell goes over to the door, opens it and goes out. . hallway in palace. roland sitting on a settee. conwell comes from council room. roland with application in his hand jumps up nervously and meets him. conwell tells him it is all right and they go into council room. . council room. conwell brings roland in and introduces him to the councilors who greet him, with drunken enthusiasm, while conwell stands in the background with a menacing leer. roland is very much pleased, but bashful, overcome by his luck. enrico, with a grand flourish, asks roland for an application which roland gives him, and he signs his own application with a grand flourish and hands it over to roland as if to say--"there, what more assurance do you want that this is a good thing?" at this the other councilors all reach out drunkenly and grab applications, roland writing in the amounts, and all of them signing the applications drunkenly. enrico and conwell exchange triumphant looks, but old señor frijole shows his disgust for the entire affair. he finally goes up and tries to keep the king from signing his application, but the king gives him a push, he staggers back into his chair, mumbling and grumbling and warning them against yankee tricks. by this time, roland has most of the applications signed, conwell comes up, pats him on the back and congratulates him. (fade out.) t: about a week later. (fade in.) . colonel bird's room in consulate. rosalie in simple evening dress is standing by the window. roland, in a blue coat and flannel trousers, rushes in and rosalie runs to him. he tells her he has a surprise for her. she is very much interested and wants to know what it is. he says: sp: "i've insured king caramba and his councilors for nearly a hundred thousand dollars." rosalie is amazed and delighted at this good news. roland says: sp: "i just delivered the policies and collected the premiums." rosalie is in ecstasies and throws her arm around him and kisses him, much to his embarrassment, although he is also greatly pleased. roland says: sp: "i want you to come out to help celebrate my good fortune." she is delighted, picks up a tulle scarf and goes out with roland. . conwell's room in consulate. conwell is standing at desk as roland and rosalie enter. conwell turns to them smiling. roland stops and tells rosalie conwell's influence got him his big clients. he goes to conwell and thanks him, shaking his hand. rosalie is surprised and puzzled that conwell should help roland. roland gets rosalie and they go out bidding conwell good-night. conwell looks after them leering. . exterior consulate. roland and rosalie come out of the consulate and leave in the direction of the hotel. . revolutionists' rendezvous. the countess, three other revolutionists and about thirty soldiers are there. they are all excited and talking among themselves. . gateway of rendezvous. general enters hurriedly and knocks three times--gate opens and he quickly enters. . revolutionists' rendezvous. revolutionists talking and awaiting somebody. the general enters and joins group. he looks about and says: sp: "enrico has just left the council meeting. as soon as he comes we strike." he then leaves and goes to soldiers--the others discuss this news excitedly. . gateway of rendezvous. a group of six or eight soldiers, led by a sergeant, approach skulkingly--the sergeant knocks at the gate, which opens and the soldiers all sneak in. . exterior consulate. colonel enters from opposite direction taken by roland and rosalie and enters consulate. four guards look out from hiding places. . cafe in front of the hotel (night). several people at tables. roland and rosalie enter and go into one of the little booths and sit down--waiter comes and takes their order--they are very happy. . exterior consulate. enrico enters, whistles softly, and four guards sneak out of hiding places and come to him. he asks if colonel bird is home. they tell him he has just gone in. he tells them to wait in the shadow and they go into the shadow and enrico, looking about cautiously, goes to the porch and knocks three times. . conwell's room in consulate. conwell at desk hears knock, glances toward the colonel's room and goes to the door, opens it. enrico quickly enters. conwell closes the door. enrico asks him if the colonel is in. he smiles and says yes. enrico tells him he has come to fix old bird. conwell says: "easy--he'll do anything you say," and tells him to wait a moment and goes into the colonel's room. . colonel's room. colonel at his desk. conwell enters, tells him that enrico de castanet wishes to see him. colonel somewhat surprised and a little bit flattered, swells up a bit, tells conwell to show señor de castanet in. conwell opens the door and de castanet enters. the colonel greets him and they sit down and conwell goes out and they begin to talk, enrico telling him that they are going to pull a revolution that night and put king caramba and his council out of the way. . cafe in front of hotel. roland and rosalie still dining, having a grand time. a couple of revolutionists enter and sit in the booth next to theirs. . colonel's room. enrico is talking very earnestly to the colonel. at length he says: sp: "now if you will advise the american president to recognize our new government to-morrow, it will mean almost anything you wish to ask." the old colonel is puzzled and vaguely alarmed at this, doesn't quite get it. asks enrico: sp: "are you offering me a bribe?" enrico shrugs his shoulders and says if that is what he chooses to call it. the old colonel becomes very angry, rises at his desk, begins to lay down the law to enrico and says: sp: "you would have me barter the honor of my country? are you aware, sir, that you are dealing with _a loyal american citizen_?" he bangs the table, stretches himself to his full height. enrico rises and tries to argue with him, but the colonel brushes him away and grandiloquently points to american flag. sp: "that, sir, is the greatest flag in the world, and no act of mine shall ever stain it." at the finish of the speech, the old colonel, with a grand flourish, orders enrico out of the room. enrico backs out, protesting all the way. the old man kicking him out at the finish. . conwell's office. conwell waiting expectantly. enrico lands in the room, to which he has been catapulted by the old colonel's foot. conwell comes to him, much perturbed. . col. bird's room at the consulate. old colonel slams the door and walks up and down in excitement. . conwell's room. enrico angrily telling conwell what happened in the other room. conwell very sore and disgusted at the old man, says: sp: "have your guard kidnap him and lock him up and _i'll_ take charge of the consulate." enrico angrily approves of this and rushes outdoors. . colonel's room at consulate. colonel at his desk, rapidly writing a telegram, presses button. . conwell's room at consulate. conwell, looking out, hears the button, goes into the colonel's room. . colonel's room at consulate. colonel finishing telegram, rises. conwell comes to him. colonel indignantly tells him in a very few words what has happened, points to the flag, hammers his chest in great indignation, shows him a telegram which he is sending. conwell reads telegram: insert--telegram. to capt. henry halyard, u. s. battleship utah, porto punko, bunkonia. revolution threatened here to-night. send marines at once to protect american interests. bird, consul. conwell smiles at this. the colonel orders him to send it at once and conwell, still smiling, starts to leave the room, when the door opens and in bursts enrico with his four guards. he tells them to arrest the colonel, which they do, but the old boy puts up a fight. they finally overcome him and hold him prisoner. he appeals to conwell, who only laughs at him and tears up the telegram and throws it in his face, shakes his finger at the old man and says: sp: "we shall see now who is the boss around here." the old colonel is annoyed and tries to get at conwell but the guards hold him. conwell smiles and says: sp: "we shall see now whether i get your daughter or not." he tells the guard to rush the old man out, which they do, followed by conwell and enrico. . conwell's room in consulate. the guards rush the old colonel through the room and out, followed by conwell and enrico. . front of the consulate. guards rush the old colonel out followed by enrico and conwell. enrico tells the guard: sp: "lock him up in the dungeons under the palace." he scribbles on a card that he gives to one of the guards. the guards rush the colonel off toward the palace and enrico and conwell go in the opposite direction, toward the rendezvous. . cafe in front of hotel. (long shot) showing the two booths, with roland and rosalie in one and the two revolutionists in the other. close up of table with roland and rosalie. they are talking animatedly. roland has a little notebook in his hand, which he shows to rosalie and says: sp: "think what this means to us, rosalie! i can't fail now." rosalie is delighted at the wonder of this--takes his hand and they go on talking of their plans. close up of the table with the revolutionists. a third revolutionist officer comes in hurriedly, sits down, looks about and says: sp: "the hour to strike is at hand." the other revolutionists listen. close up of roland and rosalie. they are pricking up their ears. close up of revolutionists' table. one asks the newcomer what is going to happen and he says: sp: "the revolution starts to-night." the other two gloat over this. close up--roland and rosalie listen, their alarm growing, roland climbs on chair and looks into next booth. other booth--roland looking over top, frightened. the revolutionists go on talking, the newcomer says: sp: "king caramba and his council will be killed first." they go on talking together. close up, roland and rosalie--roland is dismayed at what he has heard. rosalie starts to speak and he tells her to keep quiet and he listens over the partition. close up, three revolutionists--they are talking, call waiter, pay him and get up and leave hurriedly. roland ducks down. close up of roland--finally he realizes what is to happen, and that it means ruin and he turns to rosalie and says: sp: "they are going to kill every one i've insured." they are both terribly alarmed and realize that this means ruin for their hopes. they don't know what to do, at length rosalie says: sp: "we must have father send for help." roland in his terror agrees to this--he throws a bill on the table, she grabs him by the hand and they rush out. . exterior revolutionists' rendezvous--enrico and conwell enter. enrico knocks on door three times, the door is opened and they enter. . revolutionists' rendezvous. enrico and conwell enter and join countess and general and tell them the time has come to strike--that old bird refused enrico's request, that they chucked him in prison and conwell now is boss of the consulate. . dungeons under palace. four guards rush in colonel bird and chuck him in one of the cells, lock the door and rush out. . exterior consulate. roland and rosalie run in and rush into the consulate. . conwell's room at consulate. roland and rosalie rush through. . col. bird's room at consulate. roland and rosalie rush in--see the overturned furniture and realize something has happened. mammy enters from back door. rosalie runs to her and asks what has happened and she doesn't know. rosalie asks mammy where her father is. mammy says she left him here. rosalie is terrified. rosalie and the old servant rush out. rosalie upstairs and mammy to kitchen to look for the colonel. roland picks up the bits of the telegram from the floor and pieces them together. rosalie comes back into the room and the old servant enters and shakes her head. rosalie in terror, says: sp: "father is not here." roland thinks a moment, realizes that they have taken him away, shows his anger at this, calls rosalie to him, finishes piecing the telegram together and then reads it. insert of telegram pieced together. rosalie having read the telegram shows hope in her face and says to roland: sp: "you must send that message at once." roland jumps at this and gathers up the pieces in his hand, starts to go, then thinks of the girl, stops and asks her what she will do in the meantime. she says never to mind, but to go on, old mammy will stay with her. roland is reluctant to go, but rosalie goes to the drawer of the desk, takes out her father's old army revolver, and then goes to roland and says: sp: "i am an american girl and can take care of myself." she tells him to go and forces him out toward the door. he takes her in his arms and kisses her and rushes out. the old mammy comes to her and puts her arm about her. . front of consulate--roland rushes out and down the street toward the station. . revolutionists' rendezvous. the countess, the general and a few other officers, about soldiers and a major are there. enrico is giving his instructions to the various people. conwell and enrico enter. conwell tells countess, general and others what has happened and tells them what to do. conwell says: sp: "look here, what about the girl? i want her abducted and kept for me in the palace." enrico says that's all right--tells the general to put a guard at the disposal of conwell. conwell and the general leave--go to soldiers. enrico tells countess to look after the girl when she gets to the palace. countess says she will and enrico goes on talking to others. about soldiers are there. conwell and general enter. general selects a guard of about three men. tells them to obey conwell's orders and conwell leaves with the three men. the general then turns to the rest of the soldiers instructing them as to what they are to do. . exterior r. r. station. roland runs in and enters station. . interior r. r. station and telegraph office. roland rushes in and tells station master he wants to send a message. starts to write it. station master stops him--says he cannot send message. roland asks why. station master points to telegraph instrument. close up of telegraph instrument smashed. roland asks who did that. station master says: sp: "the revolutionists." roland is nonplused for the moment--rushes out of the door, followed by the station master. . exterior r. r. station. roland rushes out followed by station master. roland runs in the direction of the hotel. station master looks after him and bites his thumb at him, then goes back into station. . exterior window side of consulate. conwell sneaks in with his three soldiers and peeks in window and sees-- . col. bird's room in consulate--rosalie sitting tense holding gun and watching door. mammy beside her standing. . exterior window side of consulate. conwell shows his chagrin at the fact of rosalie's having a gun, thinks a moment, then tells his guard to keep very quiet and follow him. he sneaks out toward front of house, followed by guard very quietly. . cafe in front of hotel. tom is sitting in one of the booths shooting craps with a native civilian. roland rushes in, tells tom about the revolution, says: sp: "we've got to save all those ginks i insured." he grabs tom and they rush out of the cafe toward the palace leaving the native flat. . conwell's room in consulate. conwell, with his three guards, enter stealthily. he places the three guards against the wall on each side of the door leading to the colonel's room and he then knocks on the door. . colonel's room in consulate. rosalie, terrified, says: "who is it?" . conwell's room in consulate. conwell says, "it's i--jim conwell." . colonel's room in consulate. rosalie, greatly relieved, lowers gun and says, "come in." conwell enters, leaving the door open. he smiles ingratiatingly and comes forward. she asks him if he knows where her father is. he doesn't know, but pats her reassuringly on the shoulder and gently takes the revolver from her. in this position he whistles. the girl looks up quickly and jumps to her feet in alarm, but before she can make any move, the three guards rush in and seize her. conwell steps to her and says: sp: "don't be alarmed, these gentlemen will escort you to the king's palace where our wedding will take place to-morrow morning." rosalie is horrified at this and starts to struggle, but the men hold her and start to take her out of the room. the old mammy grabs a big book and lambasts conwell over the head, stunning him for a moment. she then runs for the guards, jumping on their backs like a cat. by this time conwell has regained his feet, grabs the colored servant and bangs her on the head with something heavy, then chucks her over into a corner and he follows the guards and rosalie out through a back door. . back door of consulate. conwell rushes out followed by the three guards dragging rosalie. they start toward palace but conwell stops them and says: sp: "we'll keep her in our rendezvous until enrico captures the palace." they all exit in the opposite direction. . revolutionists' rendezvous. enrico is there with the general, major and countess. enrico is haranguing the soldiers, giving them final instructions. they all cheer. enrico calls major to him and tells him to look after the countess and after they have captured the palace to bring her there. major salutes and steps aside with countess. enrico goes on haranguing the soldiers and at length says: sp: "and remember there is a price of thirty pesetas on the head of the king!" they all cheer. enrico draws his sword and says: sp: "on to the palace!" he gives orders to fall in, which they do, then forward march. they all march out led by enrico, the countess and major looking after them. t: thirty pesetas' worth of royalty. . king's bedchamber. councilors standing by bed all salute drunkenly. two lackeys carry the king (who is dressed in a long white night gown and night cap and hugging a bottle of booze to his chest) and chuck him on the bed, cover him up and stand. the king dozes off into a drunken stupor. councilors salute and stagger out toward council room (followed by lackeys). . hallway in palace. councilors stagger out of king's bedroom across hall and into council room. . council room in palace. councilors stagger in and sit at table and begin boozing--drinking to: sp: "good rest to his majesty." they all down a drink and sit down. . front door of palace. two royal guards on duty (uniforms elaborate and different from those of the army). roland and tom rush up and demand admittance and are refused. roland says it is very important to see the king, but they won't let him in. tom wants to wallop them on the nose and go in, but is restrained by their guns and finally he and roland leave in disgust and go down to the edge of the grounds, then look back and see the guards are not looking and beat it around to the side of the palace. . street. enrico, the general and soldiers march through toward palace. . wall of palace (outside). roland and tom run in and scale wall. . wall of palace (inside). roland and tom jump down and run toward back of palace. . back of palace. roland and tom run in. tom leans down and makes a stepping stone for roland, who jumps from his back to window, pushes it open and crawls in. he then pulls tom up after him. . hallway of palace looking toward the back. roland and tom crawl in the window, quickly look about, rush into the council room. . council chamber. councilors all drunk. tom and roland rush in from hall, tell them there is a revolution on and they've got to beat it to save their hides as the soldiers and revolutionists are coming. they all get up in a drunken, stupid sort of way--don't take it in. two lackeys rush out the window at back. roland demands of one of the councilors: sp: "where is the king?" the councilor, half soused, points across the hall. roland and tom stir up the councilors and drive them out into the hall. one of them is too far gone to walk. roland pitches him over to tom who throws him over his shoulder and carries him out. little frijole, the grouch, is the soberest of the lot and realizes the situation and tries to follow along, but roland gives him a shove and lands him in a chair, saying: sp: "get away! you're not insured." they all go out into the hall, frijole getting up and following. as he does so, he draws an old revolver out of his pocket. . hallway in the palace. they all cross the hallway to the king's bedroom--tom carrying his councilor, frijole following, waving his revolver. . king's bedroom. they all rush in--tom carrying the same councilor and frijole waving his revolver. roland rushes to the king's bed and wakes him up while the councilors stagger about stupidly, bumping into each other and not yet fully realizing what's up. tom drops his councilor on a couch or floor. roland wakes the king up--pulls him out of bed--tells him that the revolutionists are coming and he has got to get out. the king is very stupid from drink and doesn't take it in. roland shakes him and tries to make him understand. . street corner nearer the palace. enrico, the general and army march through. . king's bedroom. roland, trying to make old king caramba understand, says to tom: sp: "get some water." tom leaves. roland goes on shaking the king. close up of little private sideboard or bar in corner of room. tom rushes in, looks for water but there is none. he turns and says: sp: "everything here _but_ watah!" roland says to bring a bottle of something. tom takes a bottle of champagne, knocks neck off of it and goes toward bed. close up by bed--roland still trying to bring king to. tom enters with champagne. roland takes it and souses it in king's face--king falls back on bed. roland and tom pull him up again to his feet. king licks champagne from his face with tongue. they punch, pummel and slap him and finally bring him to. roland tells him about the revolution--that they must get out of the palace and hide. the king looks around and sees the various councilors. finally realizes what is up--asks where the revolutionists are. . front of palace. two royal guards sleeping on ground. enrico, general and soldiers march in. royal guards are overpowered and enrico, general and soldiers begin to bang on door. . king's bedroom in palace. roland tells him they are rushing on the palace. the old king is scared blue--begins to shake and tremble. roland asks him if he doesn't know some way to get out. finally the old king comes to his senses enough to remember a trap door under the flagging of the floor. he takes roland over to the place in the floor and points down there. roland and tom look and see nothing but flagging. the old king keeps pointing and poking with his toe, says: sp: "stairway under there." finally roland taps the flagging with his heel. then he and tom get down on their knees and try to pull up the stone. it won't come. they look up at the king. he says, yes, that's the place. sp: "tunnel--leads to el juggo prison." tom then gets a big jack-knife from his pocket, opens it and begins to pry up the flagging. the old king claps his hands and nods his head. roland and tom continue pulling up the flagging from the floor. . front of the palace. enrico, the general and soldiers banging on the door. . the king's bedroom. roland finishes pulling up the last stone. tom chucks the stones under the bed. roland then raises the trap door, starts to shove the councilors down. . front of the palace. soldiers still banging on the door trying to break it down. . the king's bedchamber. roland is shooing the king and councilors down the stairway. frijole keeps butting in and roland pushing him back. close up of the stairway. frijole is trying to push himself down, but roland holds him back and says: sp: "i told you to keep out of this--you're not insured." but frijole insists that he shall go and raises his revolver at roland. roland ducks and knocks the revolver out of his hand. tom picks it up. roland pushes frijole over to tom, who picks up the little man and drops him out of the window. . front of palace. soldiers still banging on the door--door breaks through and they enter. . king's bedchamber in palace. tom runs to door to hall, opens it a crack and peeks out. . hallway of palace (front end). soldiers rush in. enrico is holding his soldiers at the door, through which they have broken, telling them just where to go. . king's bedchamber. tom calls to roland to look. roland comes to the door and looks. . hallway in palace. enrico giving instructions to his men. . king's bedroom. tom aims revolver at enrico. roland stops him and says: sp: "for god's sake don't kill _him_. he's insured for ten thousand dollars." he grabs tom, closes the door and locks it, pulls tom away. . hallway. enrico, with a flourish, leads his men down the hall toward the king's bedroom. . king's bedroom. tom picks up his councilor and starts down through trap with him. roland quickly removing traces of the broken floor, takes a rug and pulls it to the back of the trap door. . hallway of palace. enrico and part of his soldiers are beating down the door of the king's chamber--the rest going to the council chamber. . king's bedchamber. he closes the trap just as the door breaks open and enrico rushes in with his soldiers. enrico rushes to the bed, sees the king is gone, looks angrily all about the room, points toward the council chamber and they all rush out. . council chamber. soldiers with general looking about coming in from door leading to other rooms where they have found nothing. enrico enters, followed by soldiers, discovers there is nobody there. he meets the general and they are much puzzled as to who could have tipped off the king and let him escape. the general shrugs his shoulders, says if they have escaped, enrico can proclaim himself dictator. enrico goes to the head of the council table, the general on his right raising his sword and shouting: sp: "the king and council having fled, senor de castanet proclaims himself dictator of bunkonia!" soldiers wave their hats, officers their swords, and all acclaim him dictator. he starts to make a speech and says: sp: "general, our first move must be to capture and shoot our renegade king and his council." the general approves and calls an officer and tells him to take a troop and go after the king. officer leaves. . hallway of palace. officer comes in, gets together his men, and beats it. . old stone stairway with heavy wooden door at the top. roland, tom, king and four councilors stumble up the stairs. . hallway of el juggo prison with heavy wooden doors at back. guard is sitting there half asleep. he arouses a little bit. . old stone stairway with heavy wooden door (same as ). roland still beating on the door. . hallway of jail. the guard, amazed at hearing the noise outside this door, gets up, unlocks the big lock and opens the door. roland rushes in with the king on his arm, followed by the four councilors, tom carrying one. the guard is dumbfounded at seeing all these notables coming through the tunnel and asks what the trouble is. roland tells him there is a revolution. he looks closely at the king, realizes who it is, drops on his knees and kisses the king's hand. roland pulls him up to his feet and says: sp: "i want you to lock this whole gang up until i can get help!" the guard looks at roland then at the king and says: sp: "lock up my king--never!" he then kneels down and kisses the king's hand. roland again pulls him to his feet, takes him aside and gives him a couple of pesetas. the guard says, "sure, that's all right," grabs the king and hustles him and others down corridor, tom carrying his councilor. roland tells tom to stay with them. tom follows them down the corridor and roland beats it out of the front of the jail. . hallway in palace. countess and major enter, followed by conwell, rosalie and guards. they walk down the hall and into the council chamber. . council chamber. enrico at the head of the table, the general on his right (councilors' liquor still on table). several other officers at the table and a number of soldiers standing about. countess enters with colonel, conwell, rosalie and guards. countess is escorted by colonel to enrico, who kisses her hand and steps over to rosalie, who is with conwell. she is terribly frightened but enrico leers at her and tells her she has nothing to fear. then turns to the party and says: sp: "let us drink to our little bride." they all take glasses. conwell raises glass to rosalie and says: sp: "to-morrow at ten." they all drink to rosalie, who stands shivering pitifully. (quick fade out.) t: too late. . exterior consulate. roland runs in and rushes in the consulate. . colonel's room in consulate--old mammy lying unconscious where conwell had thrown her. roland rushes in, is alarmed at seeing the girl gone. he goes to mammy, raises her up, shakes her, rubs her hands and slaps them, trying to bring her to. . street. tom runs through desperately. . colonel's room in consulate. roland is giving mammy a drink of water. she opens her eyes and slowly comes to. he puts her in a chair and asks her what has happened. she pulls herself together and says that conwell was there with soldiers--says: sp: "they took her to the king's palace! they are going to make her marry conwell in the morning!" roland shows his alarm and anger, is stumped for a moment. the old mammy begs him to save her girl. roland thinks for a minute what is best to do. . front of consulate. tom runs in and rushes into the house. . colonel's room in consulate. roland is still talking to old mammy, who is describing what happened. tom rushes in from conwell's room, rushes to roland and all out of breath points hand and says: sp: "the revolutionists paid the jail guard ten pezits and he turned over the king and his whole gang to them!" roland is in despair at this news. tom still panting, says: sp: "they are going to shoot them all in the morning!" roland is utterly flabbergasted at this, looks bewildered at tom and the old mammy and finally says to tom that they have rosalie in the palace and are going to make her marry conwell. tom is open mouthed at this news. at length roland says: sp: "there's only one chance--we must go to porto punko and get the marines!" tom and the old mammy are very much interested in this and urge him to try it and roland asks mammy if she is all right. she says she is and tells them to go on. tom and roland beat it out toward the front. she looks after them. . front of consulate. roland and tom come out and rush down the street toward the station. . dungeon under palace. squad of soldiers bring in the king and four councilors. tom's councilor is being carried. they chuck them in the cells and go out. col. bird looking out of adjoining cell and demanding that he be released. the soldiers spit at him and go out. . the r. r. station--roland and tom run in and quickly enter the station. . interior r. r. station. roland and tom rush in. roland asks the station master when the next train goes to porto punko. station master laughs sardonically and replies: sp: "no trains to porto punko to-night! the revolution leaders have given orders that no one shall leave town!" he laughs again at tom and roland. roland looks at tom in alarm then asks the station master if he is sure. station master says of course he's sure. roland steps out of back door. tom starts an altercation with the station master, telling him he is too fresh, etc. . exterior back of station. roland comes out and looks around in desperation. sees native riding by on an old bony horse, runs to him and tries to hire horse. . interior r. r. station. tom and station master's argument is getting warmer. they are threatening each other violently. . exterior front r. r. station. two soldiers (officers with revolvers) ride up on hand car, get off and run into station. . interior r. r. station. tom is pounding station master's head on counter as two officers enter. they see him, draw their revolvers and shout, "throw up your hands." tom stops thumping station master and throws up his hands. they make him turn toward front door and while one covers him the other talks excitedly to station master. . exterior back of r. r. station. roland trying to bribe native to give him horse, but native refuses and rides off. roland turns and looks toward station and sees-- . interior r. r. station. one of officers covering tom whose hands are up, the other talking to station master. . exterior back of r. r. station. roland, alarmed, runs to station. . interior r. r. station. officer finishes his talk with station master, covers tom also and they start to march him toward front door. roland rushes in and fairly catapults himself on the two officers, knocking them down. then he and tom rush out front door jumping over officers. . exterior front of r. r. station. tom and roland rush out of station and start down road. . interior r. r. station. two officers scramble to their feet and rush out front door, followed by station master. . exterior front of r. r. station. roland and tom running down road. two officers rush out, see them and both fire at them. roland falls and tom stops to help him. the two officers run up to them followed by station master. they stick tom up again and jerk roland to his feet. roland loses his hat and puts his hand to his head. he has only a scalp wound. two common soldiers run in from opposite direction--attracted by shots. one of the officers says to them: sp: "take them to the palace dungeon and lock them up." the two soldiers start off with roland and tom. the officer says, "wait a minute"--they stop. he speaks to the other officer who nods his head. the first officer then says to tom: sp: "you come with us." he tells the two soldiers to take roland off, which they do. the two officers then march tom off to the hand car, followed by station master. arrived at the hand car one of them says to tom: sp: "get on there and pump that car." tom and two officers get on hand car. officers cover tom with their revolvers. the station master says: sp: "where are you going?" one of the officers turns to him and says: sp: "to porto punko." at this tom's face lights up and he begins to pump like mad and the hand car goes down the track in opposite direction to one of train in scene. station master waves his hand to them and exits to station. (fade out.) next morning. the fatal hour approaches. . plaza--front of palace. soldiers are lined up in front of palace. populace in native costumes are running about talking excitedly and reading placards which are posted all about. insert--placard (in fake language). _proklamationiz_ bingus de spolio kayitz! etc. dissolve into english which reads: proclamation ex rex caramba and his council have deserted their people. enrico de castanet has been proclaimed dictator by unanimous vote of the army. caramba and his council will be shot at ten. all taxes will be raised twenty per cent at ten-thirty. the people are frightened at this and call others to read. . courtyard back of palace. officer enters from palace with sixteen soldiers. he picks out ten for a firing squad. he goes to the wall and paces off a distance, then lines up his firing squad. he then takes the other six and goes back into the palace. . council room. enrico enters with magistrate carrying a book. enrico leads him across the room and says: sp: "the wedding takes place here!" the magistrate says "all right" and gets ready. . dungeons under palace. conwell and guards with guns enter and open the door of cell and drag roland out leaving old colonel in. they lock the door. roland reaches through the bars and grasps bird's hand, saying "good-by." they take out roland, who has a handkerchief tied around his head. march out. roland then straightens up and marches out like a sidney carton. . council room. enrico and magistrate are waiting (no guns on anybody in this scene). countess enters with rosalie who is terrified and completely cowed. enrico goes to her, pinches her cheek and says: sp: "well, have you made up your mind to marry conwell?" she weakly shakes her head and says she doesn't know what to do. enrico smiles and says: sp: "so you'd rather see your father killed, would you?" she miserably shakes her head and says "no." enrico pats her on the shoulder and says: "that's a sensible little girl." . hall of palace. roland, with two guards and conwell, comes up the stairs and they march to the door of council room and stop. conwell smiles at roland and says: sp: "i did you a good turn, now you are going to do me one." roland looks at him suspiciously and conwell still smiling, says: sp: "you're going to be best man at my wedding." he then throws the door wide open and indicates the wedding party on the opposite side of the room, with a flourish. roland looks in astounded and horrified. . council room. enrico, magistrate, countess and rosalie standing opposite door. they all look at doorway and see conwell and roland. rosalie stands transfixed with her eyes wide open. . hall in palace. roland stands transfixed, looking at rosalie. conwell invites him in with a sinister smile and enters first, followed by roland, who is followed by the two guards. . council room. conwell enters, followed by roland and two guards. conwell crosses to rosalie but roland stops near door, with guards back of him almost in doorway. conwell takes rosalie's hand, tells her roland is to be their best man and, looking tauntingly at roland, he leans over and kisses her. this infuriates roland so he cannot contain himself. he suddenly whirls, pushes the two guards in the face. they fall through the door out into the hall. roland quickly closes the door. . hall in palace. the two guards fall through the doorway, sprawling on the floor. . council room. roland closes the door and locks it, turns and rushes upon the astonished conwell. then follows a general mixup. roland having to fight conwell, enrico and possibly the magistrate--or the magistrate might be an old guy who beats it out the window as soon as the fight begins. rosalie tries to help by picking up a vase or some such object and hitting conwell or enrico, but the countess stops her and rosalie keeps the countess busy by struggling with all her might. conwell must be put out completely and roland conquers enrico and the magistrate and would be a complete winner but for the countess. while she is struggling with rosalie and the fight is going on, the guards in the hall struggle to their feet and begin banging on the door. the countess hears this and her object is to get the door open. she is prevented for some time by rosalie but just as roland has finished off conwell and the magistrate and has enrico down and practically out, the countess manages to get the door open and let in the two guards. they cover roland and he rises and surrenders. conwell and enrico are pretty far gone but they manage to get up and enrico says to the guards: sp: "take him to the courtyard and shoot him!" the guards rush roland out--rosalie collapses. during this fight we see a long shot of tom with an american flag and the marines coming down the street. a man running to a group of the populace and saying: "the americans are coming!" the whole of this group then run out toward the palace. this group runs to the crowd in front of the palace and yell: "the americans are coming!" the crowd falls back to the other side of the plaza and the soldiers guarding the palace look anxiously up and down. tom with his marines rushes into the plaza. the crowd falls back and the soldier guards beat it hot foot. part of the marines rush into the palace, led by tom. the man with the flag and the rest of them stop outside and guard the palace. also, during this fight the officer and his guard of six men take the king and councilors out of their cells and lead them off toward the courtyard, line them up against the wall, tie their hands behind them, blindfold each one and are just about to give the order to shoot when tom rushes into the courtyard with his marines, who chase the soldiers off and tom picks up the king and carries him and shoos them all before him into the palace, having jerked off their blindfolds. . hallway of palace. just as the two guards bring roland out of the council room into the hall and start toward the stairs, tom runs in at front with his marines. the guards, seeing them, drop roland and beat it out the back window. roland greets tom ecstatically, looks at his watch, sees that it is one-half minute to ten and says: sp: "try and save the king and council!" tom wants to know where they are and roland points down stairs and back. roland tells twenty of the marines to come with him and the rest run down stairs with tom. roland leads his little bunch into the council room. . council room. countess is holding up rosalie, conwell leaning against the wall side of her. magistrate is starting marriage service. enrico is sitting on the table holding his head and watching the ceremony. the door bursts open and in rushes roland with six marines. he rushes over and grasps rosalie and tells the marines to cover all the others, which they do. . courtyard of palace. officers just finishing blindfolding king and councilors. they are all lined up to be shot. firing squad is all ready--sixteen in all, now. officer leaves king and councilors and takes place at end of firing squad. he is just about to raise his sword when tom runs in from the palace, lets out a yell, and followed by his twenty marines rushes in. the soldiers seeing them, run like mad, chased by the marines. tom quickly jerks off blindfolds and shoos the whole bunch--king and councilors--into the palace. . council room. colonel bird and two marines run in. rosalie rushes to her father's arms and roland tells bird to look after her and to go into the hall, which they do. he tells two of the marines to guard conwell and the countess and magistrate. he then grabs enrico, tells the other six marines to follow, and drags enrico out into the hall, followed by six marines. . hallway in palace. colonel bird and rosalie are waiting. roland drags enrico out, followed by six marines. they start toward the front. at this moment the king and council come up the stairs headed by tom. roland grabs the king in his other hand, calls tom and tells him to bring the king along; hands him over to tom. tells the marines to herd along the council, and they all go toward front of hall. . front of the palace. people waiting. american soldiers there. roland and tom drag the king and enrico out on the porch, followed by bird and marines. the people become silent, not knowing what has happened. close up of roland starting speech. he raises his hand while tom holds the king. he points at the king, then turns and says: sp: "my friends, for ten years your beautiful country has been ruled by this comic opera king, who has not drawn a sober breath since he ascended the throne." tom holds up the king, to whom roland points--the king weakly protesting. roland turns front and speaks again, pointing at enrico: sp: "last night the king was dethroned by the most corrupt and contemptible grafter the country has ever known--enrico de castanet!" he points at enrico, who grits his teeth and wants to pounce on roland, but is restrained by guns of marines at his back. roland looks triumphantly at enrico, then front, and says: sp: "the first act of this tyrant, on assuming power, was to raise the already exorbitant taxes!" the people nod their heads "yes" and shake their fists at enrico. roland points to enrico and says, "look at him." he then turns to the king and says "look at him." then he turns to the people and says: sp: "is either of these wretches fit to rule this beautiful country?" the people shake their heads yelling "no, no," and to-helling both the king and enrico. close up of roland listening to this demonstration, turning first to the king and then to enrico, as if to say "ah, you see," and then front again and says: sp: "in america we choose our own rulers and determine ourselves what our taxes are to be." long shot of the crowd--hearing this, turning to each other and expressing their approval of the idea, one or two yelling out exclamations of approval. close up of roland--smiling, looking again at the men on his right and left and again speaking front: sp: "why not change this government into a _democracy_ like america and all the _civilized_ countries of the world?" long shot of the crowd, yelling approval, waving their hats and hands and (fade out). t: and so a new republic was born. they tried to make roland president, but there was only one job he wanted. . fade in judge's court. roland is sitting on the bench all dolled up in a judge's rig. beside him stands tom in a policeman's uniform. he indicates to tom to bring in the prisoners. tom tells an officer to open the door. close up of door at side of room. officer opens door and the king and four councilors and enrico file past the camera going to the front of the judge's bench. long shot of courtroom, showing prisoners, judge and tom. close up of roland looking over the prisoners and saying: sp: "you are all sentenced to one year in prison--this country must be made safe for democracy and insurance." the prisoners all look at each other in dismay. tom steps down, starts to jerk enrico roughly toward the door. roland raises his hand and speaks: sp: "treat them gently, chief. their policies don't expire for eleven months!" then tom takes them very gently and leads them out of the room. as they go out, roland says: sp: "we'll call that a day. court is adjourned!" he leaves by door at back. . garden. rosalie waiting. roland comes to her. (fade out.) transcriber notes: passages in italics were indicated by _underscores_. passages in bold were indicated by =equal signs=. small caps were replaced with all caps. throughout the dialogues, there were words used to mimic accents of the speakers. those words were retained as-is. the illustrations have been moved so that they do not break up paragraphs and so that they are next to the text they illustrate, and the table of illustrations is changed to reflect those moves. errors in punctuations and inconsistent hyphenation were not corrected unless otherwise noted. in the list of illustrations, "crepe" was replaced with "crÊpe". on page , "constancetalmadge" was replaced with "constance talmadge". in the illustration on page , "crepe" was replaced with "crÊpe" and crepe was replaced with "crêpe". on page , "orchid's" was replaced with "orchids". on page , a double quotation mark was added before "what dat lord howe-greene" on page , one title has no text. on page , "(same as )" was replaced with "(same as )". on page , "king's" was replaced with "king's". note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustration. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h.zip) the moving picture girls at rocky ranch or great days among the cowboys by laura lee hope author of "the moving picture girls," "the moving picture girls under the palms," "the outdoor girls series," "the bobbsey twins series," etc. illustrated the goldsmith publishing co. cleveland made in u. s. a. copyright, , by grosset & dunlap press of the commercial bookbinding co. cleveland [illustration: "we are hemmed in by the prairie fire!" _moving picture girls at rocky ranch._--_page ._] contents chapter page i the spy ii western plans iii a daring feat iv a cloud of smoke v a mix-up vi the auto smash vii off for the west viii the oil well ix the rivals x the cyclone xi at rocky ranch xii suspicions xiii at the branding xiv a warning xv the indian rites xvi prisoners xvii the rescue xviii a rush of steers xix too much realism xx in the open xxi the burning grass xxii hemmed in xxiii the escape xxiv a disclosure xxv the round-up the moving picture girls at rocky ranch chapter i the spy "well, ruth, aren't you almost ready?" "just a moment, alice. i can't seem to get my collar fastened in the back. i wish i'd used the old-fashioned hooks and eyes instead of those new snaps." "oh, i think those snaps are just adorable!" "oh, alice devere! using such an extreme expression!" "what expression, ruth?" "'adorable!' you sometimes accuse me of using slang, and there you go----" "'adorable' isn't slang," retorted alice. "oh, isn't it though? since when?" "there you go yourself! you're as bad as i am." "well, it must be associating with you, then," sighed ruth. "no, ruth, it's this moving picture business. it just makes you use words that _mean_ something, and not those that are merely sign-posts. i'm glad to see that you are getting--sensible. but never mind about that. are you ready to go to the studio? i'm sure we'll be late." "oh, please help me with this collar. i wish i'd made this waist with the new low-cut effect. not too low, of course," ruth added hastily, as she caught a surprised glance from her sister. two girls were in a room about which were strewn many articles of feminine adornment. yet it was not an untidy apartment. true, dresser drawers did yawn and disclose their contents, and closet doors gaped at one, showing a collection of shoes and skirts. but then the occupants of the room might have been forgiven, for they were in haste to keep an appointment. "there, ruth," finally exclaimed the younger of the two girls--yet she was not so much younger--not more than two years. "i think your collar is perfectly sweet." "it's good of you to say so. you know i got it at that little french shop around the corner, but sewed some of that mexican drawn lace on to make it a bit higher. now i'm sorry i did, for i had to put in those snap fasteners instead of hooks. and if you don't get them to fit exactly they come loose. it's like when the film doesn't come right on the screen, and the piano player sounds a discord to call the operator's attention to it." "you've hit it, sister mine." "oh, alice! there you go again. 'hit it!'" "you'd say 'hit it' at a baseball game," alice retorted. "oh, yes, i suppose so. but we're not at one," objected the older girl, as she finished buttoning her gloves, and took up her parasol, which she shook out, to make sure that it would open easily when needed. "there, i think i'm ready," announced alice, as she slipped on a light jacket, for, though it was spring, the two rivers of new york sent rather chilling breezes across the city, and a light waist was rather conducive to colds. "have you the key?" asked the older girl, as she paused for a moment on the threshold of the private hall of the apartment house. she had tied her veil rather tightly at the back, knotting it and fastening it with a little gold pin, and now she pulled it away from her cheeks, to relieve the tension. "yes, i have it, ruth. oh, don't make such funny faces! anyone would think you were posing." "well, i'm not--but this veil--tickles." "serves you right for trying to be so stylish." "it's proper to have a certain amount of style, alice, dear. i wish i could induce you to have more of it." "i have enough, thank you. let's don't talk dress any more, or we'll have a tiff before we get to the moving picture studio, and there are some long and trying scenes ahead of us to-day." "so there are. i wonder if daddy took his key?" "wait, and i'll look on his dresser." the younger girl went back into the apartment for a moment, while her sister stepped across the corridor and tapped lightly at an opposite door. "has russ gone?" she asked the pleasant-faced woman who answered. "yes, ruth. a little while ago. he was going to call for you girls, but i knew you were dressing, for alice came in to borrow some pins, so i told him not to wait." "that's right. we'll see him at the studio." "you're coming in to supper to-night, you know." "oh, yes, mrs. dalwood. daddy wouldn't miss that for anything!" laughed ruth, as she turned to wait for her sister. "of course he _says_ our cooking is the best he ever had since poor mamma left us," ruth went on, "but i just _know_ he relishes yours a great deal more." "oh, you're just saying that, ruth!" objected the neighbor. "indeed i'm not. you should hear him talk, for days afterward, about your clam chowder." she laughed genially. "well, he does seem to relish that," admitted mrs. dalwood. "what's that?" asked alice, as she came out. "we're speaking of clam chowder, and how fond daddy is of mrs. dalwood's recipe," said ruth. "oh, yes, indeed! i should think he'd be ashamed to look a clam in the face--that is, if a clam _has_ a face," laughed alice. "it's awfully good of you, mrs. dalwood, to make it for him so often." "well, i'm always glad when a man enjoys his meals," declared mrs. dalwood, who, being a widow, knew what the lack of proper home life meant. "i'm afraid we're imposing on you," suggested alice, as she started down the stairs. "you have us over to tea so often, and we seldom invite you." "now don't be thinking that, my dear!" exclaimed the neighbor. "i know what it is when you have to pose so much for moving pictures. "my boy russ tells me what long hours you put in, and how hard you work. and it's trouble enough to get up a meal these days, and have anything left to pay the rent. so i'm only too glad when you can come in and enjoy the victuals with us. i cook too much anyhow, and of late russ seems to have lost his appetite." "i fancy i know why," laughed alice, with a roguish glance at her sister. "alice!" protested ruth, in shocked tones. "don't you dare----" "i was only going to say that he has not seemed well since coming back from florida--what was the harm in that?" alice wanted to know. "oh!" murmured ruth. "do come on," she added, as if she feared her fun-loving sister might say something embarrassing. "russ will be better soon, mrs. dalwood," alice called as she and her sister went down the stairway of the apartment house. "what makes you think so?" asked his mother. "not but what i'm glad to hear you say that, for really he hasn't eaten at all well lately." "we're going on the road again, i hear," went on alice. "the whole moving picture company is to be taken off somewhere, and a lot of films made. russ always likes that, and i'm sure his appetite will come back as soon as we start traveling. it always does." "you are getting to be a close observer," remarked ruth, with just the hint of sarcasm in her voice. "oh, alice, do finish buttoning your gloves in the house!" she exclaimed. "it looks so careless to go out fussing with them." "all right, sister mine. anything to keep peace in the family!" laughed the younger girl. together they went down the street, a charming picture of youth and happiness. a little later they entered the studio of the comet film company, a concern engaged in the business of making moving pictures, from posing them with actors and actresses, and the suitable "properties," to the leasing of the completed films to the various theaters throughout the country. alice and ruth devere, of whom you will hear more later, with their father, were engaged in this work, and very interesting and profitable they found it. as the girls entered the studio they were greeted by a number of other players, and an elderly gentleman, with a bearing and carriage that revealed the schooling of many years behind the footlights, came forward. "i was just wondering where you were," he said with a smile. his voice was husky and hoarse, and indicated that he had some throat affection. in fact, that same throat trouble was the cause of hosmer devere being in moving picture work instead of in the legitimate drama, in which he had formerly been a leading player. "we stopped a moment to speak to mrs. dalwood," explained ruth. "clam chowder," added alice, with a laugh. "she's going to have it this evening, daddy." "good!" he exclaimed, rubbing his hands together in a manner that indicated gratification. "i was just hungry for some." "you always seem able to eat that," laughed alice. "i must learn how to make it." "i wish you would!" exclaimed her father, earnestly. "then when we are on the road i can have some, now and then." "oh, you are hopeless!" laughed alice. "here is your latch-key, daddy," she went on, handing it to him. "you left it on your dresser, and as ruth and i are going shopping when we get through here, i thought you might want it." "thank you, i probably shall. i am going home from here to study a new part." the scene in the studio of the moving picture concern was a lively one. men were moving about whole "rooms"--or, at least they appeared as such on the film. others were setting various parts of the stage, electricians were adjusting the powerful lights, cameras were being set up on their tripods, and operators were at the handles, grinding away, for several plays were being made at once. "just in time, ruth and alice!" called russ dalwood, who was one of the chief camera men. "your scene goes on in ten minutes. you have just time to dress." "it's that 'quaker maid;' isn't it?" asked ruth, for she and her sisters took part in so many plays that often it was hard to remember which particular one was to be filmed. "that's it," said russ. "don't forget your bonnets!" he laughed as he focused the camera. "all ready now!" called mr. pertell, the manager of the company, and also the chief stage director, a little later. "take your places, if you please! mr. devere, you are not in this until the second scene. mr. bunn, you'll not need your high hat in this act." "but i thought you said----" began an elderly actor, of the type known as "hams," from their insatiable desire to portray the character of hamlet. "i know i did," said mr. pertell, sharply. "but i have had to change my mind. you are to take the part of a plumber, and you come to fix a burst water pipe. so get your overalls and your kit. you have a plumber's kit; haven't you, pop?" the manager called to pop snooks, the property man, who was obliged, on short notice, to provide anything from a diamond ring to a rustic bridge. "all right for the plumber!" called pop. "have it for you in a minute." "and, mr. sneed," called the manager to another actor. "you are supposed to be the householder whose water pipe has burst. you try to putty it up and you get soaked. go over there in the far corner, where the tank is; we don't want water running into this quaker scene." "oh, i get all wet; do i?" asked mr. sneed, in no very pleasant tones. "that's what you do!" "well, all i've got to say is that i wish you'd give some of these tank dramas to someone else. i'm getting tired of being soaked." "you haven't been really wet since the trip to florida," declared mr. pertell. "lively now, we have no time to lose. come on, russ!" he called to the young operator. "you're to film the quaker scenario. i'll have johnson make the water pipe scene. all ready, ladies and gentlemen!" various plays were going on at once in different parts of the studio. ruth and alice devere took their places in one where a quaker story was being portrayed. later they posed in a church scene, in which a number of extra people, or "supers," were engaged to represent the congregation. mr. pertell, once he had the various scenes going, took a moment in which to rest, for he was a very busy man. he sat down near alice, who, for the time being, was out of the scene. but hardly had the manager stretched out in a chair, resting one shirt-sleeved arm over the back, when he started up, and looked intently toward one corner of the studio. "i wonder why he is going in there?" observed the manager, half aloud. "who?" asked alice, for the moving picture company was like one big family, in a way. "that new man," went on mr. pertell. "harry wilson, he said his name was. now he's going into the proof room, where he has no business. i must look into this. i wonder, after all, if there could be any truth in that warning i received the other day." "what warning?" asked alice. "about a rival film company trying to discover some of the secrets of our success. i must look into this." he sprang from his chair and hurried across the big studio toward the room where the films were first shown privately, to correct any defects, mechanical or artistic. it was there that the initial performance, so to speak, was given. before mr. pertell reached the room, where the projection machine was installed, the man of whom he had spoken had entered. and, just as the manager reached the door, the same man came violently out, impelled by a vigorous push from one of the operators, who at the same time cried: "get out of here, you spy! what do you mean by sneaking in here, trying to get our secrets? get out! where's mr. pertell? i'll tell him about you." chapter ii western plans "what is it, walsh? what is the trouble?" exclaimed mr. pertell, as he hastened toward the proving room, where the films were tested before being "released." "this man, mr. pertell! this fellow you hired as a comedy actor. he came in here just now, and i caught him starting to take notes of the first film of our new play." "you did!" cried the manager sharply. "yes. he came in when it was dark; but the film broke, and i turned on the light. then i caught him!" "that's not so--you did not!" the accused man--the spy he had been called--stood facing them all, the picture of injured innocence. ruth, alice and some of the other women members of the company drew aside, a little frightened at the prospect of trouble. and trouble seemed imminent, for it was easy to see that mr. pertell was very angry. as for the other, his face was white with either anger or fear--perhaps the latter. "i saw you taking notes of the action on that film!" cried james walsh, the testing room expert. "and i say you did not!" asserted harry wilson, the new player, hired a few days before as a "comic relief." the other members of the company knew very little of him, and he had attracted small attention until this episode. during a period when he was not engaged in one of the plays he had gone into the room, permission to enter which was not often granted, even to favored members of the comet film concern--at least until after the release of the film was decided. "don't let that man get way!" cried mr. pertell, sharply, as he saw wilson edging toward the hallway. "lock the doors and we'll search him!" there was some confusion for a moment, but the doors were locked, and pop snooks seized the new actor. and, while preparations are being made to search the man i will trespass on the time of my new readers sufficiently to tell them, as briefly as i can, something about the previous books of this series, and of the main characters in this one. the initial volume was entitled "the moving picture girls; or, first appearances in photo dramas." the girls were ruth and alice devere, aged respectively seventeen and fifteen years. their mother was dead, and they lived with their father, hosmer devere, in the fenmore apartment house, new york. across the hall from them lived russ dalwood, a moving picture operator, with his widowed mother, and his brother billy. mr. devere was a talented actor in the "legitimate," as it is called to distinguish it from vaudeville and moving pictures. but the recurrence of an old throat ailment made him suddenly so hoarse that he could not speak loud enough to be heard across the footlights. he was already rehearsing for a new play when this happened, and after several trials to make himself audible, he was finally forced to give up his engagement. this was doubly hard, as the deveres were in straitened circumstances at this time, money being very scarce. they had really entered upon a period of "hard times" when russ, a manly young fellow, whose first acquaintance with the girls had quickly ripened into friendship, made a suggestion. "why don't you try moving pictures?" he had said to mr. devere. "you can act, all right, and you won't have to use your voice." at first the veteran actor was much opposed to to the idea, rather looking down upon moving pictures as "common." but his daughters induced him to try it, and he came to like them very much. the pay, too, was good. thus mr. devere became attached to the comet film company. mr. frank pertell, as i have said, was manager, and russ was his chief operator, though there were several others. there were, too, a number of actors and actresses attached to the company. besides ruth, alice and their father, there were miss laura dixon and miss pearl pennington, former vaudeville stars, between whom and the devere girls there was not the best of feeling. ruth and alice thought that the two actresses were of a rather too "showy" type, and miss pennington and miss dixon rather looked down on alice and ruth as being "slow" and old-fashioned. pop snooks, as i have intimated, was the efficient property man. paul ardite, whom alice liked very much, was the juvenile leading man. wellington bunn was the "old school" actor already mentioned. he and pepper sneed were rather alike in one way--they made many objections when called on to do "stunts" out of the ordinary. mr. bunn always wanted to play shakespearean parts, and mr. sneed was always fearful that something was going to happen. of a contrasting disposition was carl switzer, the jolly german comedian. nothing came amiss to him, and he was always ready for whatever was on the program, making a joke of even hard and dangerous work. mrs. maguire was the "mother" of the company. she often played "old woman" parts, and her two grandchildren, tommy and nellie, were sometimes used in child sketches. ruth and alice really got into moving picture work by accident. one day two extra actresses failed to appear when needed, and mr. pertell, who was in a hurry, appealed to mr. devere to allow his daughters to "fill in." they did so well that they were engaged permanently, and very much did they like their work. alice was like her dead mother, happy, full of life and jollity, and her brown eyes generally sparkled with laughter. she was a rather matter-of-fact nature, whereas ruth was more romantic. ruth was a deal like her father, inclined to look on the more serious side of life. but her blue eyes could be laughing and jolly, too, and between the two girls there was really not so much difference after all. soon after getting into moving picture work they became aware of a bold attempt to get away from russ dalwood an invention he had made for a camera. how ruth and alice frustrated this, and how they "made good," as mr. pertell put it, in an important drama, is fully told in the first book. the second volume was entitled "the moving picture girls at oak farm; or, queer happenings while taking rural plays." the manager had made the acquaintance of sandy apgar in new york. sandy managed his father's farm, in new jersey, and mr. pertell took his entire company there, to make a series of farm dramas. a curious mystery developed at once, and did not end until the discovery of a certain secret room, in which was concealed a treasure that was of the utmost benefit to the apgar family. "the moving picture girls snowbound; or, the proof on the film," was the third book. to get a series of dramas in which snow and ice effects would form the background, mr. pertell took his company of players to the backwoods of new england. there they had rather more snow than they expected, and were caught in a blizzard. also ruth and alice made a curious discovery concerning a dishonest man, and not only frustrated his plans to swindle a certain company, but also were able to save their father from paying a debt the second time. in addition they took part in many important plays. from the cold bleakness of new england to the balmy air of florida was a change that ruth and alice experienced later, for on their return to new york from the backwoods the members of the company were sent to the peninsular state. in "the moving picture girls under the palms; or, lost in the wilds of florida," is related what happened when the company went south. exciting incidents occurred from the first, when the ship caught fire, and, even as it burned, russ "filmed" it. but the company reached st. augustine safely, and then came busy times, making various moving picture dramas. how the two sisters learned of the plight of the two girls whom they knew slightly, and how after getting lost themselves on one of the sluggish rivers of interior florida, ruth and alice were able to render a great service to the madison girls--this you may read in the fourth volume. the company had come back to new york in the spring, and now nearly all the members were assembled at the studio, when the incident narrated in the first chapter took place. "here it is!" cried mr. pertell, as, slipping his hand into the pocket of the accused actor, he brought forth a crumpled paper. "and wasn't he making notes, just as i said, of our new big play?" demanded walsh. "that's what he was!" exclaimed the manager as he quickly scanned the crumpled document. "he didn't have time to make many notes, though." "no, i was too quick for him!" declared the tester. harry wilson had no more to say. his bravado deserted him and he was now in abject fear. "what have you to say for yourself?" demanded mr. pertell, angrily. the other did not answer. "now, you get out of here!" ordered the manager, "and never come back." "i'll not go until i get what is coming to me," was the sullen retort. "if you got what is coming to you it would be arrest!" declared walsh. "i want my money!" mumbled wilson. "here is an order on the cashier for it," said mr. pertell. "get it and--go!" hastily writing on a slip of paper, he tendered it to the actor, who took it without a word, and slunk off. the others watched him curiously. it was something they had never before witnessed--an attempt to gain possession of the secrets of the company--for a moving picture concern guards its films jealously, until they are "released," or ready for reproduction. "curious," remarked mr. pertell, "but i had a distrust of that chap from the first. do any of you know him?" "i acted mit him vunce in der universal company, but he dit not stay long," said mr. switzer. "probably he was up to some underhand work," observed walsh. "i wonder what his object was?" went on the manager. "he evidently wasn't doing this for himself." idly he turned over the scrap of paper on which the other had been making notes in the testing room. then the manager uttered a cry of surprise. "ha! the international picture company! this is part of one of their letter heads. so wilson was working for them! they very likely sent him here to get a position, and instructed him to steal some of our secrets and ideas, if he could. the scoundrel!" "he didn't see much!" chuckled walsh. "the film broke after a few feet had been run off, and i switched on the lights. he didn't see a great deal." "no, his notes show that," said the manager. "but only for that accident he might have learned of our plans and given our rivals information sufficient to spoil our big play." "have you new plans?" asked mr. devere, who was on very friendly terms with the manager. "yes, we are going to make a big three-reel play, called 'east and west,' and while some of the scenes will be laid in new york, the main ones will be filmed out beyond the mississippi. one of the most important new york scenes has already been made. it was this one which was being tested when wilson went in there. had he seen it all he might have guessed at the rest of our plans and our rivals, the international people, would have been able to get ahead of us. they are always on the alert to take the ideas of other concerns. but i think i'll beat them this time." "so we are to go west; eh?" queried mr. devere. "yes, out on what prairies are left, in some rather wild sections, and i think we will make the best views we have yet had," responded mr. pertell. "now, if you please, ladies and gentlemen, take your places, and go on with your acts. i am sorry this interruption distracted you." chapter iii a daring feat "oh, ruth, did you hear? we are to go out west!" "are you glad, alice?" "indeed i am. why, we can see indians and cowboys, and ride bucking broncos and all that. oh, it's perfectly delightful!" and alice, who had been taking down her jacket, held it in her arms, as one might clasp a dancing partner, and swept about the now almost deserted studio in a hesitation waltz. "can't i come in on that?" cried paul ardite, as he began to whistle, keeping time with alice's steps. "no, indeed, i'm too tired," she answered, with a laugh. "oh, but to think of going west! i've always wanted to!" "alice always says that, whenever a new location is decided on," observed ruth, with a quiet smile. the work of the day was over, and most of the players had gone home. ruth and alice were waiting for their father, who was in mr. pertell's office. they had intended going shopping, thinking mr. devere would be detained, but he had said he would be with them directly. and the two girls had brought up the subject of the new line of work, broached by mr. pertell in mentioning the matter of the spy. "i hope nothing comes of that incident," said mr. devere, as he came from the manager's office, while ruth and alice finished their preparations for the street. "i hope not, either," returned the manager, slipping into his coat, for, like many busy men, he worked best in his shirt sleeves. "yet i don't like it, and i am frank to confess that the international concern has more than once tried to get the best of me by underhand work. i don't like it. i must keep track of that wilson. good night, ladies. good night, mr. devere." the good nights were returned and then the two girls, with their father, russ and paul, went out. "that was an unfortunate occurrence," remarked mr. devere. "oh, daddy! how hoarse you are!" exclaimed ruth, laying a daintily-gloved hand on his shoulder. "you must use your throat spray as soon as you get home." "i will. my throat is a little raw. there was considerable dust in the studio to-day. i like work in the open air best." "so do i," confessed alice. "now, daddy, you must stop talking," and she shook her finger at him. "you listen--we'll talk." "you mean _you_ will," laughed ruth, for alice generally did her own, and part of ruth's share also. they walked on, talking at intervals of the incident of the spy and again of the prospective trip to the west. "do you know just where we are going, russ?" asked ruth, as she kept pace with him. "not exactly," he replied, stealing a glance at the girl beside him, for she was a picture fair to look upon with her almost golden hair blown about her face by the light breeze, while her blue eyes looked into the more sober gray ones of russ. "i believe mr. pertell intends to go to several places, so as to get varied views. i know we are to go to a ranch, for one thing." "fine!" exclaimed alice, with almost boyish enthusiasm, as she walked at the side of paul. "daddy, do you want me to become a cowgirl?" she asked, turning to mr. devere, who was in the rear. "i guess if you wanted to be one, you would whether i wanted you to or not," he replied, with an indulgent smile. "you have a way with you!" "hasn't she, though!" agreed paul. they reached the apartment house where the deveres and russ lived. paul came in for a little while, but declined an invitation to stay to tea. "i've got quite a piece of work on for to-morrow," he said, as he left. "what is it?" asked alice. "there's to be a new play, 'an inventor's troubles,' and one of the inventions is a sort of rope fire escape. there's a rope, coiled in a metal case. you take it to your hotel room with you, and in case of fire you fasten the case to the window casing, grab one end of the rope, and jump. the rope is supposed to pay out slowly, by means of friction pulleys, and you come safely to the ground." "did you invent that?" asked ruth, who had not heard all that was said. "oh, no, some fellow did, and the city authorities are going to give him a chance to demonstrate it before they will recommend it to hotel proprietors. and i'm to be the 'goat,' if you will allow me to say so." "how?" asked alice. "i'm to come down on the rope from the tenth story of some building. this will serve as the city test, and at the same time mr. pertell has fixed up a story in which the fire escape scene figures. i've got to study up a little bit before to-morrow." "it--it isn't dangerous; is it?" asked alice, and she rather faltered over the words. "not if the thing works," replied paul, with a shrug of his shoulders. "that is, if the rope doesn't break, or pay out so fast that i hit the pavement with a bump." "oh, is it as dangerous as that?" exclaimed alice, looking at paul intently. "don't worry," and he smiled. "i guess the apparatus has been tested before. i'm getting used to risks in this business." "what time to-morrow is it?" queried ruth. "right after lunch," russ responded. "i've got to film him." "then i'm coming to see you!" declared alice. "i'm off directly after lunch. i haven't much on for to-morrow." "oh, alice! you wouldn't go!" cried her sister. "of course i would, my dear!" "but suppose something--happened?" ruth went on in a low voice, as russ and paul started out together. "all the more reason why i should be there!" declared alice, promptly, and ruth looked at her with a new light of understanding in her eyes. and then she looked at paul, who waved his hand gaily at the younger girl. "dear little sister," murmured ruth. "i wonder----?" "i'll look for you there," called paul, as he went on down the hall. "and i'll be there," promised alice. "do you feel better now, daddy?" asked ruth, in their rooms. "much better--yes, my dear. that new spray the doctor gave me seems to work wonders. and my throat is really better since our trip south. i feel quite encouraged." it was after supper in the devere apartment. the two girls were seated at the sitting-room table with their father, who was looking over a new play in which he had a part. alice was reading a newspaper and ruth mending a pair of stockings. "well, there's one good thing about going out west," finally remarked the younger girl, as she tossed aside the paper, and caught up a hairpin which her vigorous motion had caused to slip out of her brown tresses. "what's that--you won't have to fuss so about dress?" asked ruth, for her sister did not share her ideas on this subject. "no, but if we do go there won't be any trouble about that international company trying to steal mr. pertell's secrets." "i don't know about that," observed mr. devere, slowly. "if they are after his big drama they may even follow us out west." "oh, i hope not!" exclaimed ruth, pausing with extended needle. "i don't like trouble." "there may be no trouble," her father assured her, with a smile. "in fact, now that the spy is detected, the whole affair may be closed. i hope so, for mr. pertell works hard to get up new ideas, and to have some other concern step in, and rob him of the fruits of his labor, would be unjust indeed." rehearsals and the filming of plays in the comet studio were over the next morning about eleven o'clock. "come on," said paul to ruth and alice. "i'm to get a bonus on account of the fire escape stunt, and i'll take you girls out to lunch. come along, russ. it's extra money and we might as well enjoy it." "you are too extravagant!" chided ruth. "oh, i like to be--when i have the chance," paul laughed. "it isn't often i do." "well, then, we may as well help you out," agreed russ. "right after lunch we'll give you a chance to show us what you can do on that patent rope." the little meal was a merry one, in spite of the fact that the two girls were a little nervous about going to see paul descend from the tenth story of a building on a slender rope. ruth had finally consented to accompany her sister. together they went to the place where the test was to take place. it was a tall office structure, and, as word of what was afoot had spread, quite a throng had gathered. mr. pertell had made arrangements with the authorities to have paul work in a little theatrical business in connection with the test, and the inventor of the fire escape was also to be in the moving pictures. there was a little preliminary scene, as part of the projected play, and then paul went into the building with the inventor to prepare for his thrilling descent. the apparatus seemed simple. it was a round, metallic case, inside of which was coiled a stout rope. at the end was a broad leather strap, intended to be fastened about the person who was to make the jump. the case, and the coil of rope, were to be fastened to a hook at the side of the window. then paul was to jump out, and trust to the slow uncoiling of the rope to lower him safely. "are you all ready?" asked the inventor, after he had explained the apparatus. "as ready as i ever shall be," answered paul a little nervously. he looked down to the ground. it seemed a long way off. chapter iv a cloud of smoke below, in the crowd that had gathered to watch the test, were ruth and alice. russ, of course, was there with his moving picture camera, and paul saw the little lens-tube aimed in his direction, like the muzzle of some new weapon. "now, don't get nervous," directed the inventor, after he had explained the mechanism to paul, and also to the city officials who had gathered to pass upon its merits. "you can't make me nervous," declared the young actor. "i've gone through too much in this moving picture business, though i will admit i never jumped from such a height before." "don't look down," the inventor warned him. "you won't get dizzy then. and don't think of the height. with this apparatus it is impossible to get hurt. you will go down like a feather." "that's comforting to know," laughed paul. "well, i may as well start, i guess." the belt was adjusted about him, and as it was done in the open window russ was able to get views of it, and of all that went on. then paul got out on the sill. there he paused a moment. "i--i can't bear to look at him!" murmured ruth. "don't be silly," exclaimed alice. "but suppose--suppose something happens?" "don't be a mr. sneed!" retorted her sister, with a laugh. "i don't believe anything will happen, and if--if he should fall--see!" and she pointed to where a detachment of city firemen stood ready with their life net. "oh, i didn't notice them before," confessed ruth. "that makes it safer." "all ready down there, russ?" shouted paul, through a megaphone. "shall i go?" "jump! i'm all ready for you," was the answer. paul paused but for a moment, and then he jumped from the sill, and out away from the building. the coil of rope in the metal case had been swung out from the side of the structure on an arm, so as to enable paul to clear the lower window ledges. for the first few feet he went down like a shot, and for one horrible moment he felt that something had gone wrong. in fact the crowd did also, for there was a hoarse shout of alarm. "oh!" gasped ruth, faintly. "i--i----" began alice, as she, too, turned aside her head. then someone yelled: "it's all right!" alice looked then. she saw paul descending as the rope payed out. he was coming down gradually. "that will make a good film," commented russ to mr. pertell, for the manager had come to witness the fire escape scene. "indeed it will." paul came down several stories, and the success of the apparatus seemed assured when, at about the fourth story from the ground, something suddenly went wrong. once more the young actor shot downward and this time it seemed that he would be seriously injured. russ felt that he must rush forward to save his friend, but he had an inborn instinct to stick to his camera--an instinct that probably every moving picture operator has, even though he does violence to his own feelings. "he'll be hurt!" several in the crowd cried. ruth and alice both turned aside their heads again, but there was no need for alarm. for the firemen, at the word of command from their captain, had rushed forward with the life net. they were standing only a few feet away from where paul dangled in the air, but even at that they were only just in time. paul fell into it heavily, for the mechanism depended on to check the speed at which the rope payed out, did not work. but the firemen knew just how to handle a situation of that sort, and they held firmly to the net. it sagged under the impact of paul's body, but he bounded upward again in an instant, and then was helped out of the net and to his feet. "mighty lucky you fellows were here," observed the young actor, as the cheers of the crowd died down. "i was afraid something like that might happen," spoke the fire captain. "i've seen too many accidents with these patent escapes to take any chances. now there's another inventor who will have to make quite a few changes in his apparatus." the man who had patented the fire escape had been in a frenzy of fear when he saw paul slipping, and, now that he knew the young actor was safe, he began to explain how something unforeseen had occurred, and that it would never happen again. "did you get that, russ?" the manager wanted to know, for he thought the operator, in his anxiety over paul, might have forgotten to turn the handle of the machine. "every move," was the reassuring answer. "it will make a dandy film. but i'm mighty glad it turned out as it did." "so am i," said the manager. "i guess that will be about all for paul to-day. his nerves must be on edge." paul declared that they were not, however, and wanted to go on with the rest of the film, which included the showing of other, but less dangerous, inventions. "no, you take the rest of the day off," directed the manager. "there is no great rush about this." the crowd pressed curiously about paul and the others of the moving picture company, and, as ruth and alice were getting hemmed in, mr. pertell called a taxicab and sent them home in it. "report at the studio to-morrow," he called. "did you have any more trouble with that spy?" asked alice, as the vehicle moved away. "no," he answered. "i guess they'll quit, now that they know i have found them out." the next day paul finished with his invention-film, being required to do a number of "funny stunts," such as shaving with a new safety razor that did anything but what it was intended for; trying a new wardrobe trunk, that unexpectedly closed up with him inside of it, and such things as that. some of the inventions were real, and others were "faked" for the occasion, to make a "comic" film. but nothing as risky as the rope escape was tried, though probably had paul been required to go through an equally hazardous feat he would not have balked. moving picture actors often take very big chances, and the public, looking at the finished film, little realize it. "i have something for you to-day i think you'll like," said mr. pertell to ruth and alice, as they reported at the studio. "i hope it is outdoor stuff," ventured alice. "it is just glorious to-day!" moving picture work is referred to as "stuff." thus scenes at a river or lake are "water stuff," and if a play should take place in a desert the action would be termed "desert stuff," and so on. "well, i'm sorry, but only part of it, and a very little at that, is outdoor stuff," replied mr. pertell. "the action of this play takes place in a shirt waist factory. and i've got the use of a real factory where you two girls will pose and go through the 'business.' you're to be shirt waist operators, and i'll explain the story to you later." "i can't sew very well," confessed alice, "and i never made but one shirt waist in my life--i couldn't wear it after it was done," she added. "you don't really have to sew," explained mr. pertell. "it is all machine work, anyhow. you and ruth will sit at the machines in the factory with the other girls. miss pennington and miss dixon are also to be operators, but you two are the main characters. the machines work by a small electric motor, and all you have to do is to push some cloth along under the needle. you can do that." "i guess so," agreed alice. "the forewoman will rehearse you a bit," mr. pertell went on. "the scene at the machines only takes a few moments--just a little strip of film. then the scene changes to another part of the factory. i think it will make a good film. the story is called 'the eye of a needle.' it's really quite clever and by a new writer. i think it will make a hit." ruth and alice, as well as the others, were told more in detail what action the play required, and the next day they were ready for their parts. they went to the factory accompanied by the two former vaudeville actresses, and by russ and paul. the latter was to take the part of one of the male employees of the concern. ruth and alice found themselves in a room filled with sewing machines, at which sat girls and women busily engaged in stitching on shirt waists. there was the hum of the small electric motors that operated the machines, and the click and hum of the machines themselves. a murmur ran around the room on the entrance of the players, but the operators had been told what to expect and what to do. they were to be in the pictures, too. ruth and alice, with miss pennington and miss dixon, were given machines close to the camera, as they were the principal characters, and interest centered in them. "just guide the cloth through under the needle," the forewoman explained, as she started the motors on the girls' machines. "ready!" called mr. pertell to russ, who stood beside the camera. the action of the play began, as russ clicked away at the handle of his machine. suddenly a girl screamed. "oh, what is it?" demanded miss pennington, jumping up. "sit down! you'll spoil the film!" cried mr. pertell. there was a little confusion for a moment. "it's only one of the girls who has run a needle into her finger," the forewoman explained. "it often happens. we take care of them right here." "all right--get that in, russ," suggested mr. pertell. "it will make it seem much more natural." the girl's injury was a slight one, and russ got on the film the action of her being attended in the room set aside for the treatment of injured employes. "i'll have something written in the script to fit to that," said mr. pertell, as the action of the play resumed. the plot of the little drama called upon miss pennington to write a note to alice, pretending that it came from a young man, whose name the former vaudeville performer was supposed to forge. alice was to "register" certain emotions, and to show the note to ruth. then miss dixon came into the scene, the sewing machines were deserted and, for a moment, there was an excited conference. considerable dramatic action was called for, and this was well done by the girls, while the real operatives looked on in simulated surprise as they kept at their work. the play was almost over, when from a far corner of the room came a startled cry. "someone else hurt with a needle, i wonder?" queried paul, as he stood near alice's machine. "i hope not," she answered. and then the whole room was thrown into panic as the cry broke out: "fire! fire! the building is on fire!" shrill screams drowned out the rest of the alarm, but as ruth, alice and the others of the moving picture company looked around they saw a cloud of smoke at the rear of the big room. chapter v a mix-up "stand still! don't rush! form in line!" sharp and crisp came the words of the forewoman. the screaming of the girls ceased almost instantly. clang! sounded a big gong through the room. clang! clang! "fire drill!" called the efficient forewoman, and afterward ruth and alice felt what a blessing it was she kept her wits about her. "fire drill! form in line and march to the fire escapes!" "oh! oh, i know i'm going to faint!" cried miss pennington. "this is a regular fire trap! all shirt waist factories are. i am going to faint!" "miss dixon, just--slap her!" called alice. "oh, alice!" remonstrated ruth, looking about with frightened eyes. "it's the only way to bring her to her senses!" retorted the younger girl. and to the eternal credit of miss dixon be it said that she did slap her friend miss pennington, and she slapped her with sufficient energy to prevent the fainting fit, even as a sip of aromatic spirits of ammonia might have done. "fire drill! form lines! march!" again called the forewoman, with the coolness a veteran fireman might have envied. "can't we get our wraps?" asked one of the workers. "no! you can come back for them," was the answer. "but it--it's a real fire!" someone cried. "our things will be burned up!" "it isn't a fire at all--it's only a drill!" insisted the forewoman. "and, even if it were real, and your things were burned, the company would replace them for you. "to the fire escapes! march!" in spite of the forewoman's assertion that it was only a fire drill the pall of smoke in the corner of the room spread apace, and there was the smell of fire, as well as the crackle of flames. "this way, girls," called mr. pertell to his four actresses. "here's a fire escape over here." "excuse me," said the forewoman, firmly. "but please have your company follow my girls. they know just which way to go, and if your actresses make any change it may result in confusion, and----" "i understand," responded mr. pertell, at once. "girls, consider yourselves shirt waist operatives, and do as the others do," he concluded. he stood aside, as a sailor might on a sinking ship, when the order "women and children first" is given. paul took his place at the manager's side, waving his hand reassuringly to ruth and alice. "oh--oh, must we go with them? can't we go to that fire escape?" faltered miss pennington, who seemed to have entirely recovered from her desire to faint. "that is for the operatives on the upper floor," explained the forewoman. "if you will follow my girls you will be all right. there are plenty of fire escapes for all." "come on!" called alice, as she marched behind the nearest shirt waist girls. "there is no danger--and plenty of time." "that's the way to talk!" declared the forewoman, admiringly. but, even as she spoke, there was a burst of flame through the cloud of smoke. several girls screamed and those nearest the fire hung back. "steady! go on! there is no danger!" the forewoman called. "are you getting this, russ?" asked mr. pertell of the young camera expert. "every move!" was the enthusiastic answer. "it's too good a chance to miss, and i guess there is really no danger." he continued to grind away at the camera while the girls, now in orderly array, marched to the fire escapes and so down and out of the building. ruth, alice and the two other actresses went with them. and not until the last girl had left the room did the forewoman make a move toward the escape. "you gentlemen will please leave now," she said. "after you," returned mr. pertell, with a look of admiration in his eyes. "no," she said, firmly. "the rules of the fire drill require that i leave the room last. you will please go first." "but, my dear young lady!" exclaimed the manager, "this is not a drill--it is a real fire!" "i know it," she said, quietly. "but that makes no difference. i must leave last. you will kindly go ahead." "i guess we'll have to, russ," remarked the manager. "but i don't like it." "those are the rules," insisted the forewoman, and she would not go out on the fire escape until russ, paul and mr. pertell had preceded her. by this time the street below was filled with fire apparatus, puffing, clanging and whistling. and not until the girls were down and out of the building did they realize what a big fire it was. for the entire structure was now ablaze. fortunately the same efficient fire drill instituted by the forewoman on the floor where ruth and alice had been prevailed in other parts of the building, and not a life was lost, though there were many narrow escapes. and you may well believe that russ did not miss this opportunity to get moving pictures. of course the plot of the play had been spoiled by the fire, but a far better drama than the one originally planned was afterward made of it. as the building continued to burn russ found that he was not going to have film enough. he sent paul for a new supply and also to telephone for another operator from the comet studio, so that pictures of the big fire from various viewpoints might be secured. and it was a big fire--one of the largest in new york in many years, but aside from a few persons who received minor injuries there was none seriously hurt. the comet concern scored heavily in making films of the blaze. "well, that was one exciting day, yesterday," remarked russ the next morning at the studio. "i never worked so hard, not even when we were lost in florida." "i had a premonition something would happen," declared mr. sneed, as he was making up for his part in a play. "when i got up yesterday morning i stepped on my collar button, and that's always a sure sign something will happen." "it's sometimes a sign you'll be late for rehearsal if you don't find the collar button," laughed paul. orders for the day's work were issued, and paul, ruth, alice and mr. bunn found that they had to go to the grand central terminal where, once before, some film pictures had been made. "there is quite a complicated plot to this play," explained mr. pertell, in issuing his instructions. "mr. bunn has some valuable papers, and paul, as the villain, takes them from his pocket in the station. that starts the action." fully instructed what to do, the moving picture girls, with paul and russ, went up to forty-second street. as the use of the train platforms was not required in this act of the play nothing was said to the station authorities, but mr. bunn, with alice and ruth, mingled with the crowds, as though they were ordinary travelers. the operator began taking the necessary pictures, and then came paul's "cue" to abstract the papers. he had done it successfully from mr. bunn's pocket, seemingly without the knowledge of the actor, and paul was going on with the rest of the "business," when a policeman stepped up and clapping his hand on paul's shoulder exclaimed: "i want you, young man! i saw you take those papers. you're under arrest!" "but--but it's for the movies!" cried paul, not wishing the scene spoiled. "tell that to the taxicab man! i've heard that yarn before! you come with me. and you too," he added to mr. bunn. "i want you for a witness. you've been robbed!" chapter vi the auto smash "the scene will be spoiled!" exclaimed alice, as she saw a crowd surge up when the officer grasped paul. "too bad!" declared ruth. "keep away--get back, please!" cried russ, as he saw his camera screened by the throng. "you come along with me!" the officer kept insisting to paul, dragging him along toward the doors of the station. "hi, jim!" he called to a man in plain clothes, evidently a detective. "grab the other fellow; will you? i've got the pickpocket!" and he nodded to mr. bunn, who could not seem to understand that from a simulated robbery it had turned out to be a "real" one. "i tell you we're moving picture actors!" paul cried. "there has been no theft!" "and you expect me to believe that!" sneered the policeman. "you can't get away with that story." "well, there's the man who is taking the pictures!" paul went on, pointing to russ, who, with a look of chagrin on his face, stood idle beside the camera. he did not want to take a film with this scene in it, for the whole plot of the story would have to be changed to make the policeman fit in. "yes, i see him," agreed the officer, nodding at russ, "and i guess he's in the game with you. i'll take him into custody, too." "yes, and you'll get yourself into a whole lot of trouble!" said paul, vigorously. "you're making a mistake!" "i'll take that chance," observed the officer, with evident disbelief. "what's it all about?" asked the detective, sauntering up, while alice and ruth, rather alarmed at the turn of affairs, shrank back out of sight behind the crowd, that was increasing every second. "pickpocket!" spoke the policeman, laconically. "i saw him rob that elderly gentleman," and he pointed to mr. bunn. "and then this fellow has the nerve to say he was only doing a moving picture stunt." "that's right, and he could see for himself, if he'd take the trouble to look," retorted the young actor. "there's our camera man over there," and he nodded toward russ. the detective glanced in the same direction, and then a smile came over his somewhat shrewd face, as russ nodded to him. "hello, dalwood!" exclaimed the detective. then to the officer--"i guess he's right, kelly, and you're wrong. i know that young fellow at the camera. he's been at headquarters once or twice helping our rogues' gallery men when their cameras needed fixing." "is--is that so?" faltered the officer, and his hold on paul relaxed. "that's right," the detective went on. "i guess you've sort of mixed things up, kelly." "that's what he has," said russ. "but if he'll let things go on, and keep this crowd back, i think we can still make the film." "oh, i'll do that!" the policeman replied hastily, willing to make amends for the trouble he had caused. "then it wasn't a case of pocket picking at all?" "no, we're making a moving picture film," paul explained. "i took these papers--they're worthless, as you can see," and he showed that the bundle he had extracted from mr. bunn's pocket consisted only of some circulars, and blank pieces of paper with imposing looking seals on. but on the film they would appear to be valuable documents. "huh! that's a new one on me!" the officer exclaimed. "now, you people move back!" he cried, "and give 'em a chance to take their pictures. move back there!" affairs had turned in the direction of our friends, and a little later russ was able to complete the film, from the point where the policeman had stepped in and spoiled it. the small portion that was of no use, however, could be cut out when the film was developed, and the audiences would never be the wiser. again paul went on with his acting from the point where he had been interrupted, and ruth, alice and mr. bunn did their share. eventually the film was made. "something new every day!" laughed paul, as they were coming away from the terminal. "i wonder what will happen next?" "as long as you don't have to go up in an airship you'll be all right," observed alice, trying to keep a refractory wisp of hair from coming down into her eyes. "that's right," agreed paul, "and yet i wouldn't be surprised to get orders to go up to the clouds any day. in fact, i'm pretty sure we've got to take a queer auto trip soon." "is that so? when? where?" demanded ruth, pausing a moment to look at a shop window where some lingerie was temptingly displayed. "i don't know the particulars. i happened to overhear mr. pertell talking to pop snooks about it. i expect it will be given out in a few days, before russ has to film it." the next few days were filled with work for the moving picture actors and actresses. there was much to be done before the western trip was undertaken, and many of the films made had a bearing on the new play "east and west." "my idea," announced mr. pertell, in explaining some matters to his company, "is to portray briefly the story of the east and west, and to show how the civilization of the east made its way west. i want to show the various sports and industries of both sections, as well as various phases of life and science. automobiling will be one and----" "don't say airships!" interrupted mr. sneed. "that's just what i was going to say," finished mr. pertell, with a smile. "i will want some of you to take a trip in an airship. but that will come later." "i'll never go up!" declared the "grouch." "well, we'll settle that later," the manager went on. "just at present i am going to have some automobile pictures made, and in one of them an auto containing you young ladies," he looked at ruth and alice, "goes to smash down a steep hill and over a cliff." "oh!" cried ruth, clutching at her heart. "how exciting!" exclaimed alice, apparently not in the least disturbed. "yes," said mr. pertell, with a smile. "but don't worry. this will be a 'substitute' film. that is, you'll be in the auto up to a certain point. the chauffeur loses control of it, and it starts to run away down hill. then it is stopped, the camera is closed for a moment until we substitute an old auto for the real one in which you are. there are dummy figures in the old auto, and they are the ones that go to smash over the cliff. think you can work that, russ?" "oh, yes, i've done those trick pictures before. where are you going to plant the smash?" "oh, over in jersey. there are several places in the orange mountains that will answer. near eagle rock is a good place." "all right," agreed the young operator. "i'll be ready whenever you are. but where are you going to get the auto that goes to smash, mr. pertell?" "oh, i bought a second-hand one cheap. it's now being painted and fixed up to look as much like the good one as possible." a few days later all was in readiness for taking the auto smash film. the story to be depicted was part of the big "east and west" drama. ruth and alice were supposed to be pursued by persons in another auto, and in the smash both girls were to be "injured." the two automobiles were on hand at the appointed time on a steep slope of the orange mountains, where the road turned suddenly near a steep cliff. it was over this cliff that the "smash" would occur. the auto that would really come to grief was an old rattletrap of a machine, but it would serve the purpose well enough for the film, since only a momentary glimpse of it, and that showing it going at full speed, would be given. the dummy figures, made up to look like ruth and alice, were in readiness. "now, girls, take your places, if you please," said mr. pertell, waving ruth and alice toward their car. "oh, i'm so nervous!" exclaimed ruth. "what about?" asked her sister, as she buttoned her jacket, for the wind was sharp on the hillside. "oh, suppose our car doesn't stop in time? suppose we go over the cliff, instead of the stuffed figures?" "don't suppose anything of the kind!" cried alice, gaily. "come on--they're waiting for us." chapter vii off for the west ruth and alice, taking their places in what might be termed the "regular" auto, were told just what to do. they were supposed to be escaping from their pursuers, who were in another auto that was to come up from the rear. then their chauffeur, in an endeavor to make speed, would go too fast, would not be able to make the turn in the road, and would go over the cliff. but, at the proper time, the dummies and the old auto would be substituted. "all ready now?" asked mr. pertell, when he had carefully repeated his instructions to the girls. "all ready," answered alice, and ruth nodded, though a bit doubtfully. she was really nervous, although she tried not to show it too plainly. "all ready here," answered russ, who was beside the camera. "then go!" cried the manager, and the auto started. in order to give the idea of a long chase russ had to set up his camera in several different places. he changed from one stretch of road to another, the auto being brought to a stop, to wait until he was ready, and then started up again. but the public saw none of this when the film was exhibited, for only motion was shown, the various sections of the celluloid being joined together in such a way as to preserve the continuity. "now ready for the big scene," called mr. pertell, after one of these stops. "it's going very well." ruth and alice who, with paul, were in the regular auto, had shown or "registered" all sorts of emotions during the chase. sometimes the pursuing auto would be almost up to the one in front, and again it would lag far behind, in order to conform to the requirements of the script, or the story of the film play. "you will run your car up to here," said mr. pertell to the chauffeur of the machine containing ruth, alice and paul. "then you will stop, and the substitution will be made. come on with as much speed as is safe, right to this mark," and he indicated a stone in the highway. "and be sure you _do_ stop!" exclaimed paul, with a short laugh. "that's rather too near the edge of the cliff to suit me." "i know it is," agreed mr. pertell, "it has to be. i only want a few feet of the film showing the actual smash. if it runs too long the public may see the dummies too plainly. i want this as real an accident as it's possible to have it." "it seems like tempting providence," murmured ruth. "don't get 'sneedified'," was the retort of alice. russ had set up his camera to get views of the auto coming down the steep slope, and now, at his signal that all was in readiness, the chauffeur of the car started it again. "business! business!" called mr. pertell to the moving picture girls and paul, meaning that they were to use the proper gestures, and register the desired emotions to coincide with the play. on rushed the auto, straight toward the dangerous turn in the road. paul, who had risen to his feet, was talking vigorously to ruth and alice, as called for in the scenario. now and then he would look back, as though to see if the other car was coming. suddenly, as the auto was dashing down hill, there came a snap as if some metal part had broken, and the car's speed was quickly increased. "what is it? oh, what has happened?" cried ruth, springing to her feet. but she was at once tossed back on the seat, owing to the swaying of the car, which was going very fast. "something's broken!" cried paul. "yes, the foot brake. but i have the emergency one still!" the chauffeur yelled. "is there any danger? shall we jump?" demanded alice. "no! sit still!" the chauffeur cried. "i'll stop her in time, i think." it was evident the car was beyond control. there was no need of pretending this. "look out!" warned russ, who in his excitement did not forget to work the camera. "stop! stop!" yelled mr. pertell. "you're going too far--you'll go over the cliff!" the chauffeur realized this as well as any one, and he was pulling with all his strength on the emergency brake lever. "i've got to stop her!" he panted through his clenched teeth. "i've got to stop her!" ruth and alice were in a frenzy of fear now, and paul, standing up in the swaying auto, and holding to the back of the front seat, was trying desperately to think of some plan whereby he could save the girls. the car was now at the turn. now it was beyond the marking stone specified by mr. pertell. "they'll go over the cliff!" shouted mr. sneed, who was to take part in the play later. mr. pertell rushed forward as though he would halt the auto by getting in front and pushing it back, and for one wild moment it looked as though there would be a veritable tragedy. but with a last desperate pull on the brake lever, while the metal bands shrilly protested against such strenuous work, the car came to a slow stop. and so near was it to the fence railing off the descent over the cliff--which fence was, later, to be crashed into by the make-believe auto--so near was the girls' car to this fence that the front wheels bent one of the rails. "a close call!" said russ, and his voice was unsteady as he stepped away from the camera. ruth and alice were pale, and paul, too, had lost some of his color. but it was alice who first relieved the strain of the situation. "a miss is as good as a mile," she said, and tried to laugh, but it was not easy. "there must be some defect in that brake connection," the chauffeur said, as he got out to look at it. "well, as long as we're all right, the film will be so much the better," observed paul, as he alighted from the car. "it will look realistic enough; won't it, russ?" "indeed it will. i thought sure you were goners; but i kept on grinding away. it will be realistic enough for even mr. pertell, i think," and he glanced at the manager. "i'm awfully sorry this occurred," declared the latter. "i assure you ladies that i never would willingly have let you run such a risk." "oh, we know that," responded ruth, quickly. "it was no one's fault. only i'm glad daddy wasn't here to see us," she added in a low voice to her sister. "so am i!" was the reply. "now then, you had better get back to new york," went on mr. pertell. "this ends the scenes in jersey, and your nerves must be pretty well shattered," he said, looking at the two girls. "oh, i want to stay and watch the other auto go to smash," alice cried. "that will be something worth seeing, especially as no one will be hurt, except the dummies." "i'll stay, too," said ruth. "it will be novel to see ourselves as stuffed figures." preparations were now made for having the second auto plunge over the cliff. this car was set in the exact position the other had occupied when brought to a stop. the dummy figures were put in, veils effectually concealing the faces. then the motor was started. meanwhile russ had taken his camera to the foot of the cliff where he could get a view of the car plunging over, and smashing. "all ready!" came the signal. by means of long wires, which would not show in the finished picture, the gears were thrown in, and the brakes released. "there she goes!" cried russ. the car containing the dummies started off at a fast rate. it crashed through the fence, just as the other car might have done, and the next instant was hurtling through the air. it turned partly over, one of the dummy figures--that of ruth--toppled out--and a moment later, with a crash that could be heard a long distance, the auto was crumpled into a shapeless mass at the foot of the cliff. russ got every detail of this, and when the wrecked auto caught fire from the burst gasoline tank it added to the effectiveness of the scene, though that feature had not been counted on. then several men came rushing up. they had been stationed in readiness for just that purpose, and they picked up the figures of the dummies. that ended the scene, for the next act took place in a hospital, whither ruth, alice and paul were supposed to be carried. that would be a studio scene, and filmed later. "well, that's over," said mr. pertell, with a sigh of relief, as he and his company of players prepared to return to new york. a throng of curious bystanders, attracted by the actors and actresses, gathered about the burning auto at the foot of the cliff. as it was of no further service it was left there. "well, ladies and gentlemen," announced mr. pertell to his assembled company a few days after the auto film had been made, "i am ready now to tell you something of my plans for the western trip. arrangements have been about completed, and we leave in a few days." "where are we going?" asked mr. devere. "our first destination will be a place called rocky ranch," the manager went on. "it is a typical western place, with some broad prairie stretches, and yet near enough to the mountains for diversified scenes. there will be cowboy and indian pictures to be made, and----" "_wild_ indians?" mr. sneed wanted to know. "not wild enough to scalp you," returned the manager. "and can i have a gun?" little tommy cried. "indeed and you won't!" said his grandmother, quickly. "well, you can be cowboy and have a lasso," promised the manager. "oh, goodie!" tommy exclaimed, dancing about in delight. "in this play," went on mr. pertell, "i want to get scenes showing our progress west, so we will be rather longer on the trip than otherwise. we will wait over on some trains, to make views in particularly good spots. so you may get ready for the journey. our eastern scenes are all made, and i want to thank and congratulate you all on their success. it was the good acting of all of you that made the films what they are." preparations for the big trip went on apace. properties and baggage were gotten in readiness, and ruth and alice spent days going over their clothes, to decide what to take and what to leave behind. "though if i'm to be a cowgirl, and ride ponies, i don't suppose i'll want this," said alice, holding up a filmy white dress. "better take it," advised ruth, who was seated tailor-fashion before a trunk, which she was packing. "it crushes too easily," objected the other. "fold it around some heavier things," suggested ruth, "and don't put it in the trunk until the last thing. oh, i believe i've put my suede slippers in the bottom, and i'll want them to-night. well, i'll have to dig 'em out, i guess," she sighed. "no, there they are!" cried alice, fishing them out from under a pile of stockings. "what have you in them?" she asked her sister, as she saw the slippers were filled with something. "i always stuff the toes with old stockings," said ruth. "it keeps them out almost as well as if i used shoe-trees." "good idea," laughed her sister. the packing was over, the trunks were at the station and also was gathered there the moving picture company. "ho, for the west!" cried russ, who was standing with paul, ruth and alice. "all aboard!" called mr. pertell. and, as they moved off toward the train russ, turning, saw a man staring after the players. "look!" said the young operator, in a low voice to mr. pertell, "that international film company spy--wilson--is keeping tabs on us!" chapter viii the oil well mr. pertell paused and looked back. there on the depot platform stood the man he had caught in his testing room taking notes of the films of the big drama. "those fellows mean business!" the manager commented. "they are trying to get my best ideas, i think. it's a wonder they wouldn't originate something themselves!" "i'd like to have it out with him," declared russ. "it would only make trouble," responded the manager. "i think i can stop them in another way. i'll try legal means first, and if they don't work--well, perhaps we can put up some kind of a game on them." "let me have a hand in it," begged the young operator. "i want to pay my respects to that fellow." wilson, for so it was, had by this time seen that he was observed, and he slunk out of sight behind a pillar. then, as mr. pertell and russ went to take their places in the coach with the others, a truck, piled with the baggage of the company, came along. the spy darted out from behind the pillar and with a quick glance noted the destination as shown on the checks. "so that was his game!" cried russ. "i'll put a stop to that, all right!" "it's too late. he's seen, and, anyhow, he could have found out," called mr. pertell. but russ did not stay to hear, for he had made a rush toward the fellow. he was too late, however, and perhaps it was just as well, as russ was a bit hot-headed, and there might have been a scene. wilson, seeing russ coming, hastily thrust into his pocket a card on which he had evidently been copying the name of the place to which the trunks had been checked, and ran away. "come back, russ," called mr. pertell. "you'll miss the train!" for the warning whistle had sounded. "i wish i had caught him," panted the young operator as he returned. "i never saw a fellow with such nerve." "his company is in bad shape," said mr. pertell. "they have been losing money, and their films are not taking well. they have not much of a company of players, and i suppose they think they can use some of our ideas, and maybe some of our actors and actresses." "how do you mean--by hiring them away from you?" asked russ. "well, they might do that, though i don't believe the international people will pay the salaries my people are getting. so i think none of them would leave. even if more money were offered i think my friends would stand by me. but what i meant was that we'll have to be on the watch to see that they don't actually take some of our films." "you mean after i have made the reels?" "no, they might even try, on the sly, to film the action of our players when we're going through some scene." "whew!" whistled russ. "if they do that you could have them arrested." "well, be on the watch--that's all." none of the other members of the company had seen the spy, and russ and the manager said nothing about him. the train pulled out of the station, and thus the western trip was begun. mr. pertell planned to stop off with his company at several places and make films along the way. this was in accord with his idea of showing a big drama indicating the development of this country from east to west. the rush of the gold seekers, and the advance of the farmers to take up government claims, were to be depicted, along with many other scenes. one stop was made in the coal mining regions of pennsylvania, near scranton, and there some fine films were obtained. in one scene ruth and alice were shown in the interior of a mine, with the black coal all about them. powerful electric lights gave the necessary illumination. "i'd like to get a scene showing an explosion," said russ, as they left the coal regions. "why, russ dalwood!" cried ruth. "i'm surprised at you!" "oh, i don't mean by accident," he replied, quickly. "in fact, a little one would do. and i don't want one to happen on my account. but if there's going to be an accident i wish i could be on hand to film it." "oh, that's different," said ruth, with a smile. "but i'm glad there is no accident." three days had been spent in and around scranton, and now the moving picture players were ready to start off again. mr. pertell was reconsidering some plans he and russ had talked over, and it had not been definitely decided what to do as yet. "we'll just keep on," said the manager, "and perhaps something will turn up to give me an idea for a novel film." they had taken a train on a small branch line of the railroad to connect with a through express, and about an hour after starting, and when about half-way to the junction, they came to a sudden stop. "ha! an accident!" cried russ, reaching for the small camera he kept for emergencies. "wait, i'll come with you," said the manager. "we may be able to make it into a film." but when they got on the outside, followed by several of the members of the company, they saw no signs of anything wrong. there was no other train in sight, so there could have been no collision, and their own train was safely on the track. off to one side, however, gathered about a tall structure of wood, was a knot of people. "what's the matter?" asked russ of one of the trainmen. "they're going to shoot an oil well over there," was the answer, "and it's so close to the track that they signalled us to stop." "why didn't they wait until we got past?" asked mr. devere who, with his daughters, had gone out to see what caused the delay. "why, they had already lowered the charge of nitro-glycerine into the well," the brakeman explained, "and something has gone wrong. the shot didn't go off, and they're afraid it may at any minute. so they're holding us back a little while." "is that an oil well?" asked alice, pointing to the tall, wooden structure. "that's the derrick, by which the drill is worked--yes, miss," the brakeman said. "they bore down through the sand and rock until they think they're close to the oil. then they blow out what rock and earth remains, with nitro-glycerine. the well may be a 'spouter,' or they may have to pump. can't tell until after they fire the shot. i guess she's going off!" he added quickly. "look at 'em run!" "i've got my idea!" exclaimed mr. pertell. "we'll have a film of boring for oil. that will fit in well with my big drama. get the company together, pop," he said to the property man. "and, russ, get ready to film the shooting of the oil well." chapter ix the rivals though there was a rush of spectators away from the oil well it appeared to be a false alarm, for nothing happened, and mr. pertell, who was afraid the well would "spout" before he could get his company of players on the scene, was relieved when he heard one of the workmen call: "false alarm. she isn't going off yet." "now hurry and get around the well," urged the manager. "i want some of you grouped near it when the oil spouts up." "won't it be dangerous?" asked mr. sneed. "i don't want to be blown up by nitro-glycerine." "you needn't get too close," returned mr. pertell. "i just want the spouting well as a background." "it will be all right if you keep about thirty feet back," said one of the well borers. "how do you shoot a well?" asked paul, while russ was getting ready his camera. "by using nitro-glycerine," was the answer. "this explosive comes in tin cans, about ten feet long and about five inches in diameter. we lower these cannisters down into the iron pipe that extends to the bottom of the well." "how deep?" queried alice. "oh, a well may run anywhere from three hundred to three thousand feet, or even more. this one is about one thousand. we have about a hundred quarts of nitro-glycerine down in the pipes now; but it hasn't gone off yet." "can you--er--tell me when it _will_ go off?" asked mr. sneed, looking about him nervously. "any minute, if not sooner," replied the oil man, with a smile. "oh, don't run--you're safe here," he added, as mr. sneed began to move away. at the same time claude towne, the "swell" of the company, exclaimed: "i'm not going to stay here and get this new suit spoiled by the oil." he was very careful of his attire. "oh, the oil won't spray as far as this," the workman assured him. "how do they explode the glycerine?" asked mr. devere. "well, the old plan used to be to drop an iron weight called a 'go-devil,' down on top of the cannisters containing the explosive. the top can was fitted with a firing head, and when the iron weight hit this, after a long fall, it would explode, and the concussion would set off the rest of the glycerine." "but this time we tried a new plan. we used a 'go-devil-squib.' that's a sort of torpedo, holding about a quart of the glycerine, and it has a firing head of its own. we drop that down the pipe and when it hits on the top cannister it goes off, and sets off the rest of the explosive. but, somehow, it didn't work this time. the charge missed fire, so now we're going to drop down an old fashioned 'go-devil' and see what happens." mr. pertell asked, and readily obtained, permission to make moving pictures of the shooting of the well, and was also accorded the privilege of posing his company at the scene when the well did "spout." "i'll have to think up some sort of a scenario to go with it," the manager said. "have some poor man get rich suddenly by striking oil on his land," suggested russ, "and then show what he does with his money. you can easily get the later scenes." "good idea--i will," exclaimed the manager. "we'll use this as the first, or opening, scene in--let me see, we'll call it 'the rise and fall of the kerosene king.' how's that?" "good!" cried mr. devere. "all right. paul, you'll be the king. but you'll have to start as a poor lad, and those good clothes won't do. slip on a pair of greasy overalls--borrow them from one of the men--then you'll look more natural." paul was soon fitted out as one of the oil men, and then, after a brief rehearsal, the improvised drama was ready to be taken on the sensitive film. a few preliminary scenes were made by russ, and then, as word was given that the iron weight was about to be dropped on the cans of glycerine in the well-pipes, mr. pertell got his company as close to the derrick as was safe. then, while russ clicked away at the camera, one of the workmen called: "let her go!" a man dropped the iron weight down the pipe and ran. "look out, everybody!" he cried as he sprang away. "are we safe here?" mr. sneed asked anxiously. "you're all right," one of the workmen assured him. "oh, i'm so nervous!" faltered ruth. "no need of it," answered alice, as she leaned forward to watch the spouting of the oil from the well. there was a dull rumble beneath the surface of the earth. the ground seemed to heave and shake. it trembled, and miss pennington and miss dixon looked at each other with frightened eyes. "it--it's like an earthquake," observed ruth. "oh, look!" cried alice. at that moment something like a dark cloud shot upward from the pipes and spread out, plume-fashion. at the same moment the air was filled with the rank odor of oil and gas. "she's a spouter! she's a spouter!" cried the men, in delight. "cap her up!" came the command. but it was not easy to do at first, so great was the flow of oil, and considerable had run to waste when the internal pressure of natural gas, which forced out the oil, was reduced sufficiently to allow of the pipe being capped, and the flow of petroleum regulated. all this time russ had continued to get pictures of the novel scene, and paul, as the kerosene king, went through the act that had been improvised for him, the others of the company doing their share. "this will make a novel film," said mr. pertell in satisfied tones. "i hope you got it all, russ." "every bit. i think the views showing the oil spouting up will be first rate." "but what are you using two cameras for?" asked mr. devere. "two cameras?" repeated mr. pertell, questioningly. "yes, there's a man over there with another machine," and he pointed to a little hill, not far off, where stood a man working away at the handle of a machine similar to the one russ was using. and this camera was pointed directly at the oil well and at the comet players. "what does that mean?" cried mr. pertell. "i didn't order two films made, and besides----" "that isn't one of our men!" interrupted russ, as he sprang away from his camera. "who is it?" mr. pertell wanted to know. "it's one of our rivals. someone from the international concern!" cried russ. "they've followed us to steal some more of our ideas!" "you're right!" shouted mr. pertell. "this will have to stop!" together he and russ, followed by paul, made a dash in the direction of the rival photographer. but the latter saw them coming, and hastily picking up his machine he ran toward a clump of woods not far off. and by the time his pursuers reached there he was not to be found, though they searched about for some time. chapter x the cyclone "all aboard!" called the conductor of the way train that had been held up to allow the shooting of the oil well. "all board!" "come," summoned mr. pertell to his moving picture players. "we'll get along now. that stop was a lucky one for us." the train could now proceed, all danger from the delayed charge in the well being over. just what had caused it to "hang fire" was never learned. but the shooting of the well was a success, and as the train pulled out, paul having gotten rid of his borrowed clothes, the workmen were seen hurrying about, taking care of the valuable flow of petroleum. "what do you make of the action of that international man?" asked russ, as he took a seat beside the manager. "i don't know what to make of those fellows," was the answer. "they must be following us pretty closely; but i don't see how they knew we were going to film the oil well." "they didn't know it," decided russ. "they've had a spy on our trail, following us; that's how it was done. you know we saw that fellow wilson looking at the destination marked on the baggage checks. he probably sent word to the concern and they started out a camera man to follow us. it would have to be someone we hadn't seen before, so of course wilson himself would not do, though i understand he can operate a machine fairly well." "i guess you've got the right idea," agreed mr. pertell. "this fellow, whoever he was, made inquiries and learned where we were headed for. then with his camera he simply kept on the same train with us." "and when we stopped here to get the oil well pictures," resumed russ, "he trailed along and set up his machine. he got all the benefit of our players' acting and his company wasn't out a cent for salaries or transportation. of course he probably had as good a right to get pictures of the well as we did." "but not to film my company!" exclaimed mr. pertell, with energy. "i won't stand for that; i'll have a stop put to it!" "first i'm afraid we'll have to catch him," observed russ. "he certainly made himself scarce when we ran after him." "well, he isn't on this train, that's sure," went on the manager, "and he'll have some trouble picking up our trail after this." "how's that?" asked russ. "why, i'm going to change our plans. we'll skip the next stop. i was going to go up around the great lakes and make part of a drama there, showing the effect the lakes and their trade had on the growth of our country. now i'll wait until we are on our way back from rocky ranch." "that will be a good idea," agreed the young camera operator. "those international people must be pretty hard put to it to steal your ideas." "they are," said mr. pertell. "they want to do me an injury. i had some trouble with them years ago, and i won out in a lawsuit. since then they have been injuring me every chance they could get; but it really amounted to little until lately. now they are evidently getting desperate, and they are using every means to make trouble for me." "well, we'll just have to be on the lookout for them at every turn," russ declared. owing to the decision of mr. pertell that he would not, at this time, take his company to the great lakes, a change in the route had to be made. this necessitated stopping off for one night at a small country town, where the company put up at the only hotel the place afforded. "what a miserable place!" exclaimed miss pennington, tilting up her head when she entered the office with the others. "and such a horrid smell!" added miss dixon, as she stripped off her long gloves with an air of being used to dining every day at the most exclusive hotels. "i believe they are actually cooking--cabbage, pearl." "i agree with you, my dear! isn't it awful! can it be--cabbage?" "yah! dot's right!" exclaimed mr. switzer, rubbing his hands. "dot's cabbage, all right--sauerkraut, too. goot!" "ugh!" protested miss pennington, making a gesture of annoyance. "i am glat dot ve come here," went on the german. "i haf not hat any sauerkraut--dot is, not any to mention of--since ve left new york." "why, i saw you eating some the other day," laughed paul, as the odor of cooking cabbage became more pronounced from the hotel kitchen. "oh, yes, i hat a leetle--yust enough to know der taste of it," agreed the german, with a genial smile. "but i ain't really hat vot you could call a meal of it." "you're like a man i heard of," said russ, joining in the talk. "he was a german farmer, i guess, and when his neighbor asked him if he was putting away any sauerkraut that season the german answered: 'no, ve ain't put none down to speak of dis season. only yust seven or eight barrels in case of sickness!'" "goot! goot! dot vos a real german!" laughed mr. switzer. there was sauerkraut for supper that night, and the german actor certainly ate enough to ward off any possible illness. and, in spite of the rather homely character of the hotel, the meal was an excellent one, and the moving picture players were more comfortable in the matter of rooms than they had expected. about the only ones to find fault were miss pennington, miss dixon, and mr. sneed. but they would have had some objection to offer in almost any place, so it did not much matter. plans were made for taking a train early next morning, to continue on out west, but something occurred to delay matters, though it resulted in the making of an excellent film. it was just before everyone was ready for breakfast when ruth, thinking she heard her sister's knock sharply on the door, opened it. instead of confronting alice, ruth jumped back in terror as she saw a bear standing upright in the hall opposite her door. "oh! oh!" she screamed as the beast put out his red tongue. "help! a bear! a bear!" and she slammed her door shut with such energy that she knocked a picture from the wall. ruth shot home the bolt, and then, in a frenzy of fear, pulled the washstand against the door. "what is it? oh, what is it?" cried alice from her apartment across the corridor. "what is it, ruth?" for she had heard her sister's frantic appeal, though not catching the words. "don't open your door! don't open you door!" begged ruth. "there's a bear in the hall!" "a bear?" "yes, a great big one!" but in spite of this alice did open her door a little. she closed it quickly enough, however, at the sight of the shaggy brown creature and, pounding on the door of her father's room, which connected with hers, she cried; "daddy, get help, quick! there's a bear in the hall!" there was a speaking tube from the actor's apartment to the hotel office, and he was soon transferring his daughter's message down this. meanwhile mr. sneed, coming out of his room from the lower end of the hall, encountered the beast, and turned back with a yell. he nearly collided with mr. towne, who was at that moment coming out of his room, faultlessly attired, even to a heavy walking stick. "look out!" cried mr. sneed, racing along. "what is it?" asked mr. towne. "a bear. look out! here he comes!" and, in fact, the bear was shuffling down the hall, his head lolling from side to side, and his red tongue hanging out. either mr. towne did not hear what mr. sneed said, or he was so surprised that he did not think to run, for he stood there and, a moment later, the big beast confronted him. stretching out his paw the animal took from the nerveless hands of the actor the heavy walking stick, and, shouldering it, began to march around in a circle. then the hotel proprietor, having been alarmed by mr. devere, came up on the run. as soon as he saw the bear marching around he broke into a laugh. "that's a trained bear!" he exclaimed. "it belongs to that italian who stopped here last night. i made him chain the brute out in the wagon shed, but i guess he got loose. that bear won't hurt you. i've seen him before. tony, the italian who owns him, often stops here with him when he's traveling around giving exhibitions. he's real gentle. down, bruno!" commanded the hotel man, and the bear, with a grunt, dropped on all fours. alice, hearing this talk, opened her door, and then called to ruth that there was no danger. mr. sneed was induced to return, and when tony himself came to get his escaped pet mr. towne's cane was returned to him. the bear had taken it for the pole he was used to performing with. "you want to chain your bear up tighter, tony," chided the hotel man as the italian led bruno away. "ah, yes. bruno, he ees a very bad-a-de bear! i wheep heem for dese." "oh, don't!" pleaded alice. "he didn't mean anything wrong." "no, mees, but he very bad, just-a de same. he make-a you to be a-skeert." "oh, it's all over now," declared ruth, who ventured out, seeing that the bear was in leash. "but i _was_ frightened for a moment." "i don't blame you," said paul, as he heard what had happened. "rather an unusual morning caller, ruth." "say! i've got an idea!" cried mr. pertell, who had come out by this time. "we'll have a film with the bear in it. a sort of little red riding hood story for children. something simple, but it will be great to have a real bear in it. tony, will you let us use bruno?" "of a course, signor. i make up for de scare. bruno he do-a just-a whatever you tell. he very good-a bear--sometimes!" and he shrugged his shoulders, philosophically. "very well, then, we'll wait over another train, and i'll get up some little scenario with a bear in it. mr. sneed, you will take the part of the bear's keeper, and miss alice----" "no, sir!" cried mr. sneed. "no bears for me. i won't act with one. why, he'd claw me to pieces!" "ah, no, signor!" interrupted tony. "bruno he very gentle just-a like-a de little babe. he no hurt-a you, signor." "well, i'm not going to take any chances," declared the "grouch." "this is too dangerous." "ha! i am not afraid!" cried mr. switzer. "i vill act mit der bear alretty yet," and to prove that he was not afraid he fed the big animal some pretzels, without which the german actor seldom went abroad. and, a little later, russ made a film, in which the bear was one of the central figures. alice took part in it, and the simple little play made quite a hit when shown. "you seem to have the happy faculty of making use of everything that comes your way--accidentally or not," remarked mr. devere to mr. pertell, when the company was once more under way in the train. "you have to in the moving picture business," chuckled mr. pertell. "that's the secret of success. you never can tell when something will go wrong with a play you have planned carefully and rehearsed well. so you must be ready to take advantage of every change in situation. also, you must be ready to seize on every opportunity that comes your way." "you certainly seized on that bear," agreed mr. devere. "i'm glad he wasn't a wild one," went on the manager. "i am sorry your daughters were frightened----" "oh, pray do not mention it," the actor said. "they are getting used to strange experiences in this moving picture work." "and i want to tell you they are doing most excellently," the manager went on. "i have had many actresses of experience who could not do half as well as miss ruth and miss alice. i congratulate you!" little of moment occurred during the rest of the trip; that is, until the next stopping place was reached. this was at a place in kansas where mr. pertell planned to have some farming operations shown as a background to a certain part in the big drama. on the way a careful watch had been kept for the appearance of the spies, or camera operators, of the international company, but no trace of them had been seen. there were no hotels in fostoria, where the kansas stop was made, and the company was accommodated at two farmhouses close together. a number of scenes were to be made, with these houses and outbuildings figuring in them. "isn't it nice here?" asked alice as she and ruth were in their room on the morning after their arrival, getting ready for breakfast. "it does seem so," agreed the older girl, as she leaned over with her hair hanging in front of her while she combed it out. "such wide, open spaces," went on alice. "plenty of fresh air here." "too much!" laughed ruth. "grab that waist of mine; will you, alice? it's going out of the window on the breeze." alice was just in time to prevent the garment from fluttering out of the room, for the breeze was certainly strong. as the younger girl turned back to hand her sister the waist she exclaimed: "oh, what a queer looking cloud! and what a funny yellow light there is, all about. look, ruth." "isn't it?" agreed ruth, as she coiled her hair on top of her head. "it looks like a storm." off in the west was a bank of yellowish clouds that seemed rolling and tumbling over and over in their eagerness to advance. at the same time there was a sobbing and moaning sound to the wind. "oh, alice. i think there is going to be a terrible storm," gasped ruth a moment later, suddenly realizingly that danger impended. indeed the wind was rising rapidly, and the clouds increased in size. now confused shouts could be heard out in the farmyard, and some men were running about, rounding up a bunch of cows. "what's the matter?" called mr. pertell, coming out on the side porch. "cyclone coming!" answered the proprietor of the farm. "it's going to be a bad one, too!" chapter xi at rocky ranch with a howl, a rush and a roar the storm was upon them. never had the moving picture girls or their friends ever seen, heard or imagined such a violent wind. the sky was overcast with yellowish clouds, edged with black, which were torn and twisted in swirling circles by the gale. the air itself seemed tinged with a sickly green that struck terror to the girls' hearts. there was a crash that rose high above the howl of the wind, and someone called: "there goes the roof off the corn crib!" inside the house there were confused shouts and calls. the house itself rocked and swayed. "oh, what shall we do?" sobbed ruth. "let's go out, before it falls down on us," cried alice. clinging to each other they made their way downstairs. their father came after them, followed by other members of the moving picture company. "is--is there any safe place?" faltered mr. sneed, as he look anxiously about. "the cyclone cellar," answered one of the farm men. "all hands had better take to that. we're out of the path of the worst of the 'twister,' but it's best to take no chances. to the cyclone cellar!" "where is it?" asked mr. bunn, looking around the room, as though the place of refuge were kept inside the house. "there!" cried the man, pointing to a small mound of earth, in which was set a sort of trap door. "go down in there!" a number of farm hands, as well as members of the family, were making for this haven. it was a veritable cellar, covered over, and used for just such emergencies. a flight of steps led down into it. "where are you going, russ?" cried ruth, as she saw the young operator turn from the side of the porch where he had been standing. "for my camera!" he answered, shouting so as to be heard above the noise of the wind. "i'm going to film this--too good a chance to lose." "but you--you may be hurt!" she faltered. "i'll take a chance," he replied, as he turned into the house. into the cyclone cellar rushed the frightened members of the film company, as well as the farmer's family and helpers. the wind was howling and shrieking, and several crashes told of further damage being done to the buildings. russ, in spite of the commands of mr. pertell, set up his camera to get pictures of a cyclone in actual operation. the bending, and in some cases breaking, trees showed the great force of the wind, and the unroofing and demolishing of small outbuildings gave further evidence of the power of the storm. russ took his position in an open spot, where he would be in less danger, and got picture after picture, showing the retreat into the underground place of refuge. the wind was so strong that he had to force the legs of his camera tripod deep into the earth to prevent the apparatus from being blown over. with a crash the roof of one of the smaller barns was sent sailing far away in the air, and russ got a fine view of this, though he narrowly escaped being hit by a piece of wood. "russ, come in here!" called mr. pertell, through a crack in the trap door of the cyclone cellar. "i forbid you to risk your life any further." "just a minute!" begged the operator. "please come!" cried ruth. "all right," he answered, and catching up his camera he took his place in the cellar. and then, as suddenly as it had come up, the wind storm died away. the sullen black and yellow clouds passed onward, and the sun came out. those in the cellar emerged. "well, it might have been worse," the farmer said, as he looked about. considerable damage had been done, but his place, and that of his neighbor, were out of the direct path of the cyclone, so the larger buildings escaped. no one was hurt and after the excitement russ went about, making views of the demolished places, and of the standing grain, which had been blown almost flat. "i don't believe i'd like to live in kansas," said ruth as she re-arranged her hair, tossed about by the wind. "nor i," laughed alice, in a similar plight. "oh, we get used to it," remarked the farmer, with a laugh. yet how he could laugh as he surveyed the ruins of his buildings was rather strange. "we don't get a 'twister' every day," he went on, "and we're glad when we escape alive. a few shacks more or less don't matter. we count on that. i'm sorry you folks got such a bad opinion of kansas, though." "well, we'll give her a chance to redeem herself," said mr. pertell. "i guess we'll have to change some of our plans." "oh, don't let this storm hinder you," urged the farmer. "we won't have another in a couple of years. once a cyclone sweeps over a place we feel relieved. it doesn't often pay a return visit." he and his men were soon busy taking an account of the damage done which, fortunately, was not as great as seemed at first. one cow had been killed, but the farmer remarked, philosophically, that anyhow he was to have sent her to the butcher shortly. there was a little delay in making the moving pictures, but finally the work of getting out the films was under way, and, if anything, the storm rendered them more effective. russ was able to work in the views he took of the cyclone, and altogether the drama that was made in kansas was quite a success. once again the players were on their way, and this time they were not to stop until they reached rocky ranch, unless something occurred to make it necessary. the remainder of the trip was uneventful, if we may except a slight accident by which the train was derailed. no one was hurt, however, and it gave russ a chance to make a little film. then, late one afternoon, the party of moving picture players with their properties and baggage reached the station of altmore, the nearest railroad point to rocky ranch. the station was little more than a water tank, and there was not much of a town. "oh, what a dreary place!" complained miss pennington, as she and her friend miss dixon surveyed the scene. "the end of nowhere," agreed the other. "we shall die of loneliness here." "i guess it will be lively enough for you out at the ranch," said mr. pertell. "but i don't understand why the wagons aren't here to meet us." "there's something coming down the road," said russ, pointing to a cloud of dust. "that's so," agreed the manager. the dust cloud drew nearer, and then from the center of it could be heard an excited shouting and yelling, and the galloping of horses. added to these were the sharp reports of revolvers. "something has happened!" cried mr. sneed. "something _is_ happening!" corrected paul, while mr. bunn looked about for a safe retreat. "hi! yi!" were the yells coming from the dust cloud, as the shooting increased. "hi! yi!" "it's an indian attack!" gasped miss pennington. "oh, where can we hide?" chapter xii suspicions on came that rushing, swirling, swaying dust-cloud, and out of it continued to come those nerve-racking shouts, yells and shrill screams, accompanied by a fusillade of pistol shots. "can anything have occurred to gain us the anger of any of the inhabitants of this place?" asked mr. devere, as he looked about apprehensively, and then at his daughters. "it sounds like a lot of cowboys," spoke alice. "at least i've read that's how they act when they paint the town red." "oh, alice!" cried ruth. "what language!" "i used it merely in the technical sense," was the retort. "i believe they do not actually use red paint." "oh, what shall we do? what shall we do?" cried miss pennington. "i'm going back to new york at once!" sobbed miss dixon. "make that train come back!" she cried to the lone station agent, who, with a set grin on his face, was looking alternately from the group of picture players to the approaching dust cloud that concealed so many weird noises. but the train was far down the track. "we must do something!" insisted mr. sneed, nervously pacing up and down. "we men must organize and protect the ladies. i think we had better get inside the station and try to hold it against the savages. pop, you have some guns in the baggage; have you not?" "yep!" answered the property man; "but they ain't loaded, and before we could git 'em out those fellers will be here." "well, we must protect the ladies at any cost!" insisted mr. sneed. "come with us, we will protect you!" he shouted as he hurried inside the little shed that answered for the station. probably he wanted to go first to prepare the place for the others. at any rate he was first inside. "whoop-ee!" "ki-yi!" "rah!" "bang! bang! bang!" that is the way it sounded. the noise grew louder. the dust-cloud was at the station now. and then, with a fusillade of shots that was well-nigh deafening, the cause of it all came to a sudden stop. the dust settled and blew away. the cloud parted to reveal several wagons drawn by small but muscular horses. surrounding the vehicles were half a score of cowboys of the regulation type, save that they did not wear the "chaps," or sheepskin breeches, so often seen in moving picture depictions of the "wild west." probably the weather was too hot for them, or these cowboys may have gotten rid of them because the garments figured so often in the "movies." "cowboys!" cried russ, with a laugh. "and we thought they were going to attack us!" "it's one on us, all right," spoke paul. "but i have often read of cowboys going on a--on a rampage, i believe it is called--or is it stampede?" asked miss dixon, as she stood behind paul. "rampage is right," he informed her. "well, maybe that's what they're on now, and they will shoot us after all," she resumed. "oh, there's one looking right at me!" and she covered her face with her be-ringed hands. "probably he hasn't seen a pretty girl in a long time," said paul, for miss dixon was pretty, in a way. "oh!" she exclaimed again--and took down her hands. "and one of them is loading his pistol!" cried miss pennington. "oh, dear!" "i guess they'll have to load up all around after the shots they fired," laughed russ. "i wonder what in the world it's all about, anyhow?" he learned a moment later. one of the cowboys, evidently the leader, rode his fiery little horse up to the station platform, and taking off his broad-brimmed hat with a flourish and a bow, asked: "is this the moving picture outfit?" "it is," said mr. pertell. "i reckoned that i'd read your brand right," the cowboy went on. "welcome to rocky ranch!" "but where is it?" asked alice, and then she blushed at her own boldness, for the glance of the half-score of cowboys was instantly drawn in her direction, and bold admiration shone in their eyes. "it isn't far from here, miss," was the answer. "it lies just over that little rise. you can't see it. we've come to take you out there. that's why we brung the wagons, and some of the boys thought they'd like to ride in and see you, seein' as how the round-up is over and we ain't so terrible rushed with work." "we heard you coming," said mr. pertell. "some of the ladies were a little apprehensive." "i don't quite get you," spoke the cowboy. "i say some of the ladies were a bit timid on account of the firing." "oh, shucks! that ain't nothin'! the boys was feelin' a little bit frisky, i reckon, and they maybe did let out a few whoops. but land love you! mustn't mind a little thing like that. still, if it's goin' to cause any uneasiness among the females, why i'll tell the boys to cut out all----" "oh, no, really we don't mind it!" declared alice, impulsively, and again she blushed as the broadside of eyes was trained in her direction. "do be quiet!" whispered ruth. "i don't know what they'll think of you," and she adjusted her dainty lace cuffs, brushing some engine cinders from them. "i don't care," alice retorted, "if they're going to be cowboys let them be natural." the same thought must have been in the mind of mr. pertell, for he said: "don't put yourselves out on our account, gentlemen. we don't want you to change your ways or customs just because we have come. we want to get moving pictures of the ranch and the cowboys, and we want them true to life. the ladies will soon get used to the firing. we have gone through worse things than that." "well, i sure am glad to hear you say so," was the hearty response. "you see it's jest plumb natural for a cow-puncher to shoot off his gun, and it would come a bit hard to stop. but i reckon the boys has had enough for to-day. now, who's the boss of this outfit?" "i guess i am," replied mr. pertell. "i'll introduce you to the different ones when i get a chance. just now i think we are all anxious to get to the ranch." "all right, jest as you say. my name is batso--pete batso, and i'm foreman of rocky ranch. the circle and dot is our brand--you can see it on the ponies," and he showed on the flank of his mount a circle burned in the hide--a circle in the center of which was a dot. each ranch owner brands, with a hot iron, all his cattle, that he may pick out his own when they mix with another bunch at the grazing. each ranch has a different brand, and they consist of simple marks and symbols, each one being properly registered in case of lawsuits. "now then," went on foreman pete, "if you're ready we'll start. the boys will stow away your traps in one of the wagons, and if you'll distribute yourselves in the other wagons we'll git along. i could have brought horses for all of you, but i wasn't sure how many could ride." "very few of us do, i'm afraid," observed mr. pertell. "but i'm going to learn!" exclaimed alice, promptly, and this time, when the eyes were turned toward her, she smiled back at the owners thereof. "i'll be very pleased to show you how, miss," declared the foreman, with a low bow to the girl. alice blushed, and ruth looked annoyed; but mr. devere smiled indulgently. he understood alice. trunks, valises and the various properties pop snooks had provided for the different plays were put in the wagon and then in the other vehicles the players themselves took their places. "all ready?" asked pete batso. "all ready," answered mr. pertell. "let her go!" cried the foreman, and the cavalcade started off to the whooping and yelling accompaniment of the cowboys, though this time they did not fire their revolvers. the pace was fast. in fact, everything out in the west seemed to be fast. no one walked who could, by any means, get a horse, and the horses, or cow ponies, seemed to be always on the trot or gallop when they were not standing still. a slow walk seemed to be the one thing they could not do. even the teams attached to the wagons were off at the same fast pace. it was a little breathless at first, but the players soon became used to it, and liked it. the rapid motion made a cooling breeze. rocky ranch was located in a fine part of the country. the land was rolling, with occasional wide, level stretches. about two miles away was a timber belt, through which ran a stream of good water, and about eight miles to the west was a chain of hills, reaching finally into mountains, with an occasional _mesa_, or flat, table-like, isolated hill. the ranch owner, mr. haladay norton, possessed many cattle, which roamed about his broad acres. there were a number of ranch buildings, and accommodations for all the players, as well as for the necessary help in the line of cowboys. in fact, it was one of the largest and best ranches in that part of the country, which is the reason mr. pertell selected it for his purposes. for some time, as the players rode along with the cowboy escort, they saw no signs of habitation. off in the distance were dark moving bunches, that the foreman said were some of the rocky ranch cattle, and farther off could be seen the foothills. then, as the dust blew away, and the cavalcade topped a little rise, they all saw, nestled in a sort of hollow, or swale, a group of red buildings. "there you are!" cried pete batso, pointing with gloved hand toward the collection. "that's rocky ranch, and i kin smell supper cookin' right now." "some nose you got!" observed a blue-eyed cowboy riding close to the wagon containing alice and ruth. "that's all right, bow backus; but i kin, all the same," asserted pete. "we call him bow backus because he's got such crooked legs, from ridin' a horse so much," the foreman explained in a low voice to mr. devere, who sat with his daughters. "most every cow-puncher gets bow-legged after a while, but backus is the worst i ever see. you could almost roll a barrel through him when he stands up. that feller next to him is baldy johnson," he went on. "his head is like a billiard ball, or an ostrich egg. he's tried all the hair restorers on the market; but they don't do no good. he'll ask you if you ever heard of one he ain't tried, as soon as he gets on speakin' terms with you." "what odd characters," observed ruth. "aren't they? but delightfully quaint--i like them!" her sister exclaimed. "oh, so do i. it's so different from what we've seen. i know we shall have fine times out here." a little later the cowboy whom the foreman had designated as baldy johnson, spurred up beside the wagon in which mr. bunn rode. the actor had taken off his hat, and his rather thick and heavy hair was blown about. "whoop-ee! look at that!" cried baldy, in evident admiration. "i say, no offense, stranger," he went on, "but what brand do you use?" "brand?" queried the actor, much puzzled. "yes. what sort of stuff do you use on your hair? you've got a fine bunch there. i'd like to get next. look at me!" and he pulled off his hat and showed a head shiny and bald. "i--i don't use any," faltered mr. bunn, for he saw the cowboy taking a revolver from its holster, and the actor evidently thought he was to be "held up" then and there, and perhaps scalped. "too bad. i wish you did, and could tell me what to use," sighed baldy, and then, with a whoop he raised his gun in the air and fired. instantly all the other cowboys were doing the same thing, as their horses broke into a fast gallop. miss pennington and miss dixon screamed, but they need have had no fears, for it was but a repetition of the scene at the station. the cow-punchers were merely celebrating their return to the ranch. "glad to see you all," mr. norton, the owner, greeted them as he came out to welcome the party. he had met mr. pertell in chicago, where arrangements for the use of the ranch had been made. introductions were soon over, and then, under the direction of mrs. norton, who proved to be a motherly, home-like sort of person, the ladies of the company were taken to their quarters, and the men shown to theirs. "you won't find marble halls and electric elevators here," laughed the ranch owner. "in fact, everything's on the ground floor; but you'll find some comforts. i want you to have a good time while you're here. you'll find us a bit rough, perhaps; but you'll find us ready to do our best for you." "i'm sure of it," agreed mr. pertell, heartily. the players had scarcely removed the dust of travel, and freshened themselves, before the mellow notes of a gong sounded through the air, and at the same time a strident voice cried; "glub leady! glub leady!" "what in the world is that?" asked alice. "that's the chinese cook, ling foo, announcing that grub, or supper, is ready," replied mr. norton, with a laugh. "this way to the dining room." as the company, the members of which were to eat by themselves, filed out, russ, who was walking beside mr. pertell, saw a familiar looking box on a bench. "look!" he exclaimed to the manager. "a moving picture camera!" was the surprised comment. "is that one of yours left out by mistake?" "no, mine are in the room with the other props." "but that's a camera, sure enough, though the lens has been taken off. i wonder how that got here," and he looked anxiously at the young operator. "i'll ask mr. norton," russ volunteered, and, as the ranch proprietor came along at that moment, russ had his chance. "that? oh, that belongs to a new man i hired the other day," said the ranchman. "what sort of a man is he?" asked mr. pertell, suspiciously. "well, not as good a sort as i thought he was. he knows a little about cow-punching; but not much. still, i was short of help and had to put him on." "what--what does he do with that?" asked russ, pointing to the camera out on the bench. "that? oh he says that's an electric battery. he uses it for rheumatism; but i haven't seen him work it yet. he said it was out of order, and he's tinkering with it the last few days. why?" "oh, i was just--just wondering," returned russ, evasively. then, as he passed on to the dining room, he saw, through a window, a man hurry up to the bench and remove the camera. russ could not recall ever having seen this man. "there's something queer about this," said mr. pertell to his operator. "what would a cowboy be doing with a moving picture camera?" chapter xiii at the branding russ did not answer for a moment, but kept on beside the manager through the long corridor that led to the dining hall. then, just as the two entered the room, russ said: "i reckon, as they say out here--i reckon, mr. pertell, that you're thinking the same thing i am." "what's that, russ?" "that maybe those international fellows are still on our trail." "that's what i do think, russ. though how they got out here ahead of us is more than i can tell." "it would be easy enough. they learned we were coming here, and just took a short cut. we've been on the road quite a while." "that must be it, russ. but you say you had a glimpse of the fellow who took the camera off the bench. you didn't know him; did you?" "never saw him before, as far as i could tell. but there are a lot of camera operators nowadays, so that isn't strange. the international firm could hire anyone and send him on here to try and steal some of the scenes we're depending on. he could pose as a cowboy, too." "well, we'll just have to be on our guard, russ. it won't do to let them get ahead of us. there's too much at stake." nothing was said to the players of the suspicions of russ and mr. pertell. they wanted to wait and see what happened. though the meal at rocky ranch was served without any of the elegance which would have been expected at a hotel, the food was of the best, and there was plenty of it. "ah, again sauerkraut!" cried mr. switzer, as he saw a steaming dish brought on the table, topped with smoking sausages. "dot is fine alretty yet!" "disgusting!" scoffed miss pennington, turning up a nose that in itself showed a tendency to "tilt." there was time, in the twilight that followed supper, for the players to look about the buildings at rocky ranch. all the structures, as mr. norton had said, were of only one story. there were broad verandas on most of them and in comfortable chairs one could take one's ease in delightful restfulness. there was a bunk-house for the cowboys, and a separate living apartment for the chinese cook and his two assistants, for considerable food was required at rocky ranch, especially with the advent of the film players. the cowboys, their meal over, gathered in a group and looked curiously at the visitors. the novelty of seeing the pretty girls and the well-dressed men appealed to the rough but sterling chaps who had so little to soften their hard lives. nearly every one of them smoked cigarettes, which they rolled skillfully and quickly. "give us a song, buster!" one of the cowboys called to a comrade. "tune up! bring out that mouth organ, necktie!" "what odd names!" remarked alice to pete batso, who constituted himself a sort of guide to ruth and her sister. "they call dick jones 'buster' because he's a good bronco trainer, or buster," the foreman said. "and necktie harry got his handle because he's so fussy about his ties. i'll wager he's got _three_, all different," and the foreman seemed to think that a great number. "you should see our mr. towne," laughed paul, who had joined the girls. "i guess he must have thirty!" "thirty!" cried pete. "what is he--a wholesale dealer?" "pretty nearly," admitted paul. "say, pete!" called one of the cowboys, "can't some of them actor folks do a song and dance?" the foreman looked questioningly at alice, with whom he was already on friendly terms because of her happy frankness. "i'm afraid that isn't in our line," she said. "i'll do that little sketch i did with miss pennington and miss dixon," offered paul, who had been in vaudeville. "i've got my banjo and----" "ki-yi, fellows! we're going to have a show!" yelled bow backus. "come on!" and he fired his revolver in the air. ruth jumped nervously. "here, cut that out!" ordered the foreman to the offending cowboy. "save your powder to mill the cattle." "i begs your pardon, miss," said the cowboy, humbly. "but i jest couldn't help it--thinkin' we was goin' to have a little amusement. it's been powerful dull out here lately. nothin' to do but shoot the queue off ling foo." "oh! you don't do that; do you?" gasped ruth. "don't mind him, miss," said the foreman, "he's jokin'." miss pennington and miss dixon were only too willing to show their talents to the appreciative audience of cowboys, and with paul, who played the banjo, they went through the little sketch, with a side porch as a stage, and the setting sun as a spotlight. there were ample sleeping quarters at rocky ranch, though the bedrooms were rather of the camp, or bungalow, type. but there was hot and cold water and this made up for the lack of many other things. "do you think you're going to like it here, alice?" asked ruth as they sat in the room they were to share. ruth was manicuring her nails, and alice was combing her hair. "like it? of course i'm going to like it. aren't you?" "well, it's--er--rather--rough," she hesitated. "oh, but it's all so real! there's no sham about anything. they take you for just what you are worth out here, and not a cent more. there's no sham!" "no, that's true. but everything seems so--so different." "i know--there isn't romance enough for you. you'd like a horseman to wear a suit of armor, or come prancing up in a top hat and shiny boots. but these men, in their rough clothes and on their scraggy-looking ponies, can _ride_. i saw some of them just before supper. they can ride like the wind and pull up so short that it's a wonder they don't turn somersaults. i'm going to learn to ride that way." "alice, you're not!" "well, maybe not so well, of course," the younger girl admitted, as she finished braiding her hair for the night. "but i'm going to learn. i'll have to, anyhow, as i'm cast for a riding part in several scenes, and so are you." "well, then, i suppose i'll have to. but i hope i will get a gentle horse." "oh, pete will see to that." "pete? do you call him by his first name so soon?" asked ruth rather shocked, as she shook out her robe, and ran a ribbon through the neck. "everyone calls him pete; why shouldn't i?" laughed alice. "he's awfully nice--and he's been married three times!" "did you ask him that?" "no, he told me. he asked me if i'd ever been 'hooked up,' as he called it." "alice devere!" "well, i couldn't help it. he meant all right. he's old enough to be our father. do you think daddy is quite well?" she asked, perhaps to change the subject. "yes, i think the pure air out here is doing him good. his throat seems much improved. are those my slippers?" she asked, quickly, as alice thrust her pink feet into a pair of worsted "tootsies." "indeed they are not. i just took these out of my trunk. there are yours under your bed." "oh, excuse me. i don't believe i shall need anyone to sing me to sleep to-night," and she yawned comfortably. there were to be busy times at rocky ranch next day, for some cattle were to be branded, or marked with the hot iron to establish their ownership, and mr. pertell had decided to have some scenes of this, with his own players worked in as part of the action. this had already been planned, and after breakfast there was a short rehearsal of the players, while the cowboys were getting ready for the branding. "now we're ready for you," announced pete batso, who was in charge of the cowboys. "get your players in position. they're going to rope the first critter now." the proper action for the scene was gone through by ruth, alice, paul and mr. sneed, and then one of the cowboys "cut out," or separated from the rest, a young steer that had not yet been branded. "whoop-ee!" yelled the cow puncher as he hurled his lariat and pulled the animal to the ground. other cowboys quickly threw their ropes around the fore and hind legs of the steer and then, with another rope around the head, the creature was stretched out helpless, ready for the application of the iron. chapter xiv a warning "oh, doesn't it hurt them?" faltered ruth, as creature after creature was branded. "no, miss, hardly at all," pete batso assured her. "you see they're used to being roped, and we don't throw them as hard as it looks, onless it's an ornery critter that wants to make trouble. and the hot iron doesn't go in deep. it just sort of crimples up the hair, same as you ladies frizzes your curls with a hot slate pencil--at least my second wife--no, it was my third--she used to curl hers that way." ruth had difficulty to keep from laughing. the branding was almost over, and the taking of pictures was nearly at an end. russ had obtained some good films, and the action was spirited. "here comes a bad one," announced the foreman, as the cow punchers cut out from the herd a big steer. "that's a vicious critter, all right!" "oh, is there any danger?" asked alice, for she and ruth had finished their work. mr. bunn and paul were engaged in the final scenes, not far from the place of the branding. "oh, don't worry. that critter won't get away from the boys," the foreman assured her. "it's a steer that some of the other ranchmen around here tried to claim for theirs. they changed the brand by burnin' an arrow over our circle and dot. now we've got to put our brand on again. the steer knows what's comin', i guess." indeed the animal did, for it resisted, for some time, the efforts of the cowboys to separate it from the rest of the bunch. but finally it was forced out into an open space, and there quickly roped and thrown. "lively now, boys!" called the foreman. "we've got to clear out of here right after this, and look after that bunch of critters by sweetwater brook. i hear the rustlers have been after them. so get a move on." "what are rustlers?" asked alice, who seldom let pass a chance to acquire information. "cattle stealers, miss. ornery, mean men who trade on the rights of others. but we'll snub 'em if we get hold of 'em!" the branding of the big steer was quickly done and then the restraining ropes were cast off so that it might get up. with a deep bellow the animal sprang to its feet. it stood still for a moment and then, with a snort, it wheeled around and made straight for mr. bunn. for a moment the veteran actor stood still. fortunately, some little distance separated him from the steer. otherwise he might have been impaled on its short horns. "run! run!" cried pete batso. "get out the way, and give the boys a chance to rope him!" mr. bunn needed no second call. he sprang to one side, in time to avoid a sweep of the horns, and started to run. the steer, evidently connecting the actor with the recent branding, made after him, and then began a chase that might have resulted seriously. "stop him! save me! do something!" cried mr. bunn, as he raced about, keeping just ahead of the angry steer. "just a minute--we'll rope him!" cried the foreman. but the trouble was that the cowboys nearest the scene had just pulled their lariat from the branded beast and the ropes were not coiled in readiness for throwing. the foreman himself had left his at the ranch house. on rushed mr. bunn. on came the steer, and only a little way behind the actor. the distance was lessening every second. "he ought to be on a horse--then he wouldn't have any trouble," declared the foreman. "lively there, buster--get that critter!" "right away, pete," was the answer as the cowboy coiled his rope for a throw. then, galloping his pony up behind the steer, buster threw the lariat over the head of the animal, and brought it with a thud to the ground. "oh, am i safe?" gasped mr. bunn as he sank down on some saddles that had been removed from the horses. "you're all right now," paul assured him. "but it certainly was a lively time while it lasted." "that's so," agreed russ, who had not deserted his camera. "but why didn't you run toward me while you were at it. i could have made better pictures then." "do you--do you mean to say you took a film of me running away from that--that cow?" panted mr. bunn, who had lost his tall silk hat early in the chase. "well, i just couldn't help it," confessed russ. "it was too good to miss. i think i got most of it." "where's mr. pertell?" demanded mr. bunn, getting up quickly. "i want to see the manager at once." "what's the trouble?" asked that gentleman, as he came up. "i demand that you destroy that film of me being chase by a cow!" cried mr. bunn. "i shall be the laughing stock of all the moving picture theaters of the united states. i demand that that film be not shown. to be chased by a _cow_!" "but it wasn't a cow, my friend," spoke the foreman. "it was a vicious steer and you might have been badly hurt if buster hadn't roped it in time." "is that so?" asked mr. bunn. "it sure is!" "well, er--then--perhaps after all, if it was as important as that, you may show the film," conceded the shakespearean actor, who had a large idea of his own importance. "we might make it into some sort of a play like 'quo vadis?'" he went on. "hardly," said mr. pertell with a smile. "they didn't wear tall silk hats in those days. but i'll change the script of this play to conform to the chase. i'm glad you were not hurt, mr. bunn." "so am i. i thought several times that i felt those horns in my back." the vicious steer was held by the ropes until the company of players had left the scene. then it was allowed to get up and join the rest of the bunch. by that time it seemed to have lost all desire to attack. "sometimes a steer will come for a person that isn't on horseback," explained pete batso. "you see, the cattle are so used to seeing mounted men that they can't get used to anyone afoot. you want to get your players mounted," he added to mr. pertell, who was a fair horseman, and who was on this occasion in the saddle. "i guess i will," agreed the manager. "some of the young ladies are quite anxious to try it, if you have some gentle mounts." "oh, i think i can fix them up. my boys will quarrel among themselves, though, for the privilege of giving lessons to 'em. you see we don't get much of ladies' society out here and we appreciate it so much the more." "i see," laughed mr. pertell. the next few days were given over to horseback practice on the part of all the members of the moving picture company save mrs. maguire. she declared she was too old to learn, and as she would not be required in mounted scenes she was excused. but her little grandchildren were provided with gentle ponies and taught how to sit in the saddle. mr. devere had ridden in his youth, and the knack of it soon came back to him, though he was a trifle heavy. paul took to it naturally, and miss pennington and miss dixon were soon able to hold their own, as was ruth. but alice was the "star," according to baldy johnson, who insisted on being her instructor. she was an apt pupil, and he was a good and conscientious teacher. in less than a week alice was very sure of herself in the saddle. "oh, it's simply great! it's wonderful!" she cried as she came back one day from a gallop, with red cheeks and eyes that sparkled with the light of health and life. "i wouldn't have missed it for anything!" "i am glad you like it," said her father. "it is good exercise for you." "i like it, too," declared ruth, "but i'm not as keen for it as alice is." "oh, i just love it!" cried the younger girl, enthusiastically. "now we'll begin some real western scenes, since you can all ride fairly well," remarked mr. pertell. "fairly well--huh! she's a peach at it--that's what she is--a peach!" cried baldy johnson, with a look of admiration at his pupil. alice blushed with delight. during the days of horseback practice mr. pertell and russ had been on the lookout for any signs of activity on the part of their rivals in the moving picture business; but nothing had happened. the man with the other camera seemed to have disappeared. "maybe they've given up," suggested russ. "i hope so," agreed mr. pertell. a few days later several important scenes were to be filmed, and one evening alice, who was to have a large share in the acting, had her horse saddled, and with ruth and her father, accompanied by baldy, set off for a little gallop. "let's go over to that _mesa_," suggested alice, pointing to a big, elevated hill, standing boldly and abruptly upright in the midst of the plain. "no, i wouldn't go there," said baldy, flicking his horse with the reins. "that's a dangerous place, miss. best keep away." chapter xv the indian rites alice glanced curiously at the cowboy. there seemed to be a strange look on his face. "what do you mean?" she asked, adding in a half-bantering tone: "is it haunted?" "oh, alice!" objected ruth, shaking out her skirt so it would hang down a little longer, for the girls rode side-saddle. "no, miss, it ain't exactly haunted," replied baldy. "but it ain't a safe place to go--least-ways, not all alone." "but why?" persisted alice. "because that's a sort of sacred place--at least some of the indians from the reservation think so--and, though it's off their land, and really belongs to mr. norton, them redskins come over, once in a while, to hold some of their heathen rites on it." "oh, how interesting!" the girl cried. "i wonder if we couldn't see them? do they do a snake dance, and things like that?" "well, yes, in a way," baldy admitted. "but it ain't safe to go watch 'em. them indians are peculiar. they don't want strangers lookin' on, and more than once they've made trouble when outsiders tried to climb up there and watch. as i said, the indians come from their reservation, which is several miles away, to that place for their ceremonies. and they come at odd times, so there's no tellin' when you might strike a body of 'em up on top there, pow-wowin' to beat the band, and yellin' fit to split your ears. so it's best to keep away." "are the indians really dangerous?" asked mr. devere. "well, i don't s'pose they'd actually _scalp_ you," replied baldy, slowly. "oh, how terrible!" exclaimed ruth with a shiver. "they ain't got no right to come off their reservation," went on the cowboy; "but they do it all the same. you see this place is pretty well out of the way, and by the time we could get troops here to drive 'em back, they'd probably be gone of their own accord, anyhow. so we sort of let 'em alone. they don't bother us, and we don't bother them. just keep away from that hill, that's all, for it's so high you can't see the top of it unless you climb up, and there's no tellin' when the indians come and go." "i should like to see some of those rites, just the same," declared alice. "oh, but you won't go there; will you?" begged ruth. "promise me you won't, my dear. daddy, make her!" "i won't go _alone_, i promise you that," laughed alice. "of course with a party it might be all right," assented baldy, "but even then the indians act rather hostile." "mr. pertell will be sure to want some moving pictures of the indians, if he hears about them," said mr. devere. "better not tell him, or he might run into danger--or send russ." "then we won't say a thing about it!" exclaimed ruth, with such sudden energy that alice laughed. "oh, no, we mustn't endanger _russ_!" she said, mockingly. "alice!" exclaimed ruth, with gentle dignity, her face the while being suffused with a burning blush. "i meant i didn't want _anyone_ to run into danger." "i understand, my dear. oh, but isn't that sunset gorgeous?--to change the subject," and she laughed at the serious expression on ruth's face. the scene was indeed beautiful. the _mesa_ seemed to be suffused by a purple glow, while, farther off, the foothills, from which it was separated by a level expanse, were in a golden haze. the _mesa_ stood up boldly, almost like some giant toadstool, save that the stem was thicker. there was an overhang to the top, or table part, though, that carried out the resemblance. "i should think that would be difficult of access," observed mr. devere. "there's an easy way up on the other side," returned baldy. "the indians always use that side. it's a narrow path to the top." the cowboys, their work over for the day, were indulging in some of their pastimes--rough riding, feats in throwing the lariat, jumping, wrestling and the like. "don't you want to go with them?" asked alice of their escort. "no, miss, i--i'd rather be with you," baldy replied, simply, but he blushed even under his coat of tan. "now who's to blame?" asked ruth in a low voice of her sister, as she regarded her with a quizzical smile. "i can't help it if he likes me," murmured the younger girl. in fact both ruth and alice were favorites with all the cowboys, who were always willing to perform any little service for them. the other members of the moving picture company, too, were well liked; but ruth and alice seemed to come first. perhaps it was because they were both so natural and girlish, and took such an interest in the life and doings at rocky ranch. ruth and alice were fast becoming adepts in the saddle. the other members of the company, too, soon felt more at home on the back of a horse, and mr. pertell allowed them to rehearse in the scenes where mounted action was necessary. mr. bunn had one rather unlucky experience on a horse, and for some time after that he refused to mount a steed, even going to the length of threatening to resign if compelled to. the "old school" actor was rather supercilious in his manner, and this was resented by some of the cowboys, who thought him "stuck up." they therefore planned a little joke on him. at least, it was a joke to them. the horse mr. bunn had learned to ride was a steady-going beast that had outlived its frisky days, and plodded along just the pace that suited the actor. but there was, among the ranch animals, a "bucking bronco," who looked so much like mr. bunn's horse that even some of the cowboys had difficulty in telling them apart. a bucking bronco, it might be explained, is a steed who by nature or training uses every means in its power to unseat its rider. the bucking consists in the horse leaping into the air, with all four feet off the ground, and coming down stiff-legged, jarring to a considerable degree the person in the saddle. one day, just for a "joke," the bucking bronco was brought out for mr. bunn to ride, when a certain film was to be made. he did not notice that it was not his regular mount. the bronco was quiet and tractable enough until mr. bunn settled himself in the saddle, and then, just as russ was about to make the film, the pony set off at a fast pace. "whoa, there! whoa!" cried mr. bunn, trying to halt the beast, and not understanding what could have gotten into his usually quiet mount. "whoa, there!" "give him a touch of the spur," called the mischievous cowboy. mr. pertell did not know what to make of the actions of his actor, for the play called for nothing like that. "shall i get that?" asked russ, and before the manager could answer the bronco began running around in a circle. "yes! get it!" ordered mr. pertell. "we can change the play to work it in. it's too funny to lose." "whoa! stop it! somebody stop him! i'm getting dizzy!" cried mr. bunn, leaning forward and clasping his arms about the neck of the pony. by accident he dug the spurs lightly into the side of the beast, and as this always made the animal buck, or leap up into the air, it now changed its tactics. with legs held stiff it rose several feet, and came down hard. mr. bunn was bounced up, and would have been bounced off had he not had that neck grip. again the bronco bucked. "oh stop him! stop him!" cried the actor. "get every move of that, russ!" called mr. pertell. but there was not much more to get, for with the next buck mr. bunn's hold was loosened and away he shot, out of the saddle. fortunately he landed on a pile of hay and was not hurt beyond a shaking up. but russ got a good picture of the whole scene. the actor picked himself up, and without a word started for the ranch house. probably he suspected the trick that had been played on him, and for some days after that he refused to mount a horse, so mr. pertell had to make some changes in his plans, as he did not care to antagonize mr. bunn by insisting on his taking part. and when the actor did again get into the saddle, he had his horse branded on one hoof, as army horses are marked, so he could not again be deceived. life at rocky ranch was a delight to all the moving picture players, though there was plenty of hard work, too. of course it was impossible to keep from mr. pertell the story of the indians and their rites on the _mesa_, and he determined, before he left the west, to get a film of them. "but you'll have to be careful, russ, how you go about it," he said. "that's what i will," agreed the operator. it was about a week after this that russ, paul, alice, ruth and mr. devere were riding out toward the _mesa_ to get some scenes in the foothills, the two girls, their father and paul being scheduled to go through a little act by themselves. as they passed under the shadow of the eminence russ looked up and saw a thin wisp of smoke curling around the top. "look!" he exclaimed. "i wonder if the indians can be there now, doing some of their snake ceremonies?" "let's have a look," suggested paul. "we've got lots of time. i'd like to have a peep." "i would too!" exclaimed alice. "oh, daddy, will it be safe?" asked ruth, for she saw that her father seemed interested. "there are so many of us, i think so," he replied. "we will try it, at all events. they can no more than tell us to go. i should very much like to see what they do, and perhaps i can get some of their weapons or musical instruments for my collection," for the actor had that fad. and then, though ruth was a bit timid about it, they turned toward the elevated table land to see if the indians were at their rites. chapter xvi prisoners "russ, are you going to try to get a film?" asked alice, as she saw the young operator examining his camera. "i was thinking of it," he confessed. "i guess i've got film enough to get you people, and take about eight hundred feet of the indians--that is, if they'll let us." "maybe we can make them believe the camera is some new kind of magic, that will help them better than some of their own," suggested paul. "one of the cowboys was telling me the indians come here to make magic or 'medicine' that they take back to the reservation with them, to ward off sickness, bring good crops, and the like." "well, don't run into danger, whatever you do," advised mr. devere. "we'll just take a look, if we can, and come away." "but i want a film," insisted russ. they were nearing the _mesa_. the smoke on top was seen to be growing thicker, but there were no other signs that the indians were on top of the peculiar, table-like formation. "suppose they aren't there?" suggested paul. "oh, don't come any of that mr. sneed business," laughed russ. "don't cross a bridge until you come to it. i guess they're there, all right." "who's that coming after us?" asked ruth, as she turned in her saddle, and indicated an approaching horseman, who was coming on at a gallop. a cloud of dust almost hid him, and it could not be made out who he was. a little later, as he drew nearer, however, he was seen to be baldy johnson. he waved his hat at them, his bald pate shining in the hot sun, and called out: "hold on! where you goin'?" "up to the _mesa_," answered russ. "the indians are there, i think, and we want to see them. i want to get some pictures." the two girls expected baldy to make an objection, but he merely said: "well, i guess it'll be safe enough this time. i'll go along with you. there's only a small party of them up there now." "then you know the indians are there?" asked alice. "yes, we got word at the ranch last night that they were on the way for one of their regular pow-wows. one of the boys was out looking up some stray cattle and he seen 'em headin' for the _mesa_. but there wasn't many, so i guess it'll be safe. i'll go along," and he glanced significantly at the two big revolvers that hung from either hip. "but can you spare the time?" asked alice. "oh, yes, miss. i'd make time, anyhow," and he smiled frankly at her. that was one nice feature of baldy's admiration. it was so open and ingenuous that no one--not even ruth--could take offense at it. "i'm on a little round-up of my own, looking for signs of rustlers, and i haven't any special office hours," he finished, laughingly. "so come along. i'll take you by the easiest path." the ride around the _mesa_, to a point where it could be climbed, took nearly an hour. during that time the girls and the others cast curious glances at the top of the table-like elevation, but were not able to detect any signs of the redmen. the little pillar of smoke, too, disappeared. "now for some hard work; but take it as easy as you can," suggested baldy, as they came to the trail that led up the slope. "oh, we can never get the horses up that," objected ruth, as she looked at the elevation. "it's too steep." "just leave it to the ponies, miss," responded baldy. "they know how to make it easy for themselves and you. leave it to them. i'll take the lead, and you follow me. take it easy!" it was not as difficult as it looked, once the horses were given free rein. baldy's pony seemed to have traveled the trail before and, on inquiry, the girls learned that this was so. "when i'm sure i'm not goin' to run into a bunch of redskins i often come up here," said the cowboy. "i can get a good view of the country from this elevation, when i'm trying to locate a strayed bunch of cattle." "isn't it lonesome here?" asked ruth, as she looked about her, and up and down the trail. indeed the scenery was wild and desolate, though imposing in its grandeur. "well, it ain't exactly the 'great white way' that miss pennington and miss dixon talk so much about," chuckled baldy. "there ain't no skyscrapers except the _mesa_ itself, and there's no electric lights." "but i like it, just the same!" cried alice, impulsively. "i think it's just great! this is the finest country in the world!" "it sure is, miss," agreed baldy in a low voice. "the lord didn't make a better," he added, reverently. the trail became easier for a time, and then more difficult until, as they neared the top, the girls were almost ready to give up and go back. mr. devere, too, was a little doubtful about continuing. "suppose they drive us back?" the actor asked. "we would never be able to negotiate a retreat safely down such a slope." "oh, i guess it's all right this time," said baldy. "but if it wasn't that i'm sure there are only a few indians here, i wouldn't have let you come. keep on. i guess you'll be all right." by dint of struggling the ponies covered the short remaining distance and, a little later, the party found itself on the summit. they were among a lot of stunted trees and straggling bushes, on top of the flat expanse that stood so high above the surrounding country. "oh, what a view!" cried alice, as she looked off to the west, toward the foothills and mountains. "isn't it?" agreed ruth. "i wouldn't have missed it for anything." "but where are the indians?" asked russ, who was getting his moving picture machine ready for work. "oh, they're probably somewhere in the middle of the place," said baldy. "it's about three miles across it, you know." they gave the horses a breathing spell, and then started slowly across the table land. there was no smoke in sight now, and as far as could be told from observation, they were alone on the plateau. "it's likely the indians are getting ready to make their 'medicine,'" said baldy. "now leave everything to me. i can speak some of their lingo, so i'll do the talking. i'll tell 'em you have powerful 'medicine' in that picture machine of yours," he went on to russ. "that may stop them from taking a notion to throw stones at it." "would they do that?" asked the young operator. "oh, they might--there's not much counting on what an indian will do, especially at these ceremonies. but i'll fix it all right. just leave it to me." though the top of the _mesa_ was flat, it was only comparatively so. there were little hollows and ridges, and when the riders were down in some of the depressions they could not see very far ahead. they kept on, becoming more and more impressed with the wonderful view. it was a new experience for the easterners, and they appreciated it. "i guess it's going to turn out a false alarm," russ observed, as he shifted the weight of his camera. "no, they're here," returned baldy, in a low voice. "how can you tell?" alice asked. "i can hear the stamping of their ponies. they're tethered just beyond there--past that clump of trees." he pointed as he spoke, and, at the same moment, from that direction came the whinny of a pony. it was answered by baldy's horse. "i thought so," said the cowboy, quietly. "they're here." "good enough!" declared russ. "mr. pertell will be pleased to get this film." "you haven't got it--yet," remarked paul, significantly. a little later they passed along a trail that led to a grove of small trees, where a score or more of indian ponies were tied. but of the indians themselves not a sign was to be seen. "where are they?" asked alice. "you'll soon find out," was baldy's reply. "they're most likely in their huts. they'll mine out in a minute." as he spoke they emerged from the clump of trees that served as a stable, and there, in an open space, were nearly a hundred rude huts, made of tree branches roughly twined together. over some of them were cowhides, tanned with hair on, while others were covered with gaudy blankets. "there's where they stay while the ceremonies are going on," spoke baldy. "they're all in the huts now, probably, watching us." he had hardly finished before there were loud cries, and from the huts poured a motley gathering of indians. they were attired in very scant costumes--in fact, they were as near like the aborigines as is customary in these modern days. and most of them had, streaked on their faces and bodies, colored earth or fire-ashes. crude, fierce, and rather terrifying were these painted indians. "oh!" faltered ruth, as the savages advanced toward them. "now don't be a bit skeered, miss," said baldy, calmly. "i'll palaver to 'em, and tell 'em we just come to pay 'em a visit." one indian, taller and better looking than any of the others, stepped out in advance and came close to the party of players, who had halted their horses. he spoke in short, quick, guttural tones, and looked from one to the other, as if asking who was the spokesman. "i'll talk to you," said baldy, and then he lapsed into the indian dialect. the two talked for a little while, and it was evident that some dispute was taking place. at first, however, the voices were kept down, and each of the talkers was calm. then something the indian said seemed to annoy baldy. "well, you just try it on, and see what happens!" cried the cowboy, hotly. "if you think we're afraid of you it's a big mistake," and, whether unconsciously or not, his hand slid toward the weapon on his right hip. "what is the trouble? are we not welcome here?" asked mr. devere. "if so----" "oh, they don't so much mind our coming, as i told 'em we had rights here," replied baldy. "but the trouble is they don't want us to go until their ceremonies are over. they say it will spoil the magic if we come and go so quickly, so they want to keep us here a couple of days." "as prisoners?" asked paul, quickly. "that's about it," was the cowboy's laconic answer. chapter xvii the rescue ruth and alice gasped convulsively, and then urged their horses nearer to their father's mount. russ and paul looked curiously, and a bit apprehensively, at each other. as for baldy, he sat confronting the tall, thin indian who had announced the ultimatum of his tribe. "what are you going to do?" asked russ of the cowboy. "will we have to stay here?" paul wanted to know. "oh, that would be impossible," objected mr. devere. "i would not allow my daughters to remain out over night." baldy moved uneasily in his saddle. "i sort of got you into this trouble," he said, apologetically, "and i guess i'll have to get you out. we'll have a talk among ourselves," he went on. "some of these fellows understand english, and it's just as well to be on the safe side." then, turning to the indian, baldy said: "we go for pow-wow!" "ugh!" was the answer. the indian then made a sign to his followers, at the same time calling something to them in a high-pitched voice. "what is he saying?" asked alice, as she and the others moved off to one side. "he's postin' guard so we can't sneak off, and go down to the plain again," explained baldy. "there's only one way off, and that's the way we came. he's going to guard that way." "oh!" cried ruth, apprehensively. "now don't you go to worrying, little girl," said baldy, quickly. "this will come out all right. i got you into this mess, and i'll get you out. there's a bigger band of the injuns than i calculated on, though," he added, ruefully, "and they're not in the best of tempers, either." "is--er--is there any real danger?" ventured mr. devere. "no, i'm sure they won't do anything rash, even if they insist on keepin' us here until their ceremonies are over," replied baldy. "but they won't do that, if i can help it." some of the indians went back into the huts, where they had apparently been resting in preparation for the coming rites. others moved off toward the grove where the horses were tethered, evidently to mount guard against the escape of their prisoners. then the chief, if such he was, went into a hut that stood apart from the others. baldy led his friends to a secluded place, under the shade of a clump of stunted trees, and then, after carefully looking about, to make sure there were no listening indians, he said: "now we'll consider what's best to do!" "would it be safe to do anything--i mean to try to get away by force?" asked mr. devere. "i certainly don't like the idea of being held a prisoner by these indians." "neither do i," agreed baldy. "it's the first time one of 'em ever got the best of me, and i don't like it. now i tried to talk strong to him at first, and told him his crowd would get in all kinds of hot water if they held us here." "what did he say?" asked russ. "he didn't seem much impressed by my line of talk," confessed baldy. "he said this ceremony was one of the most important the tribe ever held, and that it would certainly spoil it to have us go away now. he doesn't want us here, and he says we mustn't be present at the time the magic medicine is made; but, at the same time, he doesn't want us to go." "that's strange," observed alice. "well, you can't tell much about indians," baldy went on. "they are mostly queer critters, anyhow. now, the question is: do you want me to go out there, and shoot 'em up, and----" "no, never!" cried ruth. "you--you might be hurt." "well, yes, there's a possibility of that," returned baldy, calmly. "but i reckon i could hurt a few of them at the same time. but it's bound to muss things up any way you look at it. though i might be able to clear out enough of 'em so the others wouldn't bother you. i'm a pretty good shot." "no, we must not think of that," declared mr. devere, positively. "that is too much of a risk for you, my dear sir. we will try some other line of argument. if we make it plain that they will be punished for detaining us perhaps they will think better of it." "well, i'll give them another line of strong talk, and see what comes of it," agreed baldy. "i'll point out the error of their ways to them." "tell them we can't--we simply can't--stay all night," said ruth, nervously pulling at her gauntlets. "why, where could we sleep, and what could we eat?" "we brought along some sandwiches," alice reminded her. "yes, my dear, i know. but hardly enough, and as for sleeping with those--those indians about---- oh, i couldn't shut my eyes all night. please, baldy, tell them we _must_ be let go." "i'll do my best," he responded. "but old jumping horse--that's the chief--said we could have some huts off by ourselves, and they'll feed us--such fodder as they've got." "it is an unfortunate situation," said mr. devere, "but it cannot be helped. we must make the best of it, and, after all, i suppose there is really no great danger." "none at all, i guess, if we do as they say," agreed baldy. "but i don't fancy being kept here a week." "do their ceremonies last as long as that?" asked russ. "often longer. well, i'll go see what i can do, and then i'll come back and report. here, you keep one of those," and he handed a big revolver to paul. "don't you dare hold that close to me!" cried ruth, apprehensively. the result of baldy's talk with jumping horse was not encouraging, as the cowboy reported later. "you can't argue with an indian," he said, gloomily. "he can only see his side of the game." "then he refuses to let us go?" asked mr. devere. "that's about it," was the moody answer. "he says we won't be bothered; that we can have some huts to ourselves, away from the others, and that we can have the best food they've got. fortunately they came prepared for a feast and as they've got mostly store victuals it may not be so bad." "then you advise submitting quietly?" asked mr. devere. "for a time, anyhow," replied baldy. "but i haven't played all my hand yet. i'm going to try and get away, or else bring a rescue party from the ranch." "how can you do that?" asked russ. "well, i've got to plan it out. now, of course i'm willin', as it was my fault for bringin' you here--i'm willin' to go out and try to break through their line of guards, if you say so." "oh, no!" cried alice. "besides, it was as much our doing in coming here as it was yours." "certainly," agreed her father. "don't think of it, my dear sir! don't think of it!" "then we'll be as satisfied as we can," concluded baldy. "and maybe to-night, when they're at their ceremonies, we can sneak off." they agreed this was the best plan under the circumstances, and a little later they were led by two or three indians to a collection of huts that seemed larger and cleaner than the others. a supply of food was also brought for the prisoners, and, as it consisted largely of canned stuff, that was clean also. the huts, which were really quite substantial wigwams, were apportioned among the prisoners. ruth and alice received the largest and best one, and their father had one by himself next to theirs. paul and russ "bunked" together, for baldy said he wanted to be free to come and go as he liked. "i'll have to be on the watch," he said. "what's that big open place over there?" asked russ, pointing to a level, sandy circle surrounded by small huts. "that's where they have all the rites and ceremonies," explained baldy. "then that's just what i want!" went on russ, with enthusiasm. "i can poke a hole in the side of our hut, stick the lens of the camera through, and get moving pictures of the whole business. that will be great!" "there is nothing but what seems to have some compensations," observed alice, in her droll way. left to themselves, though doubtless they were closely watched by the indians, the prisoners made ready for their stay. they had brought along a number of blankets, for they were to have been used in taking pictures of the scenes of one of the dramas. now the coverings would come in very nicely if they were obliged to remain all night. "well, let's eat," suggested baldy. "it's most noon, and i'm hungry." "so am i," confessed alice. it was not a very "nice" meal, but it was very satisfying, and certainly everyone had a good appetite. the tin cans served as dishes, and their fingers were knives and forks. baldy carried on his saddle a simple camping outfit, one item of which was a coffee pot, with a supply of the ground berry, and, making a little fire, he soon had some prepared. they all felt better after that. directly after noon the indians went through some of their ceremonies. they circled about the sandy place, to the accompaniment of wild and weird yells, cavorting and dancing, weaving in and out and shaking all manner of noisemaking contrivances. a fire was built in the center of the circle, and there appeared to be some sort of sacrifice going on at a rude stone altar. russ, with his camera concealed in a hut, got a fine series of moving pictures of all that went on. then came more dancing and wild howling, all meaningless to the prisoners, but doubtless of moment to the indians. "oh, that one is doing a regular hesitation waltz!" cried alice, pointing to a tall, lank brave. "how can you say such things--at a time like this?" ruth demanded. "why shouldn't i? besides i've got an idea for a new step in the hesitation from him. i'm going to practice as soon as i get back." all that afternoon the ceremonies kept up. at one time it seemed as though the indians would go wild, so frenzied did they become, and baldy thought it would be a good chance to see if he could not get past the guards with his friends. but when he reached the trail that led off the _mesa_ he found it closely guarded, and he was ordered back. "no use," he said on his return. "we'll have to wait until night." but at night he succeeded no better, for though the ceremonies were kept up by the light of many camp fires, the line of indians on guard was not broken, and it was impossible to get through it. "we'll just have to stay," announced baldy. ruth cried a little, and even alice felt a bit gloomy as the shadows settled down when the watch fires died out. but then their father was with them, and he did not seem at all despondent, so their spirits rose. "this experience will be something to talk about afterward," mr. devere told them. during the night, when all seemed quiet, baldy made another attempt, hoping he and his friends could get away, by leaving their horses behind. but the guards were on the alert. the night was not a comfortable one, and no one slept much; but the huts and blankets were a protection. the indians did not come near their prisoners, and in the morning they furnished them food. baldy tried again to argue with jumping horse and some of the others, but it was useless. to all the cowboy's arguments, and even threats, the reply was that if the prisoners left before the ceremonies were over all the medicine and magic would be spoiled. "we'll have to stay, then," sighed mr. devere. "but it will be out of the question to remain a week--and you say that it will take that long?" "yes," answered baldy. "help may come from the ranch before then," suggested russ. "it will if i can do what i have in mind," declared baldy, as he watched a column of smoke ascending from the fire he had made to cook food for his friends. "i've just thought of something. i can send up a smoke signal. if bow backus at the ranch sees it he will know it means we're here, and in trouble." "how can you make a smoke signal?" asked alice. "well, you use wet wood, to make a black smoke, and then you hold a blanket over the fire a moment. when you take it away up goes a single puff of smoke. then you swing the blanket over the fire again, and cut off the smoke. in that way you can make a number of separate puffs. "bow and i have a signal code. if i can only get him to see this we'll be all right." "it's worth trying," said paul. that day the indians went at their ceremonies harder than ever. they were in a perfect frenzy, but the vigilance of the guards never relaxed. there was no chance to escape. russ, having nothing better to do, got many fine moving pictures through the hole in the hut, and later the films made a great hit in new york. it was the first time these peculiar rites had ever been shown on the screen. in fact, few white men had witnessed them. baldy was waiting for a chance to send up his smoke signal, but it was not until afternoon that he got it. then, most of the indians having gone off to a distant part of the _mesa_, for some new ceremony, baldy made a thick smudge and he and paul, holding a blanket over it, sent up a number of "puff balls." russ took pictures of the signalling. "there! if bow only sees that he'll come runnin'!" baldy cried. but the smoke signal was the cause of considerable trouble to our friends. hardly had paul and baldy finished sending the message, which they could only hope was seen and read at rocky ranch, than some of the indians came back. they had noted what had been done, and they were very angry. with furious gestures they rushed on the prisoners and for a moment it looked as though there would be trouble. baldy and paul stood steadily, revolvers in hand. but there was no need to use them. jumping horse rushed up, and drove back his men. then he said something angrily to baldy. "what is it?" asked mr. devere. "he says we shall be punished for making the smoke," was the answer. "i don't know whether they think it's a signal or not; but it seems to have been contrary to some of their ceremonies. we'll have to sit tight and watch." muttering angrily, jumping horse went back to join the other indians, and they seemed to hold a conference regarding the prisoners. nothing was done immediately, however, in the way of punishment, and a little later the ceremonies went on. it was growing dusk, and the howling and yelling of the indians punctuated their caperings about a blood-red post in the center of the sandy circle. then, suddenly, there was a fusillade of pistol shots from the direction of the trail, and at the same time the unmistakable shouts of cowboys. "they're here!" yelled baldy, jumping to his feet and firing his own revolver in the air. "to the rescue, boys! here we be!" chapter xviii a rush of steers russ came bounding from his hut, carrying with him the moving picture camera, its three legs trailing behind him. "come on, girls!" he cried, as he saw ruth and alice peering from their shelter. "it's all right!" "oh, what does it mean?" asked ruth. "where's daddy?" "here i am," answered mr. devere. "it's all right!" yelled baldy, capering about, and vainly clicking his revolvers, for he had fired all the cartridges in the cylinders. "it's the boys from rocky ranch! they saw my signal and came to the rescue!" "that you, baldy?" shouted a voice out of the cloud of powder smoke that hid, for a moment, the cowboys from view. "that's who it is, bow!" was the answer. "could you read my smoke?" "i sure could, and we come a-runnin'. are the girls safe?" "everybody's safe. but look out for yourself, these indians are sort of riled at us." from the group of indians who had left their ceremonies, to rush toward the huts of their erstwhile captives at the sound of the shots and cheers, came deep-voiced mutterings. they were gathered in a group around their chief, jumping horse. "look out for 'em!" yelled baldy. "don't worry," advised pete batso. "they haven't any weapons." "just my luck," groaned russ, setting up his camera. "what's the matter?" asked alice, who now felt no alarm. "too dark to get a picture, and i had a little bit of film left on a reel. i might have got a dandy rescue scene; but now it's all up. too bad!" "never mind, you got some good ones," ruth comforted him. "yes, but that would have completed the picture--'captured by the indians.' however, it can't be helped. maybe after all this excitement is over we can get the indians to pose for us. i'll tell mr. pertell about it." the rescuing cowboys had drawn rein in front of the lined-up indians, near the huts of the captives. there was a goodly squad of cow punchers, and they seemed delighted to have been of some service to the picture players. some of them were reloading their big revolvers, for they, like baldy, in the excess of their spirits, had fired off every chamber. but no one had been hurt, for they merely shot in the air. "well, you got here, boys, i see," remarked baldy. "that's what we did!" cried necktie harry, who was flecking some dust off the end of his gaudy scarf. "we saw your smoke talk about an hour ago," explained bow. "first i was sort of puzzled over it. i thought maybe it was the indians, for i calculate it was about time for them to be at their high jinks. "then i caught the private signal you and me made up, and i says: 'by heck! baldy's in trouble! wasn't that what i said, pete?" and he appealed to the foreman. "that's what it was, bow. them's the very words you used. says you: 'baldy's in trouble,' says you. and then we come on the run." "and we calculated we'd find the young ladies, and the rest of the outfit here, too," went on bow. "when they didn't come back to the ranch last night we was all alarmed, and went off to the place they were goin' to make pictures. but there wasn't a sign of any trail there, and we didn't know what to think. we never dreamed you'd be on the _mesa_," he added to mr. devere. "i suppose we never should have come," admitted the actor. "it was on a sudden impulse, and sorry enough we were for it, too." "oh, but it all came out right," said alice, trying to make herself look a little more presentable, for a night and more than a day spent as a prisoner in a little hut was not conducive to neatness of attire. "and russ got some fine pictures of the ceremonies," added ruth. "that's good!" cried pete batso. "when we started for here your manager said he reckoned his operator would have made good use of his time." "we didn't know just what shape you was in," said buster jones, "only baldy's message didn't say any of you was killed, so we hoped for the best." "yes, it might have been worse," agreed baldy. "well, now, let's travel. did you have any trouble gettin' past their guard line, boys?" he asked. "nary a trouble," replied pete. "we just rushed through before they knew what was up." the captives were soon in the saddle again, and escorted by the cowboys made for the trail down to the plain. there were more angry mutterings from the indians, but they made no effort to stop the retreat. perhaps they realized it would be useless. it was no easy matter descending the steep trail, but it was accomplished without mishap, and finally rocky ranch was reached. and it is needless to say that the captives were made welcome. a little later, in clean garments, and after a good meal, they told of their adventures. the girls were quite the heroines of the hour, and held the center of the stage, rather to the discomfiture of miss pennington and miss dixon, who were in the habit of attracting all the attention they could. "there's one picture i want very much to get," said mr. pertell, as he sat with his players in the living room of their quarters one evening. "name it," declared mr. norton, the owner, "and, if it's possible, i'll see that you get it." "a cattle stampede," was the answer. "i want to show the steers in a mad rush, and the cowboys trying to stop them. but i don't suppose you can tell when one is going to happen." "no, you can't tell when a real one is about to take place," the owner admitted, "but maybe we could fix up one for you." "how do you mean?" "why, i mean we could take a bunch of steers, start them to running, and then the boys could come out and try to get them milling--that is, going around in a circle. that stops a stampede, usually. we could do that for you." "and will you?" asked the manager, eagerly. "why, yes, if you want it. i'll speak to pete batso. he's had more experience than i have. we'll get up a stampede for you." the cowboys entered into the spirit of the affair once it was mentioned to them, and arrangements were at once made. as there might be some little danger of a refractory steer breaking loose and injuring someone, the ladies of the company only took part in the preliminary scenes. these included the beginning of the drama in which the stampede was to play a principal part. it involved a little love story, and the lover, paul, was afterward to be in peril through the cattle stampede. the first part went off all right, ruth and alice acquitting themselves well in their characterizations. their riding had improved very much, and they were sure of themselves in the saddle. "now, ladies," said pete batso, who was managing the cowboy end of the affair, "if you'll get over on that little mound you can see all that goes on and you won't be in any danger. we're goin' to stampede the cattle now!" "whoop-ee!" yelled the cowboys, as they rushed up at the signal, when ruth and alice, with miss pennington and miss dixon, had gone off some little distance. "get ready, russ!" called mr. pertell. "all ready," answered the young operator, as he took his place with his camera focused. the steers, startled by the shots and shouts of the cowboys, began a mad rush. "there's your stampede!" called mr. norton to mr. pertell. "is that realistic enough for you?" "quite so, and thank you very much." more and more wild became the rushing steers, as the cowboys drove them along in order that pictures might be made of them. chapter xix too much realism the shouting of the cowboys, the rushing of their intelligent ponies here--there--everywhere, seemingly--the fusillade of pistol shots, the thunder and bellowings of the steers and the thud of the ponies hoofs--all combined to make the scene a lively one. the imitation stampede seemed to be a great success, and no one, not in the secret, could have told that it was not a real one. "over this way, paul!" cried baldy, who was taking part with the young actor. "i'm supposed to rescue you, and i can't do it if you keep so far away." "but isn't it dangerous to ride so close to the steers?" asked paul, who, while willing to do almost anything in the line of moving picture work, did not want to take needless chances. "there's no danger as long as you're mounted," replied the cowboy, "and you've got a good horse under you. come on!" accordingly paul rode closer in, and the camera showed him in imminent danger of being trampled under the feet of the rushing steers. but baldy, who had done the same thing so often that he did not need to rehearse it, rode swiftly in and managed to "cut out" paul, so that the actor was in no real danger. the cattle nearest to him were forced to one side. then, as called for in the action of the little drama, mr. switzer, who was a good horseman, having been in the german cavalry, rushed up to attack paul. of course it was but a pretended attack; but it looked real enough in the pictures. ruth and alice, with the other spectators on the little mound, looked on with intense interest. "oh, i just wish i was on my pony!" cried alice, as she looked at the scene of action. "alice, you do not!" protested ruth. "yes, i do! oh, it must be great to drive those cattle around that way!" "you have a queer idea of fun," remarked miss pennington in a supercilious tone, as she looked in the small mirror of her vanity box to see what effect the sun and dust were having on her brilliant complexion. for it was dusty, with the thousands of hoofs tearing up the earth. the main part of the action over, the cattle were now being "milled" by the cowboys. that is, the onward rush was being checked, and the steers were being made to go around in a circle. thus are stampedes, when real, gradually brought to an end. "well, it's all over," said mr. norton, as he stood beside the manager. "is that about what you wanted?" "indeed it is. this film will sure make a hit. those rivals of ours, who started out to take advantage of my plans and work, will be sadly left." "you haven't seen any more of them?" "not since that fellow disappeared from here. he took himself and his camera off. i guess he weakened at the last moment." "i had no idea he was a moving picture operator," said the ranch owner, "or i would never have hired him." "well, i guess no harm was done," mr. pertell rejoined. the rush of the steers was gradually coming to a close when mr. norton, looking over to the far edge of the bunch of cattle, uttered a sudden cry of alarm. "what's the matter?" asked mr. pertell, anxiously. "why, they seem to have started up all over again," was the reply. "you didn't tell them to put in a second scene of the stampede; did you?" "no, indeed. we don't need it. besides, russ can't have any film left for this reel. he used up the thousand-foot, i'm sure, and he hasn't an extra one with him. what does it mean?" "that's what i'd like to know. those steers are certainly on the rush again, though. hi, baldy!" he called to the cowboy. "what are you starting 'em up again for?" "startin' who up?" "the steers! look at 'em!" "say, they _are_ on the run again," agreed the bald-headed cowboy, who had ridden up to where mr. pertell and mr. norton stood. "something must be wrong," and he set off on the gallop once more. meanwhile the steers, which had almost come to a rest, were again in motion. but they were not safely going about in a circle. instead, they had started off in a long line and now were swinging around in a big circle and heading directly for the mound on which the young ladies were still standing. ruth and alice had started down as they saw the cattle growing quiet, but now several of the cowboys shouted to them: "go back! go back! this is a stampede in earnest." "a stampede in earnest!" repeated mr. norton. "i wonder what started that?" with a sudden rush the whole bunch of cattle were in motion, and headed in a solid mass for the mound. "if they rush over that----" said mr. pertell in fear. "this is too much realism!" cried mr. norton, putting spurs to his steed and racing off to help the cowboys. the latter had seen the danger of the girls, and were hastening to once more stop the stampede that had unexpectedly become a real one. "look at those fellows over there!" shouted pete batso as he rode up, his horse in a lather. "they're none of our crowd!" and he pointed to a group of horsemen who were riding away from the stampeded cattle instead of toward them. "who are they?" asked mr. pertell. "i don't know, but they're a lot of cowards to run away, when we'll need all the help we can get to stem this rush!" chapter xx in the open thundering over the ground, the frightened cattle rushed on. after them came the cowboys, determined, at whatever cost, to turn the steers away from the little hill on which stood the four girls, clinging together, and in fear of their lives. for certainly it would be the end of life to fall beneath the hoofs of those on-rushing beasts. "i can't understand what happened!" exclaimed mr. norton, as he rode on. "those steers had all quieted down, when all of a sudden they started up again. something must have happened." he glanced over toward the mound. the cattle were still headed toward it. would the cowboys be able to turn them aside in time? "head 'em off!" "shoot at 'em!" "head 'em away from that mound!" thus cried the cowboys as they raced to the rescue. they were at rather a disadvantage, for their horses were winded and exhausted from the previous rushes to stop the pretended stampede, and now, when all their energies were needed to end a real one, the animals were not equal to the demand. "do you think they can stop 'em?" asked russ of a passing cowboy. the young operator was still at his camera, but he was not going to take any pictures if ruth, alice and the others were really in danger. "of course we'll stop 'em!" cried the cowboy, with supreme confidence in his ability and that of his companions. "then i might as well get a film of this," decided russ. "it would be a pity to let a real stampede get away from me. i can cut out some of the other pictures." he ran to where he had left a spare camera and soon was grinding away at the handle, making views of a real and dangerous stampede. "oh, what shall we do?" gasped alice, as she clung to her sister on the mound of safety. "we can't do anything," answered alice, solemnly--"except to wait. they may divide and pass to either side of us. i've read of such things happening." "oh, if they come any nearer i'll faint--i know i shall!" murmured miss dixon. "that's the surest way to be trampled on," remarked alice, calmly. "just faint, and fall down and----" she paused significantly. "i sha'n't do anything of the kind!" cried the other actress with more spirit. "i won't do it just because you want me to! there!" it was a silly thing to say, but then, she was half-hysterical. in fact, all four were. "that's what i wanted to do--rouse her up," observed alice to her sister. "it's our only safety--to remain upright. and we might try to frighten the cattle." "how?" asked ruth. "let's shout and yell--and wave things at them. we've got parasols. let's wave them--open and shut them quickly. that will make flashes of color, and it may frighten the steers. come on, girls--it's worth trying!" the others fell in with her plan at once, and the spectacle was presented of four young ladies, perched on a hill, toward which a thousand or more steers were rushing, waving their parasols, opening and shutting them and yelling at the top of their voices. "are--are they stopping any?" asked miss pennington, anxiously. "i--i'm afraid not," faltered alice. and then, just in the nick of time, there came riding around one side of the stampeding cattle a group of the rocky ranch cowboys. they had succeeded in reaching the head of the bunch of steers, and now had a chance to turn the excited cattle to one side--to mill them again. "hi--yi!" yelled the cowboys. "hi--yi!" bang! bang! boomed the revolvers. "shoot right in their faces!" cried buster jones, as he fired point blank at the steers. most of the cowboys had blank cartridges in their pistols for the purpose of making a noise. but others had real bullets, and with these some of the wildest of the steers were killed. it was absolutely necessary to do this to stop the rush. and this was just what was needed, for the fallen cattle tripped up others and soon there was a mound of the living bodies on the ground, offering an effectual barrier to those behind. the cattle were now almost at the hill where the four young ladies stood in fear and trembling, but with the advent of the cowboys new hope had come to them. "now we're all right!" cried alice, joyfully. "how do you know?" miss pennington wanted to know. "you'll see. they'll stop the stampede," was the confident answer. and this was done. with the piling up of some of the steers into an almost inextricable mass, and the dividing of the other bunch just as they reached the foot of the mound, the danger to the girls was over. in two streams of living animals the steers passed on either side of the little hill, and after running a short distance farther they came to a halt, being taken in charge by other cowboys who rode up from the rear on fresh horses. other horses were brought up for the girls to ride, as they were too weak and "trembly" to walk. besides, it is always safer to be in the saddle among the lot of western steers. "oh, what a narrow escape!" panted miss dixon. "it was," agreed alice. "but it shows you what cowboys can do! it was just splendid!" she cried to baldy johnson, who was riding beside her. "glad you liked it, miss," he responded, breathing hard, "but it was rather hot work all around." "you're not hurt; are you, girls?" cried mr. devere as he came up to them, having had no part in the drama, but having heard in the ranch house of the real stampede. "not a bit, daddy!" answered alice. "i don't believe the steers would have trampled us anyhow." "well," remarked baldy, slowly. "i don't want to scare you; but for a minute there i thought it was all up with you--i did for a fact." "some stampede!" cried paul, as he rode up, looking almost like a cowboy himself. "and some film!" laughed russ, delighted that he had gotten one of the real stampede, now that his friends were out of danger. "but i can't understand it," said mr. norton. "what started the cattle off the second time? they were really frightened at something." "did you see those men over that way?" asked the ranch owner, pointing in the direction where he had observed the retreating cowboy band. "i saw 'em," admitted pete, "but i thought they were some of our boys that you'd sent up to the north pasture." "they weren't from rocky ranch!" declared the owner of the circle dot outfit. "well, if they were strange punchers, maybe they frightened our steers," suggested baldy. "they might have," admitted mr. norton. "but i was thinking that perhaps they were rustlers, trying to ride off a bunch, and they became frightened when they saw us all on hand." "it might be," admitted pete batso. "i'll have a look around after we get the critters in the corral." ruth and alice, as well as miss pennington and miss dixon, were so nervous and upset that it was thought advisable not to attempt any more pictures that day. most of the members of the comet film company sat about the ranch house, talking over recent events, or studying parts for new plays. some of the cowboys went off on the trail, trying to find traces of the strange men, but they returned unsuccessful. the next days were spent in getting simple scenes about rocky ranch, no very hard work being done. these scenes would afterward be interspersed with more elaborate ones. when moving picture films are made, it is usual to photograph all the scenes of one kind first, whether or not they come in sequence. thus, if one scene shows action taking place in a parlor, and the next scene calls for something going on out on the lawn, and the third scene is aboard a steamboat, while the fourth one is back in the parlor, the two parlor scenes will be taken one after the other, on the same film, at the same time, regardless of the fact that something came in between. later on the outdoor scenes will be made, all at once. then, when the film is developed and printed it is cut and fastened together to show the scenes in the order called for in the scenario. thus it was planned to make all the simple scenes around the ranch house first, and later to film a number of more important ones out in the open. "we're going to rough it for a while," announced mr. pertell to his company one evening. "rough it!" cried miss pennington. "have we done anything else since we left new york, pray?" "well, we're going to rough it more roughly then," went on the manager, with a smile. "i am going to have a series of films showing the life of the cowboys when off on the round-up. i want some of you in the scenes also, so i shall take most of you along. "we will go into the open, and live out of doors. we will take along a 'grub wagon,' and other wagons for sleeping quarters for the ladies. there will be as many comforts as is possible to take, but i am sure you will all enjoy it so much you will not mind the discomfort. we will sleep out under the stars, and it will do you all good." "i'm sure it's doing me good out here," said mr. devere. "my throat is much better." "glad to hear it," the manager responded. "yes, we will live out of doors for perhaps a week--camping, so to speak; but on the move most of the time. and that will bring our stay at rocky ranch to a close. but there will be plenty to do before then," he added quickly, as he saw the look of disappointment on the face of alice. "oh, i like it too much here to leave," she said. in fact alice seemed to like every place. she could make herself at home anywhere. plans were made the next day, and nearly all the members of the company, save mrs. maguire and the two children, were to go on the trip across the prairies. big wagons, of the old-fashioned "prairie schooner" type, were made ready. in these the ladies would live when they were not in the saddle. there was also a "grub" wagon, in which food would be carried. it contained a small stove so that better meals could be prepared than would be possible over a campfire. then with plenty of spare horses, and with the camera and a good supply of film, the moving picture company and several cowboys set off one morning over the rolling plains. many scenes were filmed, some of them most excellent. it was not all easy going, for often there would be failures and the work would have to be done all over again. but no one grumbled, and really the life was a happy one. even mr. sneed seemed to enjoy himself, and the former vaudeville actresses condescended to say it was "interesting." one day an important film had been made and the work involved was so hard that everyone was glad to go to their "bunks" early. mr. pertell, russ and mr. devere occupied a large tent near the wagons where the ladies had their quarters. there was some little disturbance during the night, caused by one of the dogs barking, but the cowboys who roused to look about could find nothing wrong. but in the morning when russ went to prepare his camera for that day's work he uttered an exclamation of dismay. "what's the matter?" asked mr. pertell. "that big reel i took yesterday, and which i put in the light-tight box for safe keeping, is gone!" cried the young operator. chapter xxi the burning grass the announcement made by russ caused considerable surprise, and, on the part of mr. pertell, dismay. "you don't mean that big reel--that important one which is a sort of key to all the rest--is missing; do you?" he asked. "that's it," replied russ, ruefully. "it's clean gone!" "maybe you didn't look carefully, or perhaps you put it in some other place than you thought." "i'm not in the habit of doing that with undeveloped film," replied the young operator. "if it was a reel ready for the projector i might mislay it, for i'd know the light couldn't harm it. but undeveloped reels, that the least glint of light would spoil--i take precious good care of them, let me tell you. and this one is gone." "let's have another look," suggested mr. pertell, hopefully. he went into the tent from which russ had just emerged, and the latter showed him where he had placed the reel. it was enclosed in its own case as it came from the camera, and that case, as an additional protection, was placed in a light-tight black box. this box would hold several reels; but that night only one, and the most important of those taken on the trip, was put in it. "look!" suddenly exclaimed mr. devere, who had followed the two into the tent. "that's how your reel was taken!" and he pointed to a slit in the wall of the tent, close to where the black box had stood. so clean was the cut, having evidently been made with a very sharp instrument, that only when the wind swayed the canvas was it noticeable. "by jove! you're right!" cried mr. pertell. "that's how they got it, russ. someone sneaked up outside the tent, slit it open, reached in and lifted out the reel. it was done when we were asleep and----" "that's what made the dogs bark!" exclaimed russ. "now the question is: who was it?" he looked at mr. pertell as he spoke, and at once a light of understanding came into the eyes of the manager. "you mean----?" the latter began. "those fellows from the international!" finished russ, quickly. "they must be still on our trail." "what's the trouble?" asked baldy johnson, from outside the tent. "has anything happened?" "oh, don't say there's more trouble," chimed in ruth, as she came down out of the wagon where she and alice slept. "what has happened now?" "nothing much, except that we've been robbed," spoke russ, ruefully. "our big reel is gone." to the cowboys and others of the company who crowded up he showed the slit in the tent wall, through which the theft had been perpetrated. "hum! i guess those fellows were smarter than we were," replied baldy. "we scurried around in the night, but they gave us the slip." "and we didn't see a sign of 'em, neither!" added buster jones. "say, fellows, if this ever gets back to rocky ranch," went on necktie harry, as he adjusted a flaming red scarf, "we'll never hear the last of it. to think we heard a racket, got up, and let something be taken right from under our noses and didn't see it done--good-night! as the poet says." "boys, we've got to make good!" declared bow backus. "we've got to take the trail after these scamps, and get back them pictures. it's up to us!" "whoop-ee! that's what it is!" shouted necktie harry, firing his gun. "oh, isn't this fine!" cried alice, as she joined ruth. "there will be a real chase and----" "oh, how can you like such things?" asked ruth. "it may be something terrible!" "pooh! i don't see how it can be. if they have something that belongs to us we have a right to get it back," and alice shook back the hair that was falling over her shoulders, for she was to take part in several pictures that day as a "cowgirl," and was dressed in a picturesque, if not exactly correct, costume, with short skirt, leggins and all. "oh, i hope there won't be any--bloodshed!" faltered miss pennington. "they'll probably only use their lassoes," replied alice, with a smile. "oh dear! i hope breakfast will soon be ready. i'm as hungry as a----" "alice!" warned ruth, with a gentle look. she was still trying to correct her sister's habit of slang. "as hungry as if i hadn't eaten since last night," finished alice with a mocking laugh. "there, sister mine!" and she blew her a kiss from the tips of her rosy fingers. "well, it's easy enough to say: 'get after the fellows who took the reel,'" spoke baldy johnson, "but who were they, and where shall we start?" "it must have been someone who knew where we kept the reels in the light-tight box," said russ. "otherwise he would have cut several places in the tent to reach in and feel around. and there is only one cut. so it must have been somebody who knew about this tent." "regular detective work, that," remarked necktie harry, quickly, looking admiringly at russ. "say! i have it!" cried baldy johnson. "those fellows who rode in yesterday to watch us work. it was one of them." "you mean the boys from the double ranch?" asked buster. "them's the ones," answered baldy. just before the close of the making pictures the day before a crowd of cowboys from a nearby cattle range had ridden up, and looked on interestedly. they were returning from a round-up. some of them were known to the boys from rocky ranch, and there had been an exchange of courtesies. "'them's the guilty parties,' as the actor folks say," sung out bow backus. "i think you are right," agreed mr. pertell. "but i can't see what object cowboys would have in taking a film--and an undeveloped one at that," said russ. "i can't believe it." "maybe the international firm bribed them, or maybe one of their men was disguised as a cowboy," suggested mr. devere. "that's possible," admitted russ. "well, we'll soon find out," declared baldy. "come on, boys. grub up and then we'll ride over." the visit to double x ranch proved fruitless, however, except in one particular. the cowboys attached to that "outfit" easily proved that they had not been near the camp of the picture makers. "but there was one fellow who rode with us," said the foreman. "he was a stranger to us. looked to be a cow-puncher, and _said_ he was, from down new mexico way. he was with us when we were at your place, and when we rode away he branched off. it might have been him." "i'm sure it was," declared mr. pertell. "now, how can we get hold of him?" but that was a question no one could answer, and though several of the cowboys took the trail after the stranger, he was not to be found. the missing film seemed to have disappeared for good. it was a great loss, but there was no help for it, and plans were made to go through the big scene again, though not until later. "i have something else i want filmed now," said mr. pertell. "we will make that 'lost' scene we spoke of last night and then try a novelty." "something new?" asked mr. bunn. "i hope i don't have to be lassoed again," for that had been his most recent "stunt." "no, we'll let you off easy this time," laughed mr. pertell. "all you'll have to do will be to escape from a prairie fire." "a prairie fire!" gasped the shakespearean actor. "i refuse to take that chance." "don't worry," said the manager. "it will only be a small, imitation blaze. i want to get some scenes of that," he went on to explain to the cowboys. "in the early days of the west prairie fires were one of the terrible features. i realize that now, of course, with the west so much more built up, they are not so common. but i think we could arrange for a small one, and burn the grass over a limited area. it would look big in a picture." "yes, it could be done," admitted baldy. "we'll help you." two or three more days were spent in the open, traveling over the prairie, making various films. then a suitable location for the "prairie fire" was found and a little rehearsal held. "that will do very well," said mr. pertell at the conclusion. "we'll film the scene to-morrow." the arrangements were carefully made, and in a big open place the tall dry grass was set on fire. the flames crackled, and great clouds of black smoke rolled upward. "go ahead now, russ!" called the manager. "that ought to make a fine film! come on, you people--mr. devere, ruth, alice--get in the picture. register fear!" chapter xxii hemmed in elaborate preparations had been made for this prairie fire picture. in fact, in a way, the whole story of the drama "east and west" hinged on this scene. it was the climax, so to speak--the "big act" if the play had been on the real stage. naturally mr. pertell was anxious to have everything right. and so it seemed to be going. the flames crackled menacingly, and the black smoke rolled up in great clouds that would show well on the film. in brief, this action of the play was to depict the hardships of one of the early western settlers. he had taken up a section of land, built himself a rude house, and was living there with his family when the prairie fire came, and he was forced to flee. of course all this was "only make believe," as children say. but it was put on for the film in a very realistic manner. pop snooks had constructed a slab house, with the aid of the cowboys, who said it was as near the "real thing" as possible. later on the house, which was but a shell, and intended only for the "movies," would be destroyed by fire. scenes would be shown in which the settler (mr. devere) and his helpers would try to extinguish the fire before they fled from it. the first scene showed the fire starting, with the plowmen (mr. bunn and mr. sneed) in the fields at work. they were seen to stop, to shade their eyes with their hands and look off toward the distant horizon, where a haze of smoke could be seen. the big distances which were available on the prairies of the west, made this particularly effective in a film picture. the taking of the film had so far advanced that the warning had come to those in the slab shanty. there were gathered ruth, alice, miss pennington, miss dixon, paul and others. "ride! ride for your lives!" cried mr. sneed, dashing up on one of the plow horses. "the prairies are on fire and it's coming this way lickity-split!" of course his words would not be heard by the moving picture audiences, though those accustomed to it can read the lip motions. really the words need not have been said, and it was this feature of the "movies" that enabled mr. devere to take up the work when he had failed in the "legitimate" because of his throat ailment. "flee for your lives!" cried mr. sneed. "we're going to try to burn it back, or plow a strip that it can't get over." thereupon ensued a scene of fear and excitement at the slab hut. a wagon was hastily brought up by some of the cowboys, who were taking part in the picture, and the household goods, (provided of course by the ever-faithful pop snooks), were hastily packed into it. then the girls and others, with every sign of fear and dismay, properly "registered" for the benefit of those who would later see the film in the darkened theaters, gathered together their personal belongings, and entered the wagon. meanwhile russ was kept busy getting different views of the big scene. sometimes there would be shown the raging fire sweeping onward, the black clouds of smoke rolling upward, and the red tongues of flame leaping out. in reality the fire was only a small one, but by cleverly manipulating the camera, and taking close views, it was made to appear as if it was a raging conflagration. as russ would have difficulty in showing alternate views of the fire itself and the preparations at the slab hut to flee from it, mr. pertell, at times, worked an extra camera himself. thus the time was shortened, for the fire was something that could not be held back, as could something of purely human agency. "ride! ride for your lives!" now shouted mr. sneed, as he sat on his heaving horse, ready to ride back and help fight the fire. with dramatic gestures he pointed ahead, seemingly to a place of safety. "ride for your lives!" "but you? what of you?" cried miss pennington, as she held out her hands to him imploringly. she was supposed (in the play) to be in love with him. "i go back--to do my duty!" he replied, as his lines called for. there was a dramatic little scene and then miss pennington, "registering" weeping, went inside the "prairie schooner," as the big covered wagon was called. paul, on the driver's seat, cracked his whip at the horses and the vehicle lumbered off, ruth, alice and the others who were inside, looking back as if with regret at the home that was soon to be destroyed. mr. sneed remained for a moment, posing on the back of his horse, and then, with a farewell wave of his hand he rode back to join mr. bunn and the others in fighting the fire that had been "made to order." mr. devere, too, after seeing his family off in the wagon, leaped on a horse and also galloped back to help fight the flames. there had been a dramatic parting between him and his daughters--for the purposes of the film, of course. "say, this fire's gettin' a little hot!" cried baldy, who, with the other cowboys, had been detailed to put out the blaze. mr. pertell was there to get a film of them, while russ, a considerable distance away, was to film the on-rushing wagon containing those fleeing from the blaze. the picture was so arranged as to show alternately views of the wagon and the fire fighters. always, however, there was the background of the black smoke when the wagon was shown tearing over the prairie, and the smoke constantly grew blacker. "get at it now, boys!" cried the manager, grinding away at the handle of his camera. "put in some lively work! mr. sneed, don't be afraid of the fire. you're standing off too far." the plot of the play was that first an attempt would be made to beat out the fire, by means of bundles of wet brush dipped in a nearby brook. this plan was to fail, and then an attempt would be made to "fight fire with fire." that is, the prairie grass would be set ablaze some distance ahead of the line of fire, and allowed to burn toward it. this would make a blackened strip, bare of fuel for the flames, and the hope was--or it used to be when prairie fires in the west were common--that this would check the advancing blaze. for a few seconds the men fought frantically to beat out the fire, then mr. devere exclaimed, with a dramatic gesture: "it is no use! we must fight fire with fire!" the men ran back some distance, mr. pertell taking his camera back the same space. then the prairie was set ablaze in a number of places, at points nearer the slab cabin which was, as yet, untouched. the scene of starting a counter-fire was a short one, for it was quickly discovered, in reality as well as in the play, as planned, that the wind was in the wrong direction. it simply advanced the flames nearer the cabin. "it's of no use, boys!" cried mr. devere. "we must plow a bare strip." "bring up the horses and plows!" ordered baldy. a number of these had been held in reserve, out of sight of the camera, and they now came up on the rush. the idea was that neighboring settlers, having sighted the prairie fire, had come to the aid of their friends in the slab cabin. horses were quickly hitched to the plows, and the work of making a number of furrows of damp earth, to act as a barrier to the flames, was started. while mr. pertell was filming this, russ was busy getting views of the on-rushing wagon containing the refugees. several times the team was stopped to enable the operator to go on ahead, and show it coming across the prairie. this gave a different background each time. it was after one of these halts, and just when the team was started up again that alice, who was on the front seat with paul, the driver, cried out: "see! there is smoke and fire ahead of us, too! what does it mean?" for an instant they were all startled, and then, as ruth looked behind them, and saw the fiercer flames, and the blacker smoke there, she gasped: "we are hemmed in! hemmed in by the prairie fire!" chapter xxiii the escape paul pulled up the rushing horses with a jerk that set them back on their haunches. there were cries of alarm from the interior of the wagon, and from the front and rear peered out anxious faces. "what is it? oh, what is it?" cried miss dixon. "there's a fire ahead of us," replied alice, and her voice was calmer now. she realized that their situation might be desperate, and that there would be need of all the presence of mind each one possessed. "a fire ahead of us!" repeated miss pennington. "then let's turn back. probably mr. pertell wanted this to happen. it's all in the play. i don't see anything to get excited about." for once in her life she was more self-possessed than any of the others, but it was due to the bliss of ignorance. "let's turn back," she suggested. "that seems the most reasonable thing to do. and i wonder if you would mind if i rode on the seat next to your friend paul," she went on to alice. "i'd like to have the center of the stage just for once, as sort of a change," and her tone was a bit malicious. "i'm sure you're welcome to sit here," responded alice, quietly. "but, as for turning back, it is impossible. look!" and she waved her hand toward the rear. there the black clouds of smoke were thicker and heavier, and the shooting flames went higher toward the heavens. "oh!" gasped miss pennington, and then she realized as she had not done before--the import of ruth's words: "we are hemmed in!" "can't--can't we go back?" gasped miss dixon. "the fire behind us is worse than that before us," said paul, in a low voice. "perhaps, after all, we can make a rush for it." "no, don't try dot!" spoke mr. switzer, and somehow, in this emergency, he seemed very calm and collected. "der horses vould shy und balk at der flames," went on the german, who seemed far from being funny now. he was deadly in earnest. "ve can not drive dem past der flames," he added. "but what are we to do?" asked paul. "we can't stay here to be----" he did not finish the sentence, but they all knew what he meant. "vait vun minute," suggested the german. he stood up on the seat so as to bring his head above the canvas top of the wagon. those in it, save paul, who remained holding the reins to quiet the very restive horses, had jumped to the ground. "the wind is driving on der flames dot are back of us," said mr. switzer in a low voice. "it is driving dem on." he turned in the opposite direction, where the flames and smoke were less marked, but still dangerously in evidence. "und dere, too," the german murmured. "der vind dere, too, is driving dem on--driving dem on! i don't understand it. dere must be a vacuum caused by der two fires." "well, what's to be done?" asked mr. towne, who formed one of the fleeing party. "we can't stay here forever--between two fires, you know." "yah! i know," remarked mr. switzer, slowly. "ve must get avay. we cannot go back, ve cannot go forvarts. den ve must----" "oh, if we can't go back, what has become of those whom we left behind?" cried ruth. "my father--and the others?" her tearful face was turned toward alice. "they--they may be all right," said the younger girl, but her voice was not very certain. "the--the fire must be at the cabin by now," went on ruth. "if--if anything has happened that they were not able to get the flames under control----" she, too, did not finish her portentous sentence. "ve cannot go forvarts," murmured mr. switzer, "und ve cannot go back. den de only oder t'ing to do iss to go to der left or right. iss dot not so paul, my boy?" "it certainly is, and the sooner the better!" cried the young actor. "get into the wagon again and i'll try the left. it looks more open there. and hurry, please, it's getting hard to hold the horses. they want to bolt." there were four animals hitched to the wagon, and it was all paul could do to manage them. every moment they were getting more and more excited by the sight and smell of the smoke and flames. into the wagon piled the refugees, and paul gave the horses their heads, guiding them over the prairie in a direction to the left, for the smoke seemed less thick there. it was a desperate chance, but one that had to be taken. ruth and alice, going to the rear of the vehicle, looked out of the opening for a sight of their father and the others coming up on the gallop, possibly to report that the fire had gotten beyond their control. but there was no sight of them. "oh, what can have happened?" murmured ruth with clasped hands, while tears came into her eyes. "don't worry, dear," begged alice. "but i can't help it." "perhaps they are all right, ruth. they may have gone to one side, just as we did, and of course they couldn't ride towards us until they got beyond the path of the flames." "oh, if i could only hope so!" the elder girl replied. the wagon was rocking and swaying over the uneven ground as the horses galloped on. russ, who had run to one side when the halt was made, held up his hand as a signal to halt. he had taken films until the vehicle was too close to be in proper focus. "do get up and get in with us!" begged ruth. "you must not stay here any longer." "i was thinking that myself," he said grimly. a glance back showed that the fire there had increased in intensity, and the one in front was also growing. there was presented the rather strange sight of two fires rushing together, though the one in the rear, or behind the refugees, came on with greater speed, urged by a stronger wind. as mr. switzer had said, a vacuum might have been created by the larger conflagration, which made a draft that blew the smaller fire toward the bigger one. "do you see any opening, either backward or forward?" asked russ of paul, when they had gone on for perhaps half a mile. "not yet," answered the driver. "though the smoke, does seem to be getting a bit thinner ahead there, on the left." but it was a false hope, and going on a little farther it was seen that the two fires had joined about a mile ahead, completely cutting off an advance in that direction. it was as though our friends were in an ever narrowing circle of flame. there was a fire behind them, in front of them and to one side. there only remained the one other side. would there be an opening in the circle--an opening by which they could escape? "ve must go to der right," cried mr. switzer. "und i vill drive, paul. i haf driven in der german army yet, und i know how." they were now tearing along in a lane bordered with fire on either side, with raging flames behind them. their only hope lay in front. "well, these films may never be developed," observed russ, grimly, as took his camera off the tripod, "but i'm going to get a picture of this prairie fire. it's the best chance i've ever had--and it may be my last. but i'm not going to miss it!" and so, as the wagon careened along between the two lines of fire, russ took picture after picture, holding the camera on his knees. on and on the frantic horses were driven, until finally paul, who was on the seat beside mr. switzer, with russ between them taking pictures, called out: "hold on! wait a minute. i think i hear voices!" the horses were held back, not without difficulty, and then as the noise of their galloping, and the sound of the creaking wagon ceased, there was heard the unmistakable shouts of cowboys, and the rapid firing of revolvers. "there they are!" cried alice. "oh, if daddy is only there!" ruth replied. "go on!" cried paul to the german, and again the horses were given their heads. but now, even above the noise made by the wagon and the galloping steeds, could be heard the welcome shouts which told that some, at least, of those left behind were still alive. the girls were crying now, in very joy, though their anxiety was not wholly past. on and on galloped the horses. and then paul cried: "there's a way! there's a way out! the fire hasn't burned around the whole circle yet." he pointed ahead. through the smoke clouds could be seen an open space of grass that was not yet burned, and beyond that sparkled the waters of a wide but shallow creek. there was safety indeed! they had escaped the flames by a narrow margin. and as the wagon rushed for this haven of refuge, there came sweeping up from one side a group of cowboys, urging their horses to top speed, while, in their midst was mr. devere, mr. pertell and the others of the moving picture company who had been left to finish the scene at the slab cabin. chapter xxiv a disclosure "into the creek! drive right in!" cried baldy johnson. "run the wagon right in! it's a good bottom and you can go all the way across!" "go on!" called mr. switzer to his horses, and the steeds, nothing loath, darted for the cooling water. indeed it was very hot now, for the fire was close, and it was still coming on, in an ever-narrowing circle. "go ahead, boys! into the creek with you! it's our last chance, and our only one!" went on baldy. "into the water with you!" and into the welcome coolness of the creek splashed the cowboys on their ponies and the wagon containing the refugees. "where are you going?" cried ruth, as russ swung himself down off the seat. "i'm going to get this last film, showing the escape," he answered. "it's too good a chance to miss." "but you'll be burned!" she exclaimed. "the fire is coming closer." and indeed the flames, closing up the circle of fire, were drawing nearer and nearer. "i'll be all right," he assured her. "i just want to get some pictures showing the wagon and the cowboys going across the creek. then i'll wade across myself. of course i'd like to get a front view, but i'll have to be content with a rear one." and as the wagon drawn by the frantic horses plunged into the water, followed by the shouting cowboys and the members of the film company, russ calmly set his camera up on the edge of the stream, and took a magnificent film that afterward, under the title "the escape from fire," made a great sensation in new york. the brave young operator remained until he felt the heat of the flames uncomfortably close and then, holding his precious camera high above his head, he waded into the creek. the waters did not come above his waist, and when he was safe on the other side with his friends, finding he had a few more feet of film left, he took the pictures showing the fire as it raged and burned the last of the grass, and other pictures giving views of the exhausted men, women and horses in a temporary camp. "whew! but that was hot work!" cried mr. bunn, mopping his face. "you're right," agreed mr. pertell. "i don't believe i'll chance any more prairie fires. this one rather got away from us." there was a shout from some of the cowboys who stood in a group on the bank of the creek. "look! look at those fellows!" cried bow backus. "they just got out of the fire by a close shave--same as we did." they all looked to where he pointed. there, crossing the stream higher up, and seemingly at a place which the fire had only narrowly missed, were several horsemen. their steeds appeared exhausted, as though they had had a hard race to escape. "what outfit is that, fellows?" asked baldy johnson. "i don't know of any punchers attached to a ranch that's within this here fire range." "there isn't any," declared necktie harry. "but where did those cowboys come from?" persisted baldy. "they're not cowboys!" declared necktie harry, looking to see if his scarf had suffered any from the smoke and cinders. "did you ever see real cow punchers ride the way they do--like sacks of meal. they're fakes, that's what they are!" for an instant baldy stared at the speaker, and then cried: "that's it! i couldn't understand it before, but i do now. it's all clear!" "what is?" asked mr. pertell, who was still, rather wrought up by the danger into which he had thrown his players. "why, about this blaze. i couldn't for the life of me understand how it was it could burn two ways at once. but now i do." "you mean those fellows set another fire?" asked bow backus. "that's my plain identical meanin'," declared baldy. "them scoundrels started another fire after we did ours." "oh, how terrible!" exclaimed ruth. "wait; hold on, miss! i'm not goin' so far as to accuse 'em of doin' it purposely," the cowboy went on, earnestly. "they may not have meant it. the grass is pretty dry just now, and a little fire would burn a long way. it's jest possible they may have made a blaze to bile their coffee, and the wind carried sparks into a bunch of grass. but i have my suspicions." "why, who could they be, to do such a dastardly thing as that?" demanded mr. devere. "that's what i want to know," put in mr. pertell. baldy turned sharply to the manager. "who's been followin' on your trail ever since you started out to make your big drama 'east and west'?" he asked. "who--who!" repeated mr. pertell. "why--why those sneaks from the international picture company--that's who." "that's them," declared baldy, laconically, as he pointed to the retreating horsemen. "that's them, and they're the fellows who sot this second fire that so nearly wrecked us." "is it possible!" ejaculated mr. devere. "i'm sure of it," declared baldy. "i ain't got no real proof; but i've seen a good many fires in my day, and they don't start all by their ownselves--not two of 'em, anyhow. you can bank on them bein' your enemies, if you'll excuse my slang," he said in firm tones. "do you really mean it?" asked mr. pertell, in amazement. "i sure do, friend. i'm not sayin' they started it to hurt any of you; but they wanted to spoil your picture, i'm sure of it." there was a moment of silence, and then bow backus cried out in loud tones: "fellers, there's only one thing to do: let's take after them scamps and get 'em with the goods! let's prove that they did this mischief. come on, boys! our horses are fresh enough now." the tired cow ponies, almost worn out after their race to escape with their masters from the on-rushing flames, had been allowed to rest and now they were ready for hard work again. in an instant, half a score of the sturdy cowboys were in the saddle, whooping and yelling in sheer delight at the prospective chase. "i've got to get in on this!" cried russ. "wait a minute until i film the start, fellows, and then i'll get on a horse and take my camera. i'll go with you, and get the finish of this, too." a new roll of film was quickly slipped into the camera and russ dashed on ahead to show the on-coming cowboys in their rush to overtake the suspected men. then the young operator jumped into the saddle of a steed that was ready and waiting for him, and galloped on with his friends to get, if possible, the finish of the affair. "oh, isn't it just splendid!" cried alice, clapping her hands. "but it makes me so nervous!" protested ruth. "i just love to be nervous--this way," declared alice, with a joyous laugh. away flew the eager cowboys, and those left behind proceeded to let their nerves quiet down after the strenuous times they had just passed through. the cook had come up and he at once prepared a little meal. on the other side of the wide creek the prairie fire burned itself out. the blaze crept in the dry grass down to the very edge of the water, where it went out with puffs of steam, and vicious hisses. "oh, but i'm glad we're not there," sighed ruth as she looked across at the smoke-palled and blackened stretch. "yes, it was a narrow escape," said her father. "what happened after we left?" asked alice. "the fire really got a little too much for us," said mr. pertell. "and, as i had pictures enough, we decided to leave. we let the cabin burn, as we had arranged, and then came riding on. "but the flames were a little too quick for us, and we had to turn off to one side. that's why we didn't get up to you more quickly. we were really quite worried about you." chapter xxv the round-up "what's the matter?" "couldn't you catch them?" "did they get away?" all needless questions, evidently, yet they were anxiously asked, for all that, when the tired and disappointed cowboys, led by baldy johnson, returned after the chase. it was dusk, and the prairie fire was almost out. only a faint glow showed where, here and there, a bunch of thick grass was still blazing. "they gave us the slip," complained baldy in discouraged tones. "their horses were fresher than ours were. probably they got out of the way of the fire sooner than we did." "did you get close enough to recognize them?" mr. pertell wanted to know. "i didn't know any of 'em," asserted baldy. "not that i got any too close," he added, grimly. "they sure can ride, even if they don't have our style." "i'm not sure," remarked russ, as he put away the camera which he had had no chance to use after filming the start of the cowboys, "i'm not sure, but i think i recognized one of the fellows as the chap who was at rocky ranch when we arrived there." "then he has others with him," said mr. pertell. "evidently." "and they will probably try to do us some more mischief," went on the manager. "we still have several important films to make, and if they try to steal our ideas and get the pictures we go to so much trouble to make we may as well give up." "don't you do it!" cried baldy johnson. "don't you do it! we'll get after these fellows the first thing in the morning, and round 'em up good and proper." "that's what we will!" cried his companion. "whoop-ee for the round-up!" "we'll pay 'em for startin' that fire," went on baldy. "yes, and for stampedin' those cattle, too," added buster jones. "do you think they did that?" mr. pertell asked, quickly. "i wouldn't be a bit surprised," declared buster. "if they was mean enough to start a fire to spoil the picture they wouldn't stop at a little thing like stampedin' a bunch of cattle. i'm sure they done it." "then all the more reason for runnin' 'em out of the country!" decided baldy. "we'll get on the trail early in the mornin', boys." "we're with you!" cried the others. the camp, which had been made on the side of the creek where refuge had been taken from the fire, was soon in order. the cook wagon and supplies had been sent far away from the scene of the blaze when it was started, and it had come up by a different trail. soon with tents erected, and with the sleeping wagon for the ladies in readiness, quiet settled down over the scene. believing that it was more necessary to capture or drive out of that section the rivals who were endeavoring to get ahead of him, mr. pertell decided not to make any more films until after the chase. preparations for this were soon under way, next morning, and, save for a small guard of cowboys left in camp, all the men riders went after the suspected ones. mr. devere remained with his daughters. of course russ went along to make the pictures. it was some time before the searchers got on the proper trail. they followed one or two false ones at first, but finally were set right, and then they rode furiously. "there they are!" cried baldy, who had taken the lead. this was after a hasty lunch. he pointed to a group of fleeing horsemen. "after 'em!" yelled bow backus. "they shan't get away this time!" cried buster jones. and they did not. ride as the fleeing ones might, they were no match for their pursuers, and after a short chase, which russ was able to get on the film, the fugitives were surrounded. "surrender!" yelled the cowboys of rocky ranch as they rode down their rivals. and the others were glad enough to pull up their jaded steeds, for they had ridden far and hard to escape. but fate was against them. "so it's you; is it, wilson!" exclaimed mr. pertell, as he recognized the spy who had been detected in the studio. "and there's that other chap!" exclaimed russ, as he saw the man who had so suddenly left rocky ranch. "now if we could only get back that roll of stolen film we'd be all right." the prisoners were searched and bound, and on wilson were found papers incriminating him and his confederates in both the moves against our friends. other actions to take advantage of mr. pertell had also been planned. but, best of all, the headquarters of the gang was disclosed and there, among other things, was found the missing roll of film, with the seals unbroken, showing that it was not spoiled, but could be developed and printed. so, after all, there was no need of making the big scene over again. the surreptitious pictures of the oil well were also recovered and destroyed. and then, after no very gentle treatment, the rocky ranch cowboys ran out of the country the men who had been trying to take advantage of mr. pertell's work for the benefit of the international company. "that's the way!" "run 'em out!" "give 'em some more!" to these startling shouts were wilson's men driven away, and glad enough they were to go. what other films they had taken on the sly were destroyed, and their cameras were confiscated. in fact all their efforts came to naught. it was disclosed, later, that they had not intended to endanger our friends by starting the prairie fire; only to spoil their plans. "and now for the grand finale!" cried mr. pertell a few days later, when the return had been made to rocky ranch. "this will be the last scene in the great drama 'east and west.' there's to be a cowboy festival, with all sorts of stunts in horsemanship and lariat throwing. you've got a lot of work ahead of you, russ." there were busy days at rocky ranch. cowboys from neighboring places rode over to take part in the fun and frolic, and russ got many fine films. "oh, i don't know when i've enjoyed anything so much as i have this life in the west," said alice, when the last film had been taken. "nor i," added ruth. "it has been just glorious." "and i am so much better," declared mr. devere. "i would scarcely know i had a sore throat now." "oh, i'm so glad, daddy dear!" exclaimed alice, as she put her arms around his neck. "and now we're going back to new york, and have a good, long rest," went on ruth. "i shall be sorry to get into the stuffy city again." "i won't," declared miss pennington. "i'm just dying for a sight of dear old broadway," and as if that gave her a thought she gently powdered her nose. perhaps it needed it, for she was very much sunburned. "well, you're going back to new york all right, as far as that is concerned," said mr. pertell, who had overheard part of the talk. "but as for a rest--well, i suppose i'll have to give you a little one, before we start off again." "oh, have you more plans in prospect?" asked alice. "indeed i have, my dear young lady. we're going in for water stuff next." and those of you who desire to follow further the careers of ruth, alice and their friends, may do so by reading the next volume of this series, to be called, "the moving picture girls at sea; or, a pictured shipwreck that became real." "one more day at rocky ranch!" cried alice, as she came out on the veranda one glorious morning. "oh, but i don't want to leave it!" "neither do i!" cried paul, coming around the corner of the house so unexpectedly that alice was startled. "suppose we go for a last ride?" he suggested. and together they rode over the prairies, side by side toward the golden west. * * * * * transcriber's notes: obvious punctuation errors corrected. page , "shakspearean" changed to "shakespearean" to conform to rest of text. (play shakespearean parts) page , "sceond" changed to "second". (the second time) page , "plaftorm" changed to "platform". (depot platform stood) page , "billard" changed to "billiard". (a billiard ball) page , "but's" changed to "but". (but that's a camera) page , "tting" changed to "getting". (getting up quickly) page , word "at" added to text. (manager at once) page , "mischievious" changed to "mischievous". (the mischievous cowboy) page , "excitment" changed to "excitement". (all this excitement) page , "ever" changed to "every". (off every chamber) page , "caluculated" changed to "calculated". (we calculated we'd) page , "arragnements" changed to "arrangements". (arrangements were carefully) page , "himeslf" changed to "himself". (swung himself down) three instances of "devere" being split over two lines were repaired to match the remainder of the text.