"Who knows," he said, "but what it may mendthe 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!"
"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 thoughtof 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 chanceto 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 mindwhat 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 littlemanipulation, 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 thanRuth 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 evidentlycome 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.
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, whoby 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 youfolks 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.
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 Igo 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 onboard 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, wherehe 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 OakFarm, 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'msohungry 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.
"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 menhave 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 tobe 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 sohungry, 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'syourplace 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 goingabout 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.
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 addedhastily, 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 Aliceto 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.
"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," askedAlice, "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 wasthen, 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 andAlice 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 tryto 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.