"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 averywild 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 amovingpicture ofhim, 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!"
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."
"Theywerenice!" 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.
TheMagnolia, 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."
"Attention, everyone!"
Mr. Pertell stood on the deck of theMagnolia, 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.
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."
"Alittlemud!" 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 calledSirenia, 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!"
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.
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.
"Itislonesome," 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.