CHAPTER XIII
A MIMIC FIRE
"Sorry I can't do any more for you," went on the agent, after a pause,during which he gazed sympathetically at Joe. "I can give you the nameof the vessel your father is on, and you can write to Hong Kong, but itwill be some time before she arrives. She's a sailing ship, you know,one of the few left in the trade."
"I didn't know my father was a regular sailor," said Joe.
"You didn't know he was a sailor? Say, don't you know your father'sbusiness?"
"It's been a good many years since I've seen him," spoke Joe. "In fact,I can't remember him," and he told something of how he came to be on thestrange quest.
"Well, this is certainly odd," remarked the agent. "I've known Nate someyears, more or less, and I've often heard him speak of a son he had losttrack of. Of late he had given up hope."
"And just when I was on the verge of finding him," added Joe.
"His daughter, too," continued the agent. "He said he felt sure he'dnever locate her, though he'd spent lots of money in hunting. And hefelt pretty bad, too, over the thought that he might never see hischildren again."
"And have I really a sister?" asked Joe, eagerly.
"I can't rightly say," spoke the shipping master. "You had one, butwhether she's alive now or not no one seems to know. There's onesatisfaction, though, you can find your father in time, and as soon ashe hears from you, when his ship reaches Hong Kong, he won't lose anytime taking the fastest steamer back. I know Nate Duncan well enough forthat."
"Will he, though?" thought Blake. "Will he come back when he knows ofthe wrecking charge that may be made against him? Even the prospect ofseeing Joe may not overbalance that. Yet, I suppose he could send forJoe. They couldn't make any charge against him over in China. But it's abad business."
Joe talked a little longer with the agent, who gave him the name of theship on which Mr. Duncan had sailed, and also directions how to addressthe letter.
"Well, there's no use staying in 'Frisco much longer," said Joe, asthey finished their business. "We'll get what other moving pictures ofstreet scenes we want, and as I can't find Dad here, we'll leave. We'llget back to San Diego, and out to the beach colony to film some moredramas."
A return trip to their hotel, a visit to various localities for films,then to pack their belongings--and the automatic camera did not takethem long--and they were soon journeying down the coast again. They werewelcomed warmly by the members of the theatrical colony.
As I have said, for the purpose of being unhampered in their work oftaking films, Mr. Ringold had moved his company from San Diego proper toa small fishing settlement, directly on the beach. This place was calledChester, after the man who owned the fishery there. He had a fleet,consisting of several motor boats, in which the fishermen went out twiceeach day to pull up the nets that were fast to long poles, sunk into thesand of the ocean bed in water about forty feet deep.
The fish were brought to the main building, and packed in ice fortransportation. Numbers of local dealers called each day with wagons toget a load to peddle about. There were only a few houses in the place,and a store or two.
Once some millionaire had built an elaborate cottage on the beach, butgave it up for some whim. It was in this cottage, which in size wasalmost a mansion, that the moving picture boys and their friends hadtheir abode. A boarding mistress was installed, and thus the actors andactresses lived right at the scene of their work, with almost as muchcomfort as they would have had in a hotel. The place was not far fromSan Diego, and it had the advantage of a heavy surf on the beach, thebig waves making just the background Mr. Ringold wanted. Of course, notall the scenes were on the water-front, some taking place in front of,or within, some of the cottages, which were hired for the short timeneeded. The fishermen could not seem to understand why a man should paythem good money for the use of their humble dwellings for a short time.
"It just seems plumb foolishness," declared one grizzled salt. "I don'tsee why folks want to make so many pictures of men and women walkin' inand out of my cottage and sayin' such outlandish things like: 'Gal, youshall give me them papers!' or, 'Meet me on yonder cliff at midnight!' Igive up!"
"It does seem out of reason, Pete," agreed another. "But as long as theypay me for it, and don't go to bustin' up things, I'm willin'."
"Oh, so'm I. Keep it up, I says," and Mr. Ringold did, using differentcottages in turn to get a diversity of views.
Sympathy was expressed for Joe on the failure of his mission to find hisfather.
"But don't you give up!" exclaimed Mr. Hadley. "China is far off, but itisn't out of the world. Don't give up, Joe."
"I'll not. I'm going to write to him to-day," and he did, dispatchingthe letter to far-off Hong Kong.
There was plenty of work waiting for the boys, some new manuscripts ofsea dramas having come in. Mr. Ringold decided to film several of them,and rehearsals were already under way.
"I'm going to have a novelty in one of the plays," said the manager."It's going to be a fire scene. We'll buy one of these cottages, or elsehave one built that will do well enough for picture purposes, and set itablaze. Then, when C. C. comes running out, carrying Miss Shay--or maybeMiss Lee, for she's lighter--we'll----"
"Hold on there!" called the comedian. "Did I understand you to say I hadto rush out of a burning building?"
"That's it, C. C."
"But to rush out I've got to go in; haven't I?"
"Why, naturally, C. C."
"Then I serve notice here and now that I resign. I'm tired of being anactor. I'm going into the coal business," and he stopped making oddfaces in the glass, practicing some facial contortions for a new clownact, and began to dress as though to go out.
"Hold on, C. C.; what's the matter?" asked Mr. Ringold.
"Plenty! If you think I'm going to run the risk of being burned to deathyou've got another guess coming. I'm through."
"Why, C. C.," spoke the theatrical manager, with a laugh; "there's nodanger."
"Not in going into a burning building, even if it is only a fisherman'sshanty! No danger!"
"No. Listen. You go in before the building is afire. The blaze isstarted from the outside by your enemy, and with some red fire, whichmakes a lot of smoke, we can show on the screen some pictures that willlook like a real fire. Then out you rush, before the flames have had achance to spread, and after you and the lady are safe, the fire gainsgreat headway, and the cottage burns to the ground. But the pictures arebeing taken all the while, and it will show up great! There's not a bitof danger."
"Not that way," said Miss Lee. "I'm willing to do my part, Mr. Ringold."
"Well, I suppose I'll have to also," spoke C. C., with a sigh. "But Iknow something will happen. Some sparks will fall on me and scorch me,anyhow, I'm sure."
"Oh, Gloomy!" reproachfully exclaimed Miss Shay. "Do look on the brightside for once."
"There isn't any," asserted the comedian, as he resumed his practice ofmaking strange faces.
Mr. Ringold succeeded in purchasing, for a moderate sum, one of theolder cottages, and it was put in shape for its share in the movingpicture story, some changes being necessary. The fisherman and hisfamily moved out, glad of the chance to better themselves.
"We won't say anything about planning to fire the shack," declared Mr.Ringold to the boys and the members of his company. "If we do it willattract a crowd, and that's just what we don't want. The fewer thebetter. Now we'll go over to the shack, and have a rehearsal."
"A dress one?" asked Mr. Piper, meaning that everything would be donejust as if the pictures were being taken. "You're not going to have thereal fire now; are you?"
"No, indeed," said the manager. "We can only burn the cottage downonce."
The rehearsal went off well, and Blake and Joe, who were to make thefilms, watched the work with interest. They were anxious for the timeto come to set the fire.
"Well, I guess that will do," decided Mr. Ringold, after a day or twospent in getting the actors and act
resses familiar with their parts."We'll do the business to-morrow morning."
Accordingly, they all assembled at the shack, and went through thevarious acts leading up to the fire scene. The boys ground awayindustriously at the handles of the moving picture cameras.
All went well until it came time to set the fire. Then, whether thebuilding was older and more tinder-like than was supposed, or whetherMr. Levinberg, the "villain" who fired the shack, used too much red fireand kerosene, was not explained.
At any rate, the little building was more quickly wrapped in flame andsmoke than was expected, and Mr. Ringold yelled excitedly:
"Come on out, C. C.! Don't wait any longer. Never mind if it isn't time!Rush out with the girl before it's too late!"
"That's what I'll do!" cried the comedian, appearing in the doorway,carrying Miss Lee. There was little danger now, as long as he was in theopen, unless some tongue of fire should catch the girl's dress.
"Hurry!" cried the manager, and C. C. sprinted out of the reach of thefire.
And then something entirely unexpected, and not down on the bill,happened. A number of fishermen, who had seen the blaze from down thebeach, came running up, all excited, thinking the fire was an accident.
"Get that old pumping engine!" shouted one grizzled salt. "We'll havethat blaze out in no time!"
"Form a bucket brigade!" suggested another.
"No! No! Let it burn!" cried Mr. Ringold. "We want it to burn!"
"Want it to burn?" was shouted at him, by the fisherman who had proposedthe pump. "Be you plumb crazy? Come on, boys, form that bucket brigade.Some of you run that hand-pump over here where we can pour water in thetank. Stretch the hose!"
"They'll spoil the picture!" cried Mr. Ringold, rushing about, andtrying to keep the fishermen away.
Joe and Blake, not having orders to the contrary, and not knowing butwhat this was all part of the play, continued to grind away at theircameras, two reels of this play being taken, as an additional one wasneeded.
"Here she comes!" cried the fisherman, as some of his companions camerushing from a shed with an ancient style of hand fire-engine,consisting of a tank, on wheels, with a force-pump arrangement, workedby long handles. Water was poured in the tank by means of buckets, andforced out on the blaze through a hose.
"Bring her up as clost as ye kin!" directed the self-appointed chief ofthe amateur fire department; "'cause our hose ain't very long. Formlines now, and dip water up from the ocean. Salt water is good forfires!"