The Moving Picture Boys on the Coast Part 14

"You don't speak as if you meant it."

"But I do, Joe. There's nothing the matter with me--really there isn't."

"Well, I'm glad of it. If there is, and you need help, don't forget to come to me. Remember we're pards, and chums, not only in the moving picture business, but in everything else, Blake. Anything I've got is yours for the asking."

"That's good of you, Joe, and if you can help me I'll let you know. I didn't realize that I was acting any way strange. I must brighten up a bit. I guess we've both been working too hard. We need some amus.e.m.e.nt.

Let's go to a moving picture show to-night, and see how they run things here, and what sort of films they have. We may even see one of our own."

"All right. I'll go you. We can't see that s.h.i.+pping agent until to-morrow. A moving picture show for ours to-night, then. Though, being in the business, as we are, it's rather like a fireman going around to the engine-house on his day off, and staying there--a queer sort of a day's vacation."

But, nevertheless, they thoroughly enjoyed the moving picture play, interspersed, as it was, with vaudeville acts. Among the films were several that Mr. Ringold's company had posed for, and several that the boys themselves had taken. The reels were good ones, too, the pictures standing out clear and bright as evidence of good work on the part of the boys and Mr. Hadley.

"Had enough?" asked Joe, after about an hour spent in the theatre.

"Yes, let's go out and take a walk."

"Feel any brighter?" went on Joe.

"Yes, I think I do," and Blake linked his arm in that of Joe, wondering the while, as they tramped on, how he should ever break the news to his chum, in case Joe himself did not find it out. "The only hope is that he isn't guilty," mused Blake, "and yet running away just before the accusation was made public looks bad, just as Mr. Stanton said. However, I'm not going to think about it." As long as it had gone thus far without any outsider giving away the secret to Joe, his chum began to feel that there was little danger.

"Well, you haven't any more infernal machines; have you, boys?" the hotel clerk asked them when they came in to get their keys. "Because, if you have, just keep quiet about 'em. I don't want to be awakened in the middle of the night with some one from the bureau of combustibles coming down here," and he laughed.

"No, we're all out of dynamite," responded Blake, in the same spirit.

He and Joe were early at the office of the sailing master, who made a specialty of fitting out vessels with crews. With a rather trembling voice Joe asked for information about Mr. Duncan.

"Duncan--Duncan," mused the agent, as he looked over his books. "Seems to me I remember the name. Was he the Duncan from somewhere down the coast?"

"The Rockypoint light," supplied Joe.

"Oh, yes, now I know. But why are you asking?" and the agent turned a rather suspicious look on Joe. "Is there anything wrong--is Mr. Duncan wanted for anything? I always try to protect my clients, you know, and I must find out why you are asking. Has he committed any crime, or is he wanted by anyone?"

Blake started at the coincidence of the words.

"Yes," answered Joe; "he is wanted by me--I'm his son, and I'd like very much to find him. We found some of his letters, and there was one from you about a berth you might have vacant."

"That's right, my boy, and I'm glad to learn that is why you want Nate Duncan, for he and I are friends in a way."

"But has he s.h.i.+pped?" asked Joe, eagerly.

"He has," answered the agent. "He signed for a trip to China, and it will be a good while before he gets back here, I'm afraid. It's a long voyage."

"To China!" cried Joe. "Oh, if he had only received my letter he would be here now with me. Poor Dad!"

CHAPTER XIII

A MIMIC FIRE

"Sorry I can't do any more for you," went on the agent, after a pause, during which he gazed sympathetically at Joe. "I can give you the name of the vessel your father is on, and you can write to Hong Kong, but it will be some time before she arrives. She's a sailing s.h.i.+p, you know, one of the few left in the trade."

"I didn't know my father was a regular sailor," said Joe.

"You didn't know he was a sailor? Say, don't you know your father's business?"

"It's been a good many years since I've seen him," spoke Joe. "In fact, I can't remember him," and he told something of how he came to be on the strange quest.

"Well, this is certainly odd," remarked the agent. "I've known Nate some years, more or less, and I've often heard him speak of a son he had lost track of. Of late he had given up hope."

"And just when I was on the verge of finding him," added Joe.

"His daughter, too," continued the agent. "He said he felt sure he'd never locate her, though he'd spent lots of money in hunting. And he felt pretty bad, too, over the thought that he might never see his children again."

"And have I really a sister?" asked Joe, eagerly.

"I can't rightly say," spoke the s.h.i.+pping master. "You had one, but whether she's alive now or not no one seems to know. There's one satisfaction, though, you can find your father in time, and as soon as he hears from you, when his s.h.i.+p reaches Hong Kong, he won't lose any time taking the fastest steamer back. I know Nate Duncan well enough for that."

"Will he, though?" thought Blake. "Will he come back when he knows of the wrecking charge that may be made against him? Even the prospect of seeing Joe may not overbalance that. Yet, I suppose he could send for Joe. They couldn't make any charge against him over in China. But it's a bad business."

Joe talked a little longer with the agent, who gave him the name of the s.h.i.+p on which Mr. Duncan had sailed, and also directions how to address the letter.

"Well, there's no use staying in 'Frisco much longer," said Joe, as they finished their business. "We'll get what other moving pictures of street scenes we want, and as I can't find Dad here, we'll leave. We'll get back to San Diego, and out to the beach colony to film some more dramas."

A return trip to their hotel, a visit to various localities for films, then to pack their belongings--and the automatic camera did not take them long--and they were soon journeying down the coast again. They were welcomed warmly by the members of the theatrical colony.

As I have said, for the purpose of being unhampered in their work of taking films, Mr. Ringold had moved his company from San Diego proper to a small fis.h.i.+ng settlement, directly on the beach. This place was called Chester, after the man who owned the fishery there. He had a fleet, consisting of several motor boats, in which the fishermen went out twice each day to pull up the nets that were fast to long poles, sunk into the sand of the ocean bed in water about forty feet deep.

The fish were brought to the main building, and packed in ice for transportation. Numbers of local dealers called each day with wagons to get a load to peddle about. There were only a few houses in the place, and a store or two.

Once some millionaire had built an elaborate cottage on the beach, but gave it up for some whim. It was in this cottage, which in size was almost a mansion, that the moving picture boys and their friends had their abode. A boarding mistress was installed, and thus the actors and actresses lived right at the scene of their work, with almost as much comfort as they would have had in a hotel. The place was not far from San Diego, and it had the advantage of a heavy surf on the beach, the big waves making just the background Mr. Ringold wanted. Of course, not all the scenes were on the water-front, some taking place in front of, or within, some of the cottages, which were hired for the short time needed. The fishermen could not seem to understand why a man should pay them good money for the use of their humble dwellings for a short time.

"It just seems plumb foolishness," declared one grizzled salt. "I don't see why folks want to make so many pictures of men and women walkin' in and out of my cottage and sayin' such outlandish things like: 'Gal, you shall give me them papers!' or, 'Meet me on yonder cliff at midnight!' I give up!"

"It does seem out of reason, Pete," agreed another. "But as long as they pay me for it, and don't go to bustin' up things, I'm willin'."

"Oh, so'm I. Keep it up, I says," and Mr. Ringold did, using different cottages in turn to get a diversity of views.

Sympathy was expressed for Joe on the failure of his mission to find his father.

"But don't you give up!" exclaimed Mr. Hadley. "China is far off, but it isn't out of the world. Don't give up, Joe."

"I'll not. I'm going to write to him to-day," and he did, dispatching the letter to far-off Hong Kong.

There was plenty of work waiting for the boys, some new ma.n.u.scripts of sea dramas having come in. Mr. Ringold decided to film several of them, and rehearsals were already under way.

"I'm going to have a novelty in one of the plays," said the manager.