Ruth Fielding Down East Part 18

"I took your advice, Mr. Hammond. I have told n.o.body about it--not a thing!"

"And somebody unknown stole it?"

"We think it was a vagrant actor. A tramp. Just the sort of person, though, who would know how to make use of the script."

"Humph! All actors were considered 'vagrants' under the old English law--in Shakespeare's younger days, for instance," remarked Mr. Hammond.

"You see how unwise it would be for me to try to rewrite the story--even if I could--and try to screen it."

"I presume you are right. Yes. But I hoped you would bring a story with you that we could be working on at odd times. I have a good all-around company here on the lot."

"I had most of your princ.i.p.als in mind when I wrote my scenario," sighed Ruth. "But I could not put my mind to that same subject now. I am discouraged, Mr. Hammond."

"I would not feel that way if I were you, Miss Ruth," he advised, trying, as everybody else did, to cheer her. "You will get another good idea, and like all other born writers, you will just _have_ to give expression to it. Meantime, of course, if I get hold of a promising scenario, I shall try to produce it."

"I hope you will find a good one, Mr. Hammond."

He smiled rather ruefully. "Of course, there is scarcely anybody on the lot who hasn't a picture play in his or her pocket. I was possibly unwise last week to offer five hundred dollars spot cash for a play I could make use of, for now I suppose there will be fifty to read. Everybody, from Jacks, the property man, to the old hermit, believes he can write a scenario."

"Who is the hermit?" asked Ruth, with some curiosity.

"I don't know. n.o.body seems to know who he is about Herringport. He was living in an old fish-house down on the Point when we came here last week with the full strength of the company. And I have made use of the old fellow in your 'Seaside Idyl'.

"He seems to be a queer duck. But he has some idea of the art of acting, it seems. Director Jim Hooley is delighted with him. But they tell me the old fellow is scribbling all night in his hut. The scenario bug has certainly bit that old codger. He's out for my five hundred dollars," and the producing manager laughed again.

"I hope you get a good script," said Ruth earnestly. "But don't ask me to read any of them, Mr. Hammond. It does seem as though I never wanted to look at a scenario again!"

"Then you are going to miss some amus.e.m.e.nt in this case," he chuckled.

"Why so?"

"I tell you frankly I do not expect much from even those professional actors. It was my experience even before I went into the motion picture business that plays submitted by actors were always full of all the old stuff--all the old theatrical tricks and the like. Actors are the most insular people in existence, I believe. They know how plays should be written to fulfill the tenets of the profession; but invention is 'something else again'."

The young people who had motored so far were welcomed by many of Mr.

Hammond's company who had acted in "The Forty-Niners" and had met Ruth and her friends in the West, as related in "Ruth Fielding in the Saddle."

The shacks that had been built especially for the company's use were comfortable, even if they did smell of new pine boards. The men of the company lived in khaki tents. There were several old fish-houses that were likewise being utilized by the members of the company.

Beach Plum Point was the easterly barrier of sand and rock that defended the beautiful harbor from the Atlantic breakers. It was a wind-blown place, and the moan of the surf on the outer reef was continually in the ears of the campers on the Point.

The tang of salt in the air could always be tasted on the lips when one was out of doors. And the younger folks were out on the sands most of the time when they were not working, sleeping, or eating.

"We are going to have some fun here," promised Tom Cameron to Ruth, after their party had got established with its baggage. "See that hard strip of beach? That's no clamflat. I am going to race my car on that sand. Palm Beach has nothing on this. Jackman, the property man (you remember Jacks, don't you, Ruth?), says the blackfish and ba.s.s are biting off the Point.

You girls can act in movies if you like, but _I_ am going fis.h.i.+ng."

"Don't talk movies to me," sighed the girl. "I almost wish we had not come, Tom."

"Nonsense! You shall go fis.h.i.+ng with me. Put on your oldest duds and--well, maybe you will have to strip off your shoes and stockings. It is both wet and slippery on the rocks."

"Pooh! I'll put on my bathing suit and a sweater. I never was afraid of water yet," Ruth declared.

This was the morning after their arrival. Tom had been up to the port and brought down Aunt Kate for the day. Aunt Kate sat under an umbrella near where the company was working on location, and she scribbled all day in a notebook. Jennie whispered that she, too, was bitten by the scenario bug!

"I feel it coming over me," announced Helen. "I've got what I think is a dandy idea."

"Oh, there's too much to do," Jennie Stone said. "I couldn't find time to dabble in literature."

"My, oh, my!" gasped Helen, with scorn. "How busy we are! You and Henri spend all your time making eyes at each other."

"But just think, Nell!" cried the plump girl. "He's got to go back to France and fight----"

"And so has my Tom."

"But Tom is only your brother."

"And Henri is nothing at all to you," rejoined Helen cruelly. "A fiance is only an expectation. You may change your mind about Henri."

"Never!" cried Jennie, with horror.

"Well, he keeps you busy, I grant. And there go Tom and Ruth mooning off together with fish lines. Lots of fis.h.i.+ng _they_ will do! They are almost as bad as you and Henri. Why!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Helen in some heat, "I am just driven to writing scenarios to keep from dying of loneliness."

"I notice that 'juvenile lead,' Mr. Simmons, is keeping you quite busy,"

remarked Jennie slyly, as she turned away.

It was a fact that Ruth and Tom enjoyed each others' company. But Helen need not have been even a wee bit jealous. To tell the truth, she did not like to "get all mussed up," as she expressed it, by going fis.h.i.+ng. To Ruth the adventure was a glad relief from worriment. Much as she tried, she could not throw off all thought of her lost scenario.

She welcomed every incident that promised amus.e.m.e.nt and mental relaxation.

Some of the troupe of actors--the men, mostly--were bathing off the Point.

"And see that man in the old skiff!" cried Ruth. "'The Lone Fisherman'."

The individual in question sat upon a common kitchen chair in the skiff with a big, patched umbrella to keep the sun off, and was fis.h.i.+ng with a pole that he had evidently cut in the woods along the sh.o.r.e.

"That is that hermit fellow," said Tom. "He's a queer duck. And the boys bother him a good deal."

He was angrily driving some of the swimmers away from his fis.h.i.+ng location at that moment. It was plain the members of the moving picture company used the hermit as a b.u.t.t for their jokes.

While one fellow was taking up the hermit's attention in front, another bather rose silently behind him and reached into the bottom of the skiff.

What this second fellow did Tom and Ruth could not see.

"The old chap can't swim a stroke," explained one of the laughing bathers to the visitors. "He's as afraid of water as a cat. Now you watch."

But Tom and Ruth saw nothing to watch. They went on to the tip of the Point and Tom prepared the fis.h.i.+ng tackle and baited the hooks. Just as Ruth made her first cast there sounded a scream from the direction of the lone fisherman.

"What is it?" she gasped, dropping her pole.

The bathers had deserted the old man in the skiff, and were now at some distance. He was anch.o.r.ed in probably twenty feet of water.