The Moving Picture Boys on the Coast

by Victor Appleton

  CHAPTER VII

  AT THE LIGHTHOUSE

  The two boys talked for some time with the old fisherman, and then Blakewhispered to Joe:

  "Why don't you ask him where the lighthouse is where your father issupposed to be, and the best way of getting to it?"

  "I will," replied his chum.

  "The Rockypoint light?" repeated the fisherman, in response to Joe'sinquiry. "Why yes, I know it well. It's only a few miles from here. Youcan see her flash on a clear night, but you can't make out the houseitself, even on a clear day, because she's down behind that spur ofcoast. From the ocean, though, she's seen easily enough."

  "And how can we get there?" asked Blake.

  "Well, you can walk right down the beach, though it's a middlin' longtramp; or you can go back to town, and hire a rig."

  "We'll walk," decided Joe. "Do you happen to know of a Mr. Duncanthere?" He waited anxiously for the answer.

  "No, lad, I can't rightly say I do," said the fisherman. "I know thekeeper, Harry Stanton, and, now I come to think of it, I did hear theother day that he had a new assistant."

  "That's him!" cried Joe, eagerly.

  "Who?"

  "My father, I hope," was the reply, and in his joy Joe told something ofhis story.

  "Well, you sure have spun a queer yarn," said the old fisherman, "and Iwish you all sorts of luck. You'll soon be at the light if you go rightdown the beach. I'd row you down in my dory, only I've just come in fromtaking up my nets and I'm sort of tired."

  "Oh, we wouldn't think of asking you," put in Blake. "We can easily walkit."

  "Some day I'll take you out fishing," promised the man. "And so you'rehere to get moving pictures; eh? Well, I don't know much about 'em, butyou couldn't come to a nicer place than this spot on the coast. And youonly have to go a little way to get right where the real surf comessmashing up on the beach. Of course, as I said, we're so land-lockedjust here that we don't see much of it, even in a storm. Movingpictures; eh? I'd like to see some."

  "I guess you can be in them, if you want to," said Blake. "I heard Mr.Ringold say he had one drama that called for a lot of fishermen."

  "Me in moving pictures!" cried the old man. "Ho! Ho! I wonder what mywife'd say to that. I've been in lots of queer situations. I've beenknocked overboard by a whale, I've been wrecked, and half drowned, andalmost starved, but I've never been in a picture, except I once had atintype taken--that was when I was married," and he chuckled at theremembrance. "These movin' pictures aren't like tintypes; are they?"

  "Not much," laughed Joe, as he and Blake moved off in the direction ofthe lighthouse, calling a good-bye to their new friend. They had toldMr. Hadley, in starting out that morning, that they might not be backuntil late, for Joe had a half notion that he would try to find thelighthouse that day.

  "I wonder what I shall say to him, when I first see him, Blake?" Joeasked, as they trudged along.

  "Why--er--I hardly know," replied his chum. "I never found a lostfather, myself."

  "And I never did, either. I guess I'll just say: 'Hello, Dad; do youknow me?'"

  "That sounds all right," said Blake. "He sure will be surprised."

  The walk was longer than they had thought, and when noon came theystill had some distance to go. As they were hungry they sought out afisherman's cottage, where, for a small sum, they had a fine meal.Starting out again, they turned an intervening point of land about threeo'clock, and then came in view of a lighthouse, located on a pile ofrocks, not far from the high-water mark.

  "That's the place," said Blake, in a low voice.

  "Yes," agreed Joe. "It looks comfortable and homelike, too."

  Back of the lighthouse was a small garden, and also a flower bed, and aman could be seen working there. His back was toward the boys.

  "I--I wonder if that's him--my father?" said Joe, softly. "He seems tobe very old," for they had a glimpse of a long white beard, and the manseemed to be bent with the weight of many years.

  "Go up and ask," said Blake. "I'll wait here."

  "No, I want you to come with me," insisted his chum. "You were with mewhen I first heard the good news, and now I want you along to hear theconclusion of it. Come on, Blake."

  "No, I'd rather not," and nothing Joe could say would induce his chum toaccompany him.

  Their talk had been carried on in low voices, and the aged man, workingin the garden, had apparently not heard them. He continued to hoe awayamong the rows.

  "Well, here goes!" exclaimed Joe, with a sigh. Now that he felt he wasat the end of his quest his sensations were almost as sorrowful asjoyful. In fact, he did not know exactly how he did feel.

  Walking up toward the old man, he paused, and then coughed slightly toattract his attention. The lighthouse keeper turned, surveyed the boyand in a pleasant voice asked:

  "Well?"

  "If--if you--are you my father?" asked Joe, in trembling voice, holdingout his hands.

  "Your father!" cried the man in unmistakable surprise. "What is yourname?"

  "Joe Duncan."

  "Joe Duncan? Did Duncan have a son?"

  "Yes, and I'm the boy!" went on Joe, eagerly, yet a doubt began creepinginto his heart. "But are you Mr. Nathaniel Duncan?"

  The old man paused a moment, and then said gently:

  "No, my boy. I'm Harry Stanton, keeper of Rockypoint light."

  "But my father!" exclaimed Joe. "I understood he was here! Where is he?"

  "He was here," went on Mr. Stanton, as he leaned on his hoe and lookedcompassionately at the lad standing before him; "but he went away morethan a week ago."

  "Gone away!" echoed Joe. "Did he--did he get my letter?"

  "I don't know whether it was your letter or not," said the keeper. "Onecame for him the day after he left. It's here yet. It was fromFlagstaff, Arizona, I believe."

  "That's my letter!" exclaimed Joe. "And he never got it! Poor Dad, hedoesn't yet know that I'm alive!" and he turned away with tears in hiseyes.