The Moving Picture Boys on the Coast

by Victor Appleton

  CHAPTER XII

  ON A LONG VOYAGE

  "This is a serious charge," went on the man in uniform, who wasevidently from the police department. "We have had some dynamitingoutrages here, and we don't want any more."

  "Dynamite!" exclaimed the hotel clerk; "do you think it could be that,officer?"

  "That's what it seems like to me," said the other. "I have investigateda number of infernal machines, and they all make the same sort of soundbefore they go off."

  "Go off!" cried the clerk, while Joe and Blake were vainly endeavoringto get in a word that would explain matters. "If it's dynamite, and goesoff here, it will blow up the hotel. Get it away! Porter, go up and getthat infernal machine, and dump it in a pail of water."

  "'Scuse me!" exclaimed the colored porter, as he made a break for thedoor. "I--I guess as how it's time fo' me to sweep off de sidewalk. Ithain't been swept dish yeah day, as yit. I'se gwine outside."

  "But we've got to get rid of that infernal machine!" insisted the clerk."It's been clicking away now for some time, and there's no telling whenit may go off. Get it, somebody--throw it out of the window."

  "No! Don't do that!" cried the officer. "That will only make it go offthe sooner. I'll get some one from the bureau of combustibles and----"

  "Say, you're giving yourselves a needless lot of alarm!" interruptedBlake. "That's no infernal machine!"

  "No more than that ink bottle is!" added Joe, pointing to one on theclerk's desk.

  "But it clicks," insisted the clerk. "It sounds just like a clockticking inside that box."

  "And it's pointing right at the bank," went on the officer. "That bankwas once partly wrecked because it was built by non-union labor, and wedon't want it to happen again."

  "There's no danger--not the slightest," cried Blake, while the crowd inthe hotel lobby pressed around him. "That's only an automatic movingpicture camera, that we set this morning, and pointed out of the windowto take street scenes. It works by compressed air, and the clicking youhear is the motor. Come, I'll show you," and he started toward hisroom, followed by Joe.

  "Is--is that right?" asked the hotel clerk, doubtfully.

  "Are you sure it isn't dynamite?" inquired the officer.

  "Well, if _we're_ not afraid to take a chance in going in the same roomwith what you call an infernal machine, _you_ ought not to be," saidJoe, with a smile.

  This was logic that could not be refuted, and they followed the boys tothe room. There, just where they had left it, was the camera, the motorclicking away industriously. It worked intermittently, running for fiveminutes, and then ceasing for half an hour, so as not to use up the reelof film too quickly. Also, it made a diversity of street scenes, anautomatic arrangement swinging the lens slightly after each series ofviews, so as to get the new ones at a different angle.

  "Now we'll show you," said Blake, as, having noted that all the film wasrun out, and was in the light-tight exposed box, he opened the cameraand showed the harmless mechanism. Several of the hotel employeescrowded into the room, once they learned there was no danger.

  The boys explained the working of the apparatus, and this seemed tosatisfy the officer.

  "But we were surely suspicious of you at first," he said, with a smile.

  "Yes," said the clerk. "A chambermaid called my attention to theclicking sound when she was making up the room. I investigated, and whenI heard it, and saw the queer box, and remembered that we had haddynamiting here, I sent for the police."

  "We're sorry to have given you a scare," said Blake, and then theincident was over, and the crowd in the street dispersed on learningthere was to be no sensation.

  "Say, I think there's some sort of hoodoo about us," remarked Joe, as heand Blake sat in their room.

  "Why, you're not going to come any of that gloomy C. C. business on me;are you?" asked Blake.

  "Not at all," went on his chum. "But what I mean by a hoodoo is thatsomething always seems to happen when we start out anywhere. We've beenon the jump, you might say, ever since we lost our places on the farmsand got into this moving picture business."

  "That's so. And the latest is being taken for dynamiters."

  "Yes. But if things are going to keep on happening to us I wish they'dtake a turn and help me find my father," went on Joe. "You don't knowhow it feels, Blake, to know you've got a parent somewhere and not beable to locate him. It's--why, it's almost as bad as if--as if he weredead," and Joe spoke the words with an obvious effort.

  "That's right," agreed Blake, and then there came to him the memory ofwhat the lighthouse keeper had said about Mr. Duncan being implicated inthe wrecking. If this was true, it might be better for Joe not to findhis father.

  "But he may not be guilty," thought Blake, and he mused on thispossibility, while Joe looked curiously at his chum.

  "Say, Blake," suddenly asked Joe. "What's the matter?"

  "Matter? Why, what do you mean?" asked Blake, with a start.

  "Oh, I don't know, but something seems to be the matter with you. You'veacted strangely of late, ever since--yes, ever since we were at thelighthouse. Is anything troubling you?"

  "No--no--not at all; that is, not exactly."

  "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 tocome to me. Remember we're pards, and chums, not only in the movingpicture business, but in everything else, Blake. Anything I've got isyours for the asking."

  "That's good of you, Joe, and if you can help me I'll let you know. Ididn't realize that I was acting any way strange. I must brighten up abit. I guess we've both been working too hard. We need some amusement.Let's go to a moving picture show to-night, and see how they run thingshere, 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 shipping agent untilto-morrow. A moving picture show for ours to-night, then. Though, beingin the business, as we are, it's rather like a fireman going around tothe engine-house on his day off, and staying there--a queer sort of aday's vacation."

  But, nevertheless, they thoroughly enjoyed the moving picture play,interspersed, as it was, with vaudeville acts. Among the films wereseveral that Mr. Ringold's company had posed for, and several that theboys themselves had taken. The reels were good ones, too, the picturesstanding out clear and bright as evidence of good work on the part ofthe 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, wonderingthe while, as they tramped on, how he should ever break the news to hischum, in case Joe himself did not find it out. "The only hope is that heisn't guilty," mused Blake, "and yet running away just before theaccusation 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 farwithout any outsider giving away the secret to Joe, his chum began tofeel that there was little danger.

  "Well, you haven't any more infernal machines; have you, boys?" thehotel clerk asked them when they came in to get their keys. "Because, ifyou have, just keep quiet about 'em. I don't want to be awakened in themiddle of the night with some one from the bureau of combustibles comingdown 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 aspecialty of fitting out vessels with crews. With a rather tremblingvoice Joe asked for information about Mr. Duncan.

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

  "The Rockypoint light," supplied Joe.

  "Oh, yes, now I know. But why are you asking?" and the agent turned arather suspicious look on Joe. "Is there
anything wrong--is Mr. Duncanwanted for anything? I always try to protect my clients, you know, and Imust find out why you are asking. Has he committed any crime, or is hewanted 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 verymuch to find him. We found some of his letters, and there was one fromyou about a berth you might have vacant."

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

  "But has he shipped?" asked Joe, eagerly.

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

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