CHAPTER I A LONG-DISTANCE CALL

“Say, this looks bad, Joe! It sure does!”

“What’s that, Blake? Must be quite serious, to make you sit up and take notice.”

“It is! Look at the scare head!” and the speaker held out, for the inspection of his companion, a newspaper the front page of which fairly bristled with black type.

They were two youths, sitting under a cherry tree, on the green grass of a lawn which fronted a farmhouse. They were evidently taking their ease, or had been, for there were comfortable chairs near them, two hammocks, and a pile of magazines, while on a board seat, built into a crotch of the cherry tree, was a large pitcher of lemonade. And if that doesn’t show comfort on a warm, sunny June day I don’t know what does.

“Where’d you get that paper?” asked Joe Duncan, as he accepted the sheet his companion, Blake Stewart, passed over.

“It came in the mail, but I didn’t take it out of the wrapper until a second ago. It’s yesterday’s. Some news that; eh?”

“It sure is,” and as Joe began to read, Blake looked over his shoulder, murmuring such expressions as: “Worst flood in years! Many houses swept away! Toll of lives will be heavy! Many deeds of heroism! Mississippi on great rampage!”

What Blake gave expression to was merely quoted from some of the lines in the heading of the article that had so excited him and his chum. It was a telegraphed story of a big flood on the Mississippi, which, the article stated, was higher than it had been in years, while unusually heavy spring rains had added to the terrors of the rising waters.

“That sure is some flood!” murmured Joe, as he reached the bottom of the newspaper page, and turned the sheet over. “Hello!” he cried. “They’ve got some pictures of it, too!”

Almost all of the second page was taken up with half-tone cuts of scenes in the flooded districts. There were views of overturned houses being swept down a turbulent stream, pictures of half-demolished buildings, jammed together into a rude sort of raft, on which could be seen farm animals; views of whole towns partly inundated, and people being taken from roofs and out of third-story windows in small boats. It was a photographic story of untold misery and desolation.

“Yes, sir, that sure is some flood, Blake,” murmured Joe. “And do you know what I think?”

“I might make a guess at it, old man.”

But Joe did not give his chum a chance. He went on hastily:

“I think we ought to go out there with our moving picture cameras, and get some films of that flood.”

“I thought you were going to say that.”

“Then you’re not surprised. But how does it strike you?”

“Well, I sure would like to see the Mississippi on a tear the like of which she’s having now, for it would be something worth remembering. And I suppose we could make a neat little sum, over and above our expenses, if we went out there and got a lot of films. We could work them off through the moving picture newspaper syndicate easily enough. But you know why we came out here to Central Falls; don’t you, Joe?” added Blake.

“To get a good rest in the country, of course.”

“That’s it, and we’re getting it. There isn’t anything I like better than this,” and Blake, who had stretched out in lazy luxury on the grass, looked up at the blue sky, and into the cherry tree, which was laden with luscious fruit. “All I want now is a robin to come along, pick the cherries and drop them down to me,” went on Blake, with a grin.

“Say, you don’t want much,” laughed Joe. “But it sure is nice here,” and he looked across the fertile farm acres that stretched away to the rear, and on either side of the comfortable house, in the shade of which they were taking their ease.

“Finest place we could strike to spend a vacation,” agreed Blake.

“But, all the same, I think we’re missing a chance if we don’t go out there and get some Mississippi flood pictures,” went on Joe. “How does it strike you?”

“Say, I wish you hadn’t mentioned it, Joe! Now you’ve got me going! If we hadn’t seen a big story of it in the papers we’d be content to sit here, and take it easy. But, now that the germ has got to working——”

“Then you’ll go there with me, and take our moving picture cameras along; won’t you?” interrupted Joe, eagerly. “I tell you we may never have another chance like this!

“We’ve got pictures of earthquakes, of volcanoes in eruption, of wild animals fighting, and lots of other exciting things. But we never yet tackled a flood,” went on Joe, with ever-growing enthusiasm. “And you know moving water always shows up well on the films.”

“Oh, I can see what all this is leading to,” broke in Blake. “Good-bye to all the fine, lazy times we’ve been having the last two weeks. No more lying in bed as long as you like—no more chicken dinners—we’ll be lucky if we can hold a sandwich in one hand and grind away at the crank of the moving picture camera with the other. Good-bye to a good day’s fishing in the brook. No more cherry pie, and no more lemonade in the shade. And, speaking of lemonade, we might as well finish this pitcher, and get ready to go. I can see what is going to happen,” and he sighed in pretended dolefulness.

“Oh, don’t go just because I suggested it, Blake,” said Joe, quickly.

“Oh, no, I’m not blaming you. It’s just that it’s in our blood, I guess. We can’t seem to keep away from places where there are moving pictures to be made. Might as well get started. Here, have some,” and he poured out a drink of lemonade.

“Oh, we’ll have a good time, as well as some work, if we go out there,” declared Joe. “It won’t be as bad as you try to make out. Didn’t we always have good times on our trips?”

“Yes, and strenuous times, too. I’m not making any kick. Only if we hadn’t seen that newspaper we could still be sitting here in the shade, eating cherries——”

Something fell with a thud on Blake’s upturned face.

“Wow!” he cried. “I guess that robin’s getting busy,” for a ripe, luscious cherry had fallen from above, and Blake laughed as he popped it into his mouth.

“It’s a good thing this isn’t a cocoanut tree,” remarked Joe. “You wouldn’t feel so jolly if one of those hit you.”

“I guess not. Well, I s’pose we might as well go in and tell Mr. Baker that we’re going to leave him. We can pack up to-day, and start West to-morrow. We’ll have to have the cameras sent on from New York. We can order them and a supply of film by telegraph. I guess we could telephone the message in. That will save a trip to town, and we haven’t much time,” added Joe.

“There you go! Off with a rush! Telephones and telegrams. Walking will be too slow for you! Everything bang-up! Let her go!” cried Blake, swinging his arms to indicate progress. “Good-bye, vacation!” he cried. “The strenuous life from now on!”

The two youths arose from the grass, and together they started for the house at which they were boarding.

They had gone only a few steps, however, when, from across the country road, and a short distance down it, came a hail.

“Who’s that?” asked Joe.

“I don’t know—listen!” suggested Blake. “Are they calling us?”

There was no doubt about it a moment later, for the boys heard a voice shouting:

“Hi there! Joe! Blake! Moving Picture Boys! You’re wanted!”

“Who is it? I can’t see,” murmured Joe.

“It’s Harry, the clerk in Robertson’s store,” answered Blake, for a short distance away was the general store—“The Universal Emporium,” as the sign had it—of Hank Robertson, of Central Falls.

“Come on, boys!” went on the voice of the caller, who was out of sight because of a roadside hedge. “You’re wanted on the long-distance telephone!”

“Ugh!” groaned Blake. “Might have known it. Did you start this, Joe?” and he looked at his chum suspiciously.

“Don’t know a thing about it. Who can want us on the ’phone?”

“Best way’s to go and find out. Mighty queer, though, that just as we read of the Mississippi flood, and decide to go, someone should ring us up on long distance. I thought we got rid of all that when we came here for our vacation. Things have started with a rush.”

“Say, are you comin’?” demanded the store clerk. “Central has been ringin’ like all possessed! Must be important!”

“I guess it is, or they wouldn’t telephone,” murmured Blake.

“We’re coming!” cried Joe.

Together the boys hurried out into the road, and turned down toward the store.

There were not many telephones in the country village of Central Falls. They were considered too much of a luxury. But Hank Robertson was rather progressive, and had had a long distance instrument installed in his store some time before.

“There you be, boys!” he said, as Joe and Blake entered. “I knew as soon as I heard the bell ring that it was long distance. I answered, and sent Harry out to call you.”

“Much obliged,” spoke Blake. “Do you know who it is?”

“Nope. It was Central talking. She said either of you two was wanted.”

Blake stepped to the instrument, and took up the receiver, which had been standing upright on the desk.

“Hello!” he called into the transmitter. Then he was silent, but, from the look of wonder and surprise that spread over his face as he listened, Joe knew that it was something important, and out of the usual.

CHAPTER II STIRRING NEWS

Joe could hear his chum Blake murmuring such things as:

“Yes, I’m listening! Is that so? Say, that’s fierce!”

“Why, yes, I guess we can go,” spoke Blake, after a lengthy talk from the person at the other end of the wire. “Yes, Joe’s here with me,” he went on. “What! Is she lost, too?”

“Say, for cats’ sake give a fellow an idea what it’s all about; can’t you, Blake?” pleaded Joe, at his chum’s elbow.

“Just a minute,” answered Blake, in an aside. “I’ll give you the whole story in a minute. I want to get it straight first.”

Then he continued to listen, and while he is thus at the telephone I will tell my new readers, briefly, something about the moving picture boys.

In the initial volume of this series, entitled “The Moving Picture Boys; Or, Perils of a Great City Depicted,” I introduced Blake Stewart and Joe Duncan. They were farm lads, and, most unexpectedly, one day, a company of moving picture actors and actresses came to their village to make scenes in a rural drama. The two boys became interested, especially in the mechanical end of the work of making films.

Later they had an opportunity of taking up the business under the direction of Mr. Calvert Hadley, a moving picture operator, who offered to teach Joe and Blake how to properly use the wonderful cameras.

The boys went to New York, and met the members of the Film Theatrical Company, with which Mr. Hadley was associated. That gave Joe and Blake their start in life, and since then they had been in the business of taking moving pictures. They became experts, and their services were in great demand, not only in filming dramas acted by the company, but in making independent views.

They went out West, as told in the second volume, and got some stirring views of cowboys and Indians, and then they went to the Pacific Coast, and later to the jungle, where there were more strenuous times.

Their latest venture had been to Earthquake Land, and on returning from there they felt the need of a vacation. They engaged board at the farmhouse of Hiram Baker, in Central Falls, about fifty miles from New York City, and they were taking their rest there when the newspaper story of the flood on the Mississippi, and the long-distance telephone call, rather interrupted their ease and quiet.

I might add that in their trip to the coast Joe located his long-lost father, and later, in an expedition to the jungle, he succeeded in locating his sister, who had gone to the Dark Continent as a missionary’s helper.

Mr. Duncan and his daughter Jessie made their home together, and Joe stayed with them when he was not off with Blake making moving pictures—which was quite often.

For a time Joe and Blake had worked with the Film Theatrical Company, which went to various parts of the country to get the proper backgrounds for their films. But of late, as I have said, the two boys had started out for themselves.

Still they kept up their acquaintanceship and friendship with the company. Just a word about the various members, and I will resume this story.

Mr. Jacob Ringold was the proprietor of the Film Theatrical Company, and some of the members were Henry Robertson, who played juvenile leads, Harris Levinberg, the “villain,” Miss Nellie Shay, the leading lady, and Birdie Lee, a pretty, vivacious girl, who took the lighter feminine parts in the dramas. And there was Christopher Cutler Piper—oh, yes, we must not forget him.

Mr. Piper did not like his name—that is, the two first sections, and his friends, to oblige him, had shortened it to “C. C.,” or else they called him just “Mr. Piper.” Sometimes, however, he was referred to as “Gloomy.”

This name fitted him to perfection. He was a gloomy comedian—that is, he was gloomy off the stage; not on it. He would raise a laugh by his action, or lines, and, coming out of the scene, would be in the most doleful state of mind imaginable.

In this book you will find many references to “filming” a scene, exposed, unexposed and developed films, cameras, and the like.

For a full explanation of how moving pictures are taken, I refer my readers to the previous volumes of this series.

And now to resume the story.

Blake stood there, his ear fairly glued to the receiver, and the expression on his face constantly changing. But, though it did change, a certain worried look, that came over it almost from the first moment of the spoken words, did not leave it.

“Say, are you going to talk all day, without giving me a hint of what it is?” spoke Joe, in a tense whisper. “Let me listen in; can’t you, old man?”

“Right away—yes,” answered Blake, in an aside. “All right,” he called into the transmitter. “Yes, I’ll tell Joe all about it. He’ll come with me, I’m sure.”

“I rather guess I will—if I ever find out what it’s about,” murmured the other. “Have a heart, and tell me.”

“Good-bye,” called Blake, into the telephone. “I’ll see you in New York.”

Then he hung up the receiver, and, turning to his chum, asked:

“What do you think has happened?”

“I haven’t the least idea, unless New York is wiped off the map by a dynamite explosion, and we’re wanted to help put it back.”

“No, it isn’t exactly that,” said Blake. “I was talking just now to Mr. Ringold. He’s in a peck of trouble!”

“How’s that?”

“Why, he wants us to start for the flooded Mississippi district at once, and get a lot of scenes out there. But that’s not the worst. Part of his company, that he sent out near Hannibal, Missouri, to take part in several film dramas, have been lost in the flood.”

“Lost in the flood?” cried Joe. “His company of players?”

“Yes. He could give me no particulars, but he’s going to start and organize a rescue party, and try to save them. He wants us to help with that work, as well as to make moving pictures for him. Some of the valuable films the company had already taken were also lost, when they were carried down the river.”

“But how did it happen?” Joe wanted to know.

“He didn’t have time to give me many particulars over the wire. He said he’d do that when he met us in New York.”

“Some of our friends lost in the flood,” murmured Joe. “I wonder if there’s a chance of saving them?”

“We’ve got to try, anyhow,” spoke Blake, seriously.

“Was C. C. among them?” Joe wanted to know, referring to the gloomy comedian.

“No, he’s in New York, where Mr. Ringold also has a company at work for the movies. C. C. escaped. But Birdie Lee went adrift with the others.”

“Birdie Lee!” cried Joe, for he and Blake were both very fond of the pretty, vivacious girl, whose pictures they had taken many times, as she went through her parts before the camera.

“I only hope we can rescue her,” murmured Blake. “It certainly is a bad bit of news.”

“And he didn’t say how it happened?” inquired Joe.

“All he told me,” resumed Blake, “was that the company was performing open-air stuff near the flooded district. How they happened to be carried away Mr. Ringold didn’t know. It seems that someone telegraphed him the news, that’s how he heard of it.”

“And how did he happen to think of us, and how did he know we were here?”

“He says he thought of us at once—as soon as he got the news,” went on Blake, “and he had our address. We left it with him when we came here, you know, but told him not to send for us except in case of emergency.”

“And this sure is an emergency,” cried Joe.

“You’re right,” agreed his chum. “Mr. Ringold got busy on the telephone, and—well, you know the rest. I told him we’d start for New York as soon as we could pack up. He’ll meet us there, and then we’ll head straight for the flooded district with our cameras.”

“Busy times ahead,” murmured Joe. “Well, I guess it’s all for the best, except the carrying away of our friends. I was getting a bit tired of this vacation life, anyhow.”

“So was I,” admitted Blake, as they left the store and headed for their boarding house.

With quickening steps the boys walked up the path. There was nervous energy in their every move.

“My! But you’re in a hurry on a hot day,” observed Mrs. Baker, who had taken quite a liking to her two young boarders.

“Got to be!” exclaimed Blake. “We’re going to try and catch the afternoon train for New York.”

“New York! My sakes alive! You’re not going; are you?”

“Got to,” explained Joe. “I think we can make it if we hurry. Some friends of ours are lost in that Mississippi flood, and we’ve got to go and help find and save them if we can. No time to lose!”

“My land sakes! I never heard tell of such a thing!” cried Mrs. Baker. But the boys did not stop to hear her comments. They were on their way to their rooms to pack their grips.

CHAPTER III MR. PIPER IS APPREHENSIVE

“Well, it didn’t take us long; did it, Blake?”

“No, indeed, Joe. But we certainly have hustled some since we got that long-distance telephone message.”

“We’re used to hustling, though, old man. You wouldn’t get very far with moving pictures unless you did get a move on now and then.”

The two chums were seated in a railway train, on their way to New York to meet Mr. Ringold, and do what they could to rescue the unfortunate members of the moving picture company. They did not know what was before them, but they had stout hearts, and they had made up their minds to brave any danger in order to save their friends.

“Poor Birdie Lee!” murmured Blake. “I can’t help but think of her.”

“Same here,” agreed Joe. “She certainly was a dandy little chum and comrade. Always willing to do anything that was asked, to make a good film.”

“Yes, and she never found fault if someone made a break, and we had to film the scene all over again,” put in Blake. “Do you remember the time she had to fall overboard, out of the boat on the lake?”

“I should say I did remember it! C. C. Piper was to rescue her, but he was so slow about it—so afraid he’d get drowned, or have wet feet, or something, that the scene was spoiled, and Birdie had to get into dry clothes, and act the whole thing over, taking a second plunge into the water.”

“Mr. Ringold was sure mad at C. C. that day,” laughed Blake. “But it didn’t always happen that way. We’ve had our fun, too.”