CHAPTER XX
THE GRILL
Ruth did not go back to her chums until, under Mother Paisley's comfortinginfluence, she had recovered a measure of her self-possession. The oldactress asked no questions as to the cause of Ruth's state of mind. Shehad seen too many hysterical girls to feel that the cause of her patient'sbreakdown was at all important.
"You just cry all you want to, deary. Right here on Mother Paisley'sshoulder. Crying will do you good. It is the Good Lord's way of giving uswomen an outlet for all our troubles. When the last tear is squeezed outmuch of the pain goes with it."
Ruth was not ordinarily a crying girl. She had wept more of late,beginning with that day at the Red Mill when her scenario manuscript hadbeen stolen, than in all her life before.
Her tears were now in part an expression of anger and indignation. She wasas mad as she could be at this man who called himself "John, the hermit."For, whether he was the person who had actually stolen her manuscript, hevery well knew that his scenario offered to Mr. Hammond was not originalwith him.
The worst of it was, he had mangled her scenario. Ruth could look upon itin no other way. His changes had merely muddied the plot and cheapened hermain idea. She could not forgive that!
The other girls were drowsy when Ruth kissed Mother Paisley good-night andentered the small shack. She was glad to escape any interrogation. Bymorning she had gained control of herself, but her eyes betrayed the factthat she had not slept.
"You certainly do not look as though you were enjoying yourself downhere," Tom Cameron said to her at breakfast time, and with suspicion."Maybe we did come to the wrong place for our vacation after all. Howabout it, Ruth? Shall we start off in the cars again and seek pasturesnew?"
"Not now, Tom," she told him, hastily. "I must stay right here."
"Why?"
"Because----"
"That is no sensible reason."
"Let me finish," she said rather crossly. "Because I must see what sort ofscenario Mr. Hammond finds--if he finds any--in this contest."
"Humph! And you said you and scenarios were done forever! I fancy Mr.Hammond is taking advantage of your good nature."
"He is not."
"You are positively snappish, Ruth," complained Tom. "You've changed yourmind----"
"Isn't that a girl's privilege?"
"Very well, Miladi!" he said, with a deep bow as they rose from the table."However, you need not give all your attention to these prize stories,need you? Let's do something besides follow these sun-worshippers aroundto-day."
"All right, Tommy-boy," acclaimed his sister. "What do you suggest?"
"A run along the coast to Reef Harbor where there are a lot of folks weknow," Tom promptly replied.
"Not in that old _Tocsin_," cried Jennie. "She's so small I can't take offmy sweater without tipping her over."
"Oh, what a whopper!" gasped Helen.
"Never mind," grinned her twin. "Let Jennie run to the superlatives if shelikes. Anyway, I would not dream of going so far as the Harbor in thatdinky little _Tocsin_. I've got my eye on just the craft, and I can gether over here in an hour by telephoning to the port. It's the _Stazy_."
"Goody!" exclaimed Jennie Stone. "That big blue yacht! And she's got aregular crew--and everything. Aunty won't be afraid to go with us inher."
"That's fine, Tom," said his sister with appreciation.
Even Ruth seemed to take some interest. But she suggested:
"Be sure there is gasoline enough, Tom. That _Stazy_ doesn't spread a footof canvas, and we are not likely to find a gas station out there in theocean, the way we did in the hills of Massachusetts."
"Don't fear, Miss Fidget," he rejoined. "Are you all game?"
They were. The girls went to "doll up," to quote the slangy Tom, for ReefHarbor was one of the most fashionable of Maine coast resorts and theknockabout clothing they had been wearing at Beach Plum Point would neverdo at the Harbor hotels.
The _Stazy_ was a comfortable and fast motor-yacht. As to hersea-worthiness even Tom could not say, but she looked all right. And tothe eyes of the members of Ruth Fielding's party there was no threat ofbad weather. So why worry about the pleasure-craft's balance and herability to sail the high seas?
"It is only a short run, anyway," Tom said.
As for Colonel Marchand, he had not the first idea about ships or sailing.He admitted that only continued fair weather and a smooth sea had kepthim on deck coming over from France with Jennie and Helen.
At the present time he and Jennie Stone were much too deeply engrossed ineach other to think of anything but their own two selves. In a fortnightnow, both the Frenchman and Tom would have to return to the battle lines.And they were, deep in their hearts, eager to go back; for they did notdream at this time that the German navy would revolt, that the HighCommand and the army had lost their morale, and that the end of the GreatWar was near.
Within Tom's specified hour the party got under way, boarding the _Stazy_from a small boat that came to the camp dock for them. It was not untilthe yacht was gone with Ruth Fielding and her party that Mr. Hammond seton foot the investigation he had determined upon the night before.
The president of the Alectrion Film Corporation thought a great deal ofthe girl of the Red Mill. Their friendship was based on something morethan a business association. But he knew, too, that after her recentexperiences in France and elsewhere, her health was in rather a precariousstate.
At least, he was quite sure that Ruth's nerves were "all out of tune," ashe expressed it, and he believed she was not entirely responsible forwhat she had said.
The girl had allowed her mind to dwell so much upon that scenario she hadlost that it might be she was not altogether clear upon the subject. Mr.Hammond had talked with Tom about the robbery at the Red Mill, and itlooked to the moving picture producer as though there might be someconsiderable doubt of Ruth's having been robbed at all.
In that terrific wind and rain storm almost anything might have blownaway. Tom admitted he had seen a barrel sailing through the air at theheight of the storm.
"Why couldn't the papers and note books have been caught up by a gust ofwind and carried into the river?" Mr. Hammond asked himself. "The riverwas right there, and it possesses a strong current."
The president of the Alectrion Film Corporation knew the Lumano, and thevicinity of the Red Mill as well. It seemed to him very probable that thescenario had been lost. And the gold-mounted fountain pen? Why, that mighthave easily rolled down a crack in the summer-house floor.
The whole thing was a matter so fortuitous that Mr. Hammond could notaccept Ruth's version of the loss without some doubt, in any case. Andthen, her suddenly finding in the only good scenario submitted to him byany of his company, one that she believed was plagiarized from her loststory, seemed to put a cap on the whole matter. Ruth might be just alittle "off soundings," as the fishermen about Herringport would say. Mr.Hammond was afraid that she had been carried into a situation of mindwhere suspicion took the place of certainty.
She had absolutely nothing with which to corroborate her statement. Nobodyhad seen Ruth's scenario nor had she discussed the plot with any person.Secrecy necessary to the successful production of anything new in the lineof picture plays was all right. Mr. Hammond advised it. But in this caseit seemed that the scenario writer had been altogether too secret.
Had Ruth not chanced to read the hermit's script before making heraccusation, Mr. Hammond would have felt differently. Better, had she beenwilling to relate to him in the first place the story of the plot of herscenario and how she had treated it, her present accusation might haveseemed more reasonable.
But, having read the really good story scrawled on the scraps of brownpaper that John, the hermit, had put in the manager's hands, the girl hadsuddenly claimed the authorship of the story. There was nothing to proveher claim. It looked dubious at the best.
John, the hermit, was a grim old man. No matter whether he was some oldactor hiding away here on Beach Plum
Point or not, he was not a man togive up easily anything that he had once said was his.
The manager was far too wise to accuse the hermit openly, as Ruth hadaccused him. They would not get far with the old fellow that way, he wassure.
First of all he called the company together and asked if there were anymore scenarios to be submitted. "No," being the answer, he told thembriefly that out of the twenty-odd stories he had accepted one that mightbe whipped into shape for filming--and one only.
Each story submitted had been numbered and the number given to its author.The scripts could now be obtained by the presentation of the numbers. Hedid not tell them which number had proved successful. Nor did he let it beknown that he proposed to try to film the hermit's production.
Mr. Hooley was using old John on this day in a character part. For these"types" the director usually paid ten or fifteen dollars a day; but Johnwas so successful in every part he was given that Mr. Hooley always paidhim an extra five dollars for his work. Money seemed to make no differencein the hermit's appearance, however. He wore just as shabby clothing andlived just as plainly as he had when the picture company had come on tothe lot.
When work was over for the day, Hooley sent the old man to Mr. Hammond'soffice. The president of the company invited the hermit into his shack andgave him a seat. He scrutinized the man sharply as he thus greeted him. Itwas quite true that the hermit did not wholly fit the character he assumedas a longshore waif.
In the first place, his skin was not tanned to the proper leathery look.His eyes were not those of a man used to looking off over the sea. Hishands were too soft and unscarred for a sailor's. He had never pulled onropes and handled an oar!
Now that Ruth Fielding had suggested that his character was a disguise,Mr. Hammond saw plainly that she must be right. As he was a good actor ofother parts before the camera, so he was a good actor in his part of"hermit."
"How long have you lived over there on the point, John?" asked Mr. Hammondcarelessly.
"A good many years, sir, in summer."
"How did you come to live there first?"
"I wandered down this way, found the hut empty, turned to and fixed it up,and stayed on."
He said it quite simply and without the first show of confusion. But thistale of his occupancy of the seaside hut he had repeated frequently, asMr. Hammond very well knew.
"Where do you go in the winter, John?" the latter asked.
"To where it's a sight warmer. I don't have to ask anybody where I shallgo," and now the man's tone was a trifle defiant.
"I would like to know something more about you," Mr. Hammond said, quitefrankly. "I may be able to do something with your story. We like to knowabout the person who submits a scenario----"
"That don't go!" snapped the hermit grimly. "You offered five hundred fora story you could use. If you can use mine, I want the five hundred. And Idon't aim to give you the history of my past along with the story. It'snobody's business what or who I am, or where I came from, or where I amgoing."
"Hoity-toity!" exclaimed Mr. Hammond. "You are quite sudden, aren't you?Now, just calm yourself. I haven't got to take your scenario and pay youfive hundred dollars for it----"
"Then somebody else will," said the hermit, getting up.
"Ah! You are quite sure you have a good story here, are you?"
"I know I have."
"And how do you know so much?" sharply demanded the moving picturemagnate.
"I've seen enough of this thing you are doing, now--this 'Seaside Idyl'stuff--to know that mine is a hundred per cent. better," sneered thehermit.
"Whew! You've a good opinion of your story, haven't you?" asked Mr.Hammond. "Did you ever write a scenario before?"
"What is that to you?" returned the other. "I don't get you at all, Mr.Hammond. All this cross-examination----"
"That will do now!" snapped the manager. "I am not obliged to take yourstory. You can try it elsewhere if you like," and he shoved thenewspaper-wrapped package toward the end of his desk and nearer thehermit's hand. "I tell you frankly that I won't take any story withoutknowing all about the author. There are too many comebacks in this game."
"What do you mean?" demanded the other stiffly.
"I don't _know_ that your story is original. Frankly, I have some doubtabout that very point."
The old man did not change color at all. His gray eyes blazed and he wasnot at all pleasant looking. But the accusation did not seem to surprisehim.
"Are you trying to get it away from me for less than you offered?" hedemanded.
"You are an old man," said Mr. Hammond hotly, "and that lets you get awaywith such a suggestion as that without punishment. I begin to believe thatthere is something dead wrong with you, John--or whatever your name is."
He drew back the packet of manuscript, opened a drawer, put it within, andlocked the drawer.
"I'll think this over a little longer," he said grimly. "At least, untilyou are willing to be a little more communicative about yourself. I wouldbe glad to use your story with some fixing up, if I was convinced youreally wrote it all. But you have got to show me--or give me properreferences."
"Give me back the scenario, then!" exclaimed the old man, his eyes blazinghotly.
"No. Not yet. I can take my time in deciding upon the manuscriptssubmitted in this contest. You will have to wait until I decide," said Mr.Hammond, waving the man out of his office.