Aunt Jane's Nieces out West

  CHAPTER V

  A THRILLING RESCUE

  "It must be fine to be an actress," said Patsy Doyle, with enthusiasm."If I had the face or the figure or the ability--all of which I sadlylack--I'd be an actress myself."

  "I suppose," replied Maud Stanton, thoughtfully, "it is as good aprofession for a girl as any other. But the life is not one of play, byany means. We work very hard during the rehearsals and often I havebecome so weary that I feared I would drop to the ground in sheerexhaustion. Flo did faint, once or twice, during our first engagementwith the Pictograph Company; but we find our present employers moreconsiderate, and we have gained more importance than we had in thebeginning."

  "It is dreadfully confining, though," remarked Florence, with a sigh."Our hours are worse than those of shopgirls, for the early morning sunis the best part of the day for our work. Often we are obliged to reachthe studio at dawn. To be sure, we have the evenings to ourselves, but weare then too tired to enjoy them."

  "Did you choose, this profession for amusement, or from necessity?"inquired Beth, wondering if the question sounded impertinent.

  "Stern necessity," answered Maud with a smile. "We had our living toearn."

  "Could not your aunt assist you?" asked Patsy.

  "Aunt Jane? Why, she is as poor as we are."

  "Arthur Weldon used to know the Montroses," said Beth, "and be believedMr. Montrose left his widow a fortune."

  "He didn't leave a penny," asserted Florence. "Uncle was a stock gambler,and when he died he was discovered to be bankrupt."

  "I must explain to you," said Maud, "that our father and mother were bothkilled years ago in a dreadful automobile accident. Father left a smallfortune to be divided between Flo and me, and appointed Uncle George ourguardian. We were sent to a girls' school and nicely provided for untiluncle's death, when it was found he had squandered our little inheritanceas well as his own money."

  "That was hard luck," said Patsy sympathetically.

  "I am not so sure of that," returned the girl musingly. "Perhaps we arehappier now than if we had money. Our poverty gave us dear Aunt Jane fora companion and brought us into a field of endeavor that has proveddelightful."

  "But how in the world did you ever decide to become actresses, when somany better occupations are open to women?" inquired Beth.

  "Are other occupations so much better? A motion picture actress is quitedifferent from the stage variety, you know. Our performances are allprivately conducted, and although the camera is recording our actions itis not like being stared at by a thousand critical eyes."

  "A million eyes stare at the pictures," asserted Patsy.

  "But we are not there to be embarrassed by them," laughed Flo.

  "We have but one person to please," continued Maud, "and that is thedirector. If at first the scene is not satisfactory, we play it again andagain, until it is quite correct. To us this striving for perfection isan art. We actors are mere details of an artistic conception. We have nowbeen in Hollywood for five months, yet few people who casually notice usat the hotel or on the streets have any idea that we act for the'movies.' Sometimes we appear publicly in the streets, in characteristiccostume, and proceed to enact our play where all may observe us; butthere are so many picture companies in this neighborhood that we are nolonger looked upon as a novelty and the people passing by pay littleattention to us."

  "Were you in that picture of the falling wall?" asked Beth.

  "No. We were rehearsing for 'Samson and Delilah.' But sometimes weare called upon to do curious things. One night, not long ago, a bigresidence burned down in the foothills back of our hotel. At thefirst alarm of fire one of the directors wakened us and we jumpedinto our clothes and were whisked in an automobile to the scene ofthe conflagration. The camera-man was already there and, while wehad to dodge the fire-fighters and the hose men, both Flo and Imanaged to be 'saved from the flames' by some of our actors--notonce, but several times."

  "It must have been thrilling!" gasped Patsy.

  "It was exciting, at the moment," confessed Maud. "One of the picturesproved very dramatic, so an author wrote a story where at the climax agirl was rescued from the flames by her lover, and we took our time toact the several scenes that led up to the fire. The completed picture wasa great success, I'm told."

  "Those directors must be wonderfully enterprising fellows," said Beth.

  "They are, indeed, constantly on the lookout for effects. Every incidentthat occurs in real life is promptly taken advantage of. The camera-menare everywhere, waiting for their chance. Often their pictures prove ofno value and are destroyed, but sometimes the scenes they catch are veryuseful to work into a picture play. A few weeks ago I was shipwrecked onthe ocean and saved by clinging to a raft. That was not pleasant and Icaught a severe cold by being in the water too long; but I was chosenbecause I can swim. Such incidents are merely a part of our game--a gamewhere personal comfort is frequently sacrificed to art. Once Flo leapedover a thirty-foot precipice and was caught in a net at the bottom. Thenet was, of course, necessary, but when the picture was displayed herterrible leap was followed by a view of her mangled body at the bottom ofthe canyon."

  "How did they manage to do that?" asked Patsy.

  "Stopped the camera, cut off the piece of film showing her caught by thenet, and substituted a strip on which was recorded Flo's body lying amongthe jagged rocks, where it had been carefully and comfortably arranged.We do a lot of deceptive tricks of that sort, and sometimes I myselfmarvel at the natural effects obtained."

  "It must be more interesting than stage acting."

  "I believe it is. But we've never been on the stage," said Maud.

  "How did you happen to get started in such a queer business?"inquired Patsy.

  "Well, after we found ourselves poor and without resources we beganwondering what we could do to earn money. A friend of Aunt Jane's knew amotion picture maker who wanted fifty young girls for a certain pictureand would pay each of them five dollars a day. Flo and I applied for thejob and earned thirty dollars between us; but then the manager thought hewould like to employ us regularly, and with Auntie to chaperon us weaccepted the engagement. The first few weeks we merely appeared among therabble--something like chorus girls, you see--but then we were givensmall parts and afterward more important ones. When we discovered our ownvalue to the film makers Auntie managed to get us better engagements, sowe've acted for three different concerns during the past two years, whileAunt Jane has become noted as a clever judge of the merits of scenarios."

  "Do both of you girls play star parts?" Beth inquired.

  "Usually. Flo is considered the best 'child actress' in the business, butwhen there is no child part she makes herself useful in all sorts ofways. To-day, for instance, you saw her among the dancing girls. I dothe ingenue, or young girl parts, which are very popular just now. I didnot want to act 'Delilah,' for I thought I was not old enough; but Mr.McNeil wanted me in the picture and so I made myself took as mature aspossible."

  "You were ideal!" cried Patsy, admiringly.

  The young girl blushed at this praise, but said deprecatingly:

  "I doubt if I could ever be a really great actress; but then, I do notintend to act for many more years. Our salary is very liberal at present,as Goldstein grudgingly informed you, and we are saving money. As soon aswe think we have acquired enough to live on comfortably we shall abandonacting and live as other girls do."

  "The fact is," added Flo, "no one will employ us when we have lost ouryouth. So we are taking advantage of these few fleeting years to make haywhile the sun shines."

  "Do many stage actresses go into the motion picture business?"asked Beth.

  "A few, but all are not competent," replied Maud. "In the 'silent drama'facial expression and the art of conveying information by a gesture is ofparamount importance. In other words, action must do the talking andexplain everything. I am told that some comedians, like 'Bunny' andSterling Mace, were failures on the stage, yet in motion pictures theyar
e great favorites. On the other hand, some famous stage actors can donothing in motion pictures."

  On their arrival at Santa Monica Mr. Merrick invited the party to be hisguests at luncheon, which was served in a cosy restaurant overlookingthe ocean. And then, although at this season it was bleak winter backEast, all but Uncle John and Aunt Jane took a bath in the surf of theblue Pacific, mingling with hundreds of other bathers who were enjoyingthe sport.

  Mrs. Montrose and Uncle John sat on the sands to watch the merry scene,while the young people swam and splashed about, and they seemed--as MissPatsy slyly observed--to "get on very well together."

  "And that is very creditable to your aunt," she observed to Maud Stanton,who was beside her in the water, "for Uncle John is rather shy in thesociety of ladies and they find him hard to entertain."

  "He seems like a dear old gentleman," said Maud.

  "He is, indeed, the dearest in all the world. And, if he likes your AuntJane, that is evidence that she is all right, too; for Uncle John'sintuition never fails him in the selection of friends. He--"

  "Dear me!" cried Maud; "there's someone in trouble, I'm sure."

  She was looking out across the waves, which were fairly high to-day, andPatsy saw her lean forward and strike out to sea with strokes ofremarkable swiftness. Bathers were scattered thickly along the coast, butonly a few had ventured far out beyond the life-lines, so Patsy naturallysought an explanation by gazing at those farthest out. At first she waspuzzled, for all the venturesome seemed to be swimming strongly andcomposedly; but presently a dark form showed on the crest of a wave--astruggling form that tossed up its arms despairingly and thendisappeared.

  She looked for Maud Stanton and saw her swimming straight out, but stilla long way from the person in distress. Then Patsy, always quick-wittedin emergencies, made a dash for the shore where a small boat was drawn upon the beach.

  "Come, Arthur, quick!" she cried to the young man, who was calmly wadingnear the beach, and he caught the note of terror in her voice andhastened to help push the little craft into the water.

  "Jump in!" she panted, "and row as hard as you ever rowed in allyour life."

  Young Weldon was prompt to obey. He asked no useless questions but,realizing that someone was in danger, he pulled a strong, steady oar andlet Patsy steer the boat.

  The laughter and merry shouts of the bathers, who were all unaware that atragedy was developing close at hand, rang in the girl's ears as shepeered eagerly ahead for a sign to guide her. Now she espied MaudStanton, far out beyond the others, circling around and diving into thiswave or that as it passed her.

  "Whoever it was," she muttered, half aloud, "is surely done for by thistime. Hurry, Arthur! I'm afraid Maud has exhausted all her strength."

  But just then Maud dived again and when she reappeared was holding fastto something dark and inanimate. A moment later the boat swept to herside and she said:

  "Get him aboard, if you can. Don't mind me; I'm all right."

  Arthur reached down and drew a slight, boyish form over the gunwale,while Patsy clasped Maud's hand and helped the girl over the side. Shewas still strong, but panted from her exertions to support the boy.

  "Who is it?" inquired Patsy, as Arthur headed the boat for the shore.

  Maud shook her head, leaning forward to look at the face of the rescuedone for the first time.

  "I've never seen him before," she said. "Isn't it too bad that I reachedhim too late?"

  Patsy nodded, gazing at the white, delicate profile of the young fellowas he lay lifeless at her feet. Too late, undoubtedly; and he was a mereboy, with all the interests of life just unfolding for him.

  Their adventure had now been noticed by some of the bathers, who crowdedforward to meet the boat as it grounded on the beach. Uncle John, alwayskeeping an eye on his beloved nieces, had noted every detail of therescue and as a dozen strong men pulled the boat across the sands, beyondthe reach of the surf, the Merrick automobile rolled up beside it.

  "Now, then!" cried the little man energetically, and with the assistanceof his chauffeur he lifted the lifeless form into the car.

  "The hospital?" said Patsy, nodding approval.

  "Yes," he answered. "No; you girls can't come in your wet bathing suits.I'll do all that can be done."

  Even as he spoke the machine whirled away, and looking after it Maudsaid, shaking her head mildly: "I fear he's right. Little can be done forthe poor fellow now."

  "Oh, lots can be done," returned Patsy; "but perhaps it won't bring himback to life. Anyhow, it's right to make every attempt, as promptly aspossible, and certainly Uncle John didn't waste any time."

  Beth and Florence now joined them and Louise came running up to ask eagerquestions.

  "Who was it, Patsy?"

  "We don't know. Some poor fellow who got too far out and had a cramp,perhaps. Or his strength may have given out. He didn't seem very rugged."

  "He was struggling when first I saw him," said Maud. "It seemed dreadfulto watch the poor boy drowning when hundreds of people were laughing andplaying in the water within earshot of him."

  "That was the trouble," declared Arthur Weldon. "All those people wereintent on themselves and made so much noise that his cries for help couldnot be heard."

  The tragedy, now generally known, had the effect of sobering the bathersand most of them left the water and trooped to the bathhouses to dress.Mrs. Montrose advised the girls to get their clothes on, as all wereshivering--partly from nervousness--in their wet bathing suits.

  They were ready an hour before Mr. Merrick returned, and his long absencesurprised them until they saw his smiling face as he drove up in his car.It gave them a thrill of hope as in chorus they cried:

  "Well--Uncle John?"

  "I think he will live," returned the little man, with an air of greatsatisfaction. "Anyway, he's alive and breathing now, and the doctors saythere's every reason to expect a rapid recovery."

  "Who is he?" they asked, crowding around him.

  "A. Jones."

  "A--what?" This from Patsy, in a doubtful tone.

  "Jones. A. Jones."

  "Why, he must have given you an assumed name!"

  "He didn't give us any name. As soon as he recovered consciousness hefell asleep, and I left him slumbering as peacefully as a baby. But wewent through his clothes, hoping to get a trace of his friends, so theycould be notified. His bathing suit is his own, not rented, and the name'A. Jones' is embroidered on tape and sewn to each piece. Also the key tobathhouse number twenty-six was tied to his wrist. The superintendentsent a man for his clothing and we examined that, too. The letters 'A.J.'were stamped in gold on his pocketbook, and in his cardcase were a numberof cards engraved: 'A. Jones, Sangoa.' But there were no letters, or anyother papers."

  "Where is Sangoa?" inquired Beth.

  "No one seems to know," confessed Uncle John. "There was plenty of moneyin his pocket-book and he has a valuable watch, but no other jewelry.His clothes were made by a Los Angeles tailor, but when they called himup by telephone he knew nothing about his customer except that he hadordered his suit and paid for it in advance. He called for it three daysago, and carried it away with him, so we have no clue to the boy'sdwelling place."

  "Isn't that a little strange--perhaps a little suspicious?" askedMrs. Montrose.

  "I think not, ma'am," answered Mr. Merrick. "We made theseinvestigations at the time we still feared he would die, so as tocommunicate with any friends or relatives he might have. But after hepassed the crisis so well and fell asleep, the hospital people stoppedworrying about him. He seems like any ordinary, well-to-do youngfellow, and a couple of days in the hospital ought to put him upon hisfeet again."

  "But Sangoa, Uncle; is that a town or a country?"

  "Some out-of-the-way village, I suppose. People are here from every crackand corner of America, you know."

  "It sounds a bit Spanish," commented Arthur. "Maybe he is from Mexico."

  "Maybe," agreed Uncle John. "Anyhow, Maud has saved h
is life, and if it'sworth anything to him he ought to be grateful."

  "Never mind that," said Maud, flushing prettily with embarrassment as alleyes turned upon her, "I'm glad I noticed him in time; but now that he isall right he need never know who it was that rescued him. And, for thatmatter, sir, Patsy Doyle and Mr. Weldon did as much for him as I.Perhaps they saved us both, while your promptness in getting him to thehospital was the main factor in saving his life."

  "Well, it's all marked down in the hospital books," remarked Uncle John."I had to tell the whole story, you see, as a matter of record, and allour names are there, so none can escape the credit due her--or him."

  "In truth," said Mrs. Montrose with a smile, "it really required four ofyou to save one slender boy."

  "Yes, he needed a lot of saving," laughed Flo. "But," her pretty facegrowing more serious, "I believe it was all Fate, and nothing else. Hadwe not come to the beach this afternoon, the boy might have drowned; so,as I suggested the trip, I'm going to take a little credit myself."

  "Looking at it in that light," said Patsy, "the moving picture man savedthe boy's life by giving you a half-holiday."

  This caused a laugh, for their spirits were now restored to normal. Tocelebrate the occasion, Mr. Merrick proposed to take them all into LosAngeles to dine at a "swell restaurant" before returning to Hollywood.

  This little event, in conjunction with the afternoon's adventure, madethem all more intimate, so that when they finally reached home andseparated for the night they felt like old friends rather than recentacquaintances.