The Moving Picture Boys and the Flood/Chapter 4
CHAPTER IV
OFF FOR THE FLOOD
"Here, where are you going?" cried a station-attendant, as he saw Blake running to board the moving train.
"Forgot something—got to get it!" shouted the excited lad. Then, before the man could prevent him, Blake had jumped up the steps. Back he rushed to where his own and Joe's baggage had been left.
"Look after our stuff, C. C.!" he called to the startled comedian. "We're after a fire—moving picture. Tell Mr. Ringold we'll be down later this evening!"
Then, without giving Mr. Piper a chance to answer, Blake caught up the valise containing the small moving picture camera, and was out on the platform again.
"Look out for yourself!" cried Joe, for the train now had considerable headway.
"All right," answered his chum, and a moment later he was beside Joe, running from the momentum acquired in leaping off the train.
"You took a big risk, young fellow!" said one of the station men, severely.
"I'm used to that in my business," replied Blake, with a cool laugh. "Come on, Joe. We don't want to miss any of this fire. We can sell the film to one of the weekly newspapers, and make some of our vacation money."
"Go on! I'm with you!"
Together they made their way down to the street, and it needed but a glance to show them the extent of the blaze. The fire was in a large apartment house, and the flames had gained great headway. Thrilling rescue scenes were going on, and, from some of the upper stories, men and women were dropping into the life nets, about which, in a circle, stood the sturdy firemen, and volunteer helpers.
"Got to get this!" cried Blake. "Is there plenty of film in her, Joe?"
"I think so. But I'll get more. There's a photo-supply house about three blocks away. You start grinding away at the crank, and I'll chase down there and get another reel of film in case we want it. I guess they'll be open yet."
"All right," answered Blake, with a nod. Then he looked for a vantage point from which to make pictures of the big fire.
He decided to stand on a square pillar, near the steps of a building nearly opposite the burning structure, and, slipping under the rope which the police had stretched as the limits of the fire lines, Blake was about to set up his machine, when a man, also bearing a moving picture camera, made for the same place. It was really about the only spot where a good picture could be taken, but there was room for only one operator there.
The opposite pillar, or pedestal, was occupied by a portable searchlight, operated by some firemen, to aid their comrades in the work of rescue, and fighting the flames, and the brilliant, white light being flashed on the burning structure made it possible to get a good moving picture film. So Blake was anxious to reach this place of vantage.
He was about to start his machine, when the man, who had reached the spot just too late, cried:
"Say, kid, come down out of there! That's my place!"
"Yours?" cried Blake, as he noted that the man was James Munson, a rival moving picture operator, and one with whom Blake and Joe had had trouble before.
"Yes, mine!" sneered Munson. "I was here a minute ago, and decided on that place, and now I want it."
"Well, you're not going to get it!" declared Blake, firmly. "If you were here you should have stayed," and the young operator started the mechanism of his apparatus, by turning the handle.
"I had to leave, to get some extra film!" Munson cried. "I want you to come away—come down and let me get up there!"
"Nothing doing," spoke Blake. "You should have left your machine here, to show that the pedestal was occupied. I don't believe you were here, and as I'm here first I'm going to stay!"
"Oh, you are; eh? We'll see about that!" cried Munson, as he worked his way through the crowd, carrying his camera with him.
Blake thought little more about the fellow, for he was too much occupied in getting views of the burning building, and the thrilling rescues that were made from time to time. Firemen went rapidly up, from window to window, by means of the hooked scaling ladders, leaping into the burning building in search of persons in danger.
Other firemen carried down unconscious forms, and still others were engaged in the less spectacular work of handling the hose, with its powerful streams of water.
All these scenes Blake was getting on the sensitive celluloid film, and he was congratulating himself on his success, when a voice in authority called to him:
"Say, young fellow, have you got a fire badge, or permit?"
"Why, no," answered Blake, slowly, as he continued to grind away at the crank. "I left it home, I guess." He and Joe both had permits, entitling them to go within the fire lines, but they had not taken them away on their vacation.
"You'll have to come down out of that," went on the voice of the policeman who had challenged Blake. And the youth, looking down, saw, beside the guardian of the peace, the mean, sneering face of Munson. It was he, evidently, who had suggested to the police officer that he oust Blake from his place.
"Can't you overlook it this once?" asked Blake, eagerly, for the fire was getting worse now, and he knew it would show up well on the films. If he had to leave his place he could not get another as good, and would miss some thrilling scenes.
"Come on down!" ordered the officer. "You can't stay there without a badge, or a permit, and and you haven't got either. Get down, I tell you!"
"Hold on, Flarity," spoke a new voice. "I'll lend him my badge. You know me; don't you?" and there stepped forward a young fellow whom Blake recognized as a newspaper reporter, to whom he had often given pictures of accidents, for the journal he represented.
"Well, Kennedy, if you let him take your badge, I guess it will be all right," said the officer to the reporter.
"Say, that's mighty good of you!" cried Blake, as the newspaper man passed up the metal badge that entitled the wearer to go within the fire lines, "but what will you do?"
"Oh, I guess Flarity won't put me out," said the reporter, with a laugh. "If he does, I know something about him"
"Get on with you!" interrupted the officer, hastily, and with a rather embarrassed smile. "I'll look the other way, Kennedy."
"I thought you would," laughed the reporter. "Now you're all right, Blake," and he nodded, in a friendly fashion, at the moving picture boy.
Munson's plan had failed, and he moved away to look for another place whence he could film the fire. He cast an ugly look at Blake as he went, though, and muttered to himself.
"I'm sorry I had to do this," thought Blake, "but I wasn't going to pass up a chance like this. Munson may make trouble for us, though. He's got a revengeful disposition. But if Joe and I go out to the flooded district probably we shan't see him for some time."
If Blake had really known the depth of the resentment Munson cherished against him, from that moment, he might have given in to the fellow. Had he done so it would have saved much trouble for himself and Joe later. But he could not foretell the future.
Blake continued to take pictures of the fire, and he was beginning to think his film would run out, when Joe came up with a fresh reel. The policeman had gone away, and there was now so much excitement about the fire that no one minded whether Joe had a badge or not. He relieved Blake at the camera.
But the blaze, big as it was, finally yielded to the work of the firemen, and at length all the persons had been gotten out of the apartment
"I guess we've got enough," said Blake, finally. "Now we'll hustle this to the laboratory, Joe, have it developed, and see what use we can make of it. I'll get some of the weeklies on the 'phone, and see how many prints they want."
Blake and Joe, as those of you know who have read the other books of this series, had their own establishment in New York, where they developed and printed their films.
What Blake meant by "weeklies" was a certain feature much used in moving picture houses. Important current events of the week, big accidents, volcanic eruptions, war scenes—in fact, anything in which the public is interested—are registered on the sensitive celluloid, and sent around to the theaters which take the service of the weekly film. It is, in brief, a moving picture newspaper, and our two heroes had made considerable money in the past in supplying films for this purpose.
A little later the film of the fire was being developed, ready for printing, and Blake had secured, over the telephone, a number of orders. These were turned over to their assistants, for the two youths could not do all the work themselves, and had a number of employes.
"Well, now that's done," said Joe, with a sigh of satisfaction. "We'd better be getting down to see Mr. Ringold, I guess."
"Yes," agreed Blake, looking at his watch. "And I want something to eat, too. It's past ten o'clock, and we haven't had supper yet."
"That's right!" cried Joe. "I forgot all about it."
"My stomach didn't," laughed Blake.
An hour later, after a hasty meal, they reached the office of Mr. Ringold, whom they found talking to Mr. Piper.
"I was just going to telephone around, and get the police on your trail," said the gloomy comedian. "I was afraid something had happened to you. Did there?"
"Oh, nothing much," spoke Joe, with a smile. "But what is the news, Mr. Ringold? Have you heard any word from any of your people in the flooded district?"
"No, I haven't, I'm sorry to say, though I've tried all the means in my power. It is almost impossible to get messages through, and receive a reply. The wires are nearly all down. The only way is for us to go out there. I'm glad you boys came on."
"We started as soon as we could," explained Blake. "I guess Mr. Piper told you how we stopped to film the fire; didn't he?"
"Yes," replied the film theatrical manager. "And now, how soon can you start for the flooded district?"
"Just as soon as we can get our cameras ready, and provide for a supply of film—in the morning," answered Joe.
"Good! Then we'll start. We've got hard work and some danger ahead of us."
"We're used to that—especially the danger," remarked Joe. "I guess it won't be much worse than it was in earthquake land."
"I should hope not!" murmured Mr. Piper. "I don't like this idea at all. I'm sure something is going to happen!"
"You're nervous!" cried Mr. Ringold, "and I don't blame you, either. This news has gotten on my nerves. When I think of how my friends may be suffering, it makes me wild to get out there, and help them."
"Same here!" exclaimed Blake, and I think he and Joe had a similar thought then, and the same memory of a pretty, blue-eyed girl—Birdie Lee.
The two moving picture boys spent several hours getting their cameras and equipment ready for the start the next morning, and when they tumbled into bed they "didn't need to be sung to sleep," as Blake put it.
As several of the completed films of the Western dramas had been lost in the flood, Mr. Ringold decided to have others made, and to accomplish this he would have to hire more players. But he thought he could engage them in the West, and so, save for a few leading characters, like Mr. Piper, he took only a few actors and actresses with him.
"We'll, we're off," murmured Joe, as, the next day, he and Blake took their places in the train that was to bear them to the West, and the flood.
"Yes, we're off, and there's no telling what may happen before we get back," answered his chum, seriously.