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"How long do you think it will be before I can take some views myself?" he asked eagerly. "Oh, within a week or so we'll trust you with a camera," said Blake. "That is, if you can spare time from your alarm clock invention," added Joe, with a curious glance at his chum. But if Mr. Alcando felt any suspicions at the words he did not betray himself.
"No, I don't!" exclaimed Joe. He did not continue the conversation along that line, but he was doing some hard thinking. Later that evening, when Mr. Alcando called at the room of the two chums to bid them goodnight, he made no mention of his visitor on the balcony. Nor did Blake or Joe question him. "And we start up the Canal in the morning?" asked the Spaniard.
"That's right," encouraged Blake. "Go it on your own responsibility. Good luck!" "He's trying hard, at all events," said Joe, when their acquaintance had left them. "Yes," agreed Joe. "He wants to make good." Several times after this Mr. Alcando went off, by himself for more or less prolonged absences. Each time he took a camera with him.
Alcando, as he noted Blake's intent look. "Is something ?" He did not finish. "That sound in the film-case " began Blake. "Oh, my alarm clock yes!" exclaimed the Spaniard. "I take it out with me on my trips. Often, when I have finished taking pictures, I try to do a little work on it. There is one feature I can't seem to perfect, and I hope some day to stumble on it.
At times when they remained in Culebra Cut, which they did for two weeks, instead of one, fresh unexposed films were received from New York, being brought along the Canal by Government boats, for, as I have explained, the boys were semi-official characters now. Mr. Alcando was rapidly becoming expert in handling a moving picture camera, and often he went out alone to film some simple scene.
A little later, after a quick trip on the "gasoline bicycle," the moving picture boys were at the only hotel of which Central Falls boasted. Mr. Alcando was in his room, the clerk informed the boys, and they were shown up. "Enter!" called the voice of the Spaniard, as they knocked.
Hello, up there!" he yelled, looking toward the top of the lock wall. "What's the matter?" Slowly the tug approached the closing lock gates. If she once got between them, moving as they were, she would be crushed like an eggshell. And it seemed that no power on earth could stop the movement of those great, steel leaves. "This is terrible!" cried Mr. Alcando.
I've had all I want of Panama. Not that it isn't a nice place, but we've seen all there is to see." "We might try a little more of the jungle." "We got enough of those pictures before," Blake declared. "No, the dam will wind it up, as far as we're concerned." If Mr. Alcando felt any sorrow over his failure as a moving picture operator he did not show it when next he met the boys.
Alcando, they were on the concrete wall. From that vantage point they watched the opening of the lock gates, which admitted the Nama into the next basin. There she was shut up, by the closing of the gates behind her, and raised to the second level.
"But I don't understand it all," objected Blake, and Joe, too, looked his wonder. Both were seeking a reason why the captain had said he was glad Mr. Alcando had gone out to get the camera he had forgotten. "I'll explain," said Mr. Wiltsey. "You have no doubt heard, as we all have down here, the stories of fear of an earthquake shock. As I said, I think they're all bosh.
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