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I often wonder why these flurries come, but I suppose it is to let a man pick up some sound stocks at a reasonable rate, if he has the money by him. Perhaps they are also sent to teach humility to those who might else become purse-proud. We are but finite creatures, Sneed, here to-day and gone to-morrow. How foolish a thing is pride!
Sneed had told their story of the starting out to make a pictured shipwreck, which shipwreck had evidently, now, become real. "That's the Mary Ellen, I'm sure of it!" Russ cried as he caught a glimpse of the sighted schooner. "But what has happened to her?" "Masts are gone, and she's sinking," one of the steamer's officers told him. "I guess we can't get to her any too quickly."
The General had refused himself to all the reporters, while young Sneed seemed to be able to do nothing but swear. Shortly before noon General Sneed, who had not left the house, received a letter brought by a messenger. He feverishly tore it open, for he recognised on the envelope the well- known scrawl of the great speculator.
There was a vast difference between Master Simon Sneed's estimate of Masters Simon Sneed, and the Messrs. Sands & Co.'s idea of Master Simon Sneed. But I beg my young friends not to let anything I have written create a prejudice against him, for he was really a very kind-hearted young man, and under certain circumstances would have gone a great way to oblige a friend.
Russ wanted to give the idea of distance on the film. "How much longer you going to be?" asked Mr. Pepper Sneed, as he saw Russ change slightly the position of the camera. "Oh, not much longer now," was the answer. "I have about all they'll want, I guess. This is only a sort of 'cut-in' effect, anyhow a preliminary to the grand performance that is to come later.
He and the girls, in common with the other members of the Comet Film Company, had to portray many different scenes in the course of a season's work, and though some of it was distasteful, it was seldom objected to by anyone, unless perhaps by Pepper Sneed, the "grouch," or perhaps by Mr. Wellington Bunn, an actor of the old school, who could not reconcile himself to the silent drama.
The fire-light slanted through the woods in quick, elusive fluctuations, ever dimmer, ever recurrently flaring, and when the jury of view and their companions, alarmed by the long absence of Persimmon Sneed, followed the strange light through the woods to the brink of the burning spring, they found naught astir save the vagrant shadows of the great boles of the trees, no longer held to their accustomed orbit, but wandering through the woods with a large freedom.
On the evening of the fourth day after Pelly had wired the Senator that Sneed and his men had ridden north from Tucson, Posmo, hanging about the eastern outskirts of Phoenix, saw a small band of horsemen against the southern sky-line. Knowing the trail they would take, north, Posmo had timed their arrival almost to the hour.
Peters spoke aside to the others, only a word or so, but there was amongst them an obvious haste to get away, of which Persimmon Sneed was cognizant, albeit his head was swimming, his breath short, his eyes dazzled by the fire which he feared.
Pertell, who was afraid the well would "spout" before he could get his company of players on the scene, was relieved when he heard one of the workmen call: "False alarm. She isn't going off yet." "Now hurry and get around the well," urged the manager. "I want some of you grouped near it when the oil spouts up." "Won't it be dangerous?" asked Mr. Sneed.
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