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Updated: May 3, 2025
Ringold, with whom they were also associated in moving picture work, called them up on the long distance telephone to offer them a most curious assignment. This was to go to the flooded Mississippi Valley, and get moving pictures of the "Father of Waters" on one of "his" annual rampages.
I'm going to write to him to-day," and he did, dispatching the letter to far-off Hong Kong. There was plenty of work waiting for the boys, some new manuscripts of sea dramas having come in. Mr. Ringold decided to film several of them, and rehearsals were already under way. "I'm going to have a novelty in one of the plays," said the manager. "It's going to be a fire scene.
The night pictures came out well, however, and the first of the following week saw Joe and Blake start on their way to the city of the Golden Gate. "Are you going to take a camera with you, boys?" asked Mr. Ringold, as Joe and Blake were saying good-bye to their friend, preparatory to making a brief stay in San Francisco. "A camera? No. Why?" inquired Blake.
"After we have concluded our investigations at the House of Seven Turnings," continued the ceremonious Higgins, "we will go to the Palace of Ebony, where a full negro orchestra " "The police closed that a week ago." "But it has reopened on a scale larger and grander than ever." "Let's take in the Austrian Village," offered Ringold. "Patiently! Patiently, Behemoth! We'll take 'em all in.
"And now come in with the waves," ordered Mr. Ringold, who was directing the drama. "Hang over the edge of the boat, C. C., and look as if you hadn't had any food or water for a week." "They say an actor never eats, anyhow," murmured Mr. Hadley, who, with the boys, was ready with the cameras; "so I guess C. C. won't have to pretend much." "Come on!" cried Mr. Ringold.
We're a flock of sucking doves." The dancers came crowding up to the table at the moment, and Ringold suggested loudly: "I'm hungry; let's eat again." His proposal met with eager response. "Where shall we go?" asked Anderson. "I just fixed it with Padden for a private room upstairs," Anthony said. "All the cafes are closed now, and this is the best place in town for chicken creole, anyhow."
"I knew something would happen," declared C. C., gloomily, as he tried to wring some of the water from his clothes. "I didn't burn, but I nearly drowned." There was nothing to do but return to their boarding place and arrange for another drama, rehearsals for which would take place in a day or so. "Meanwhile," said Mr. Ringold to Joe and Blake, "you may have a little time off.
"A storm; eh?" remarked Mr. Ringold, absentmindedly. "Well, that will interfere with our plans for to-morrow. I had intended to have some peaceful scenes on the beach; but I'll postpone them. I wish I could work out this wreck problem," he added, as he pored over the manuscript of the sea drama. One did not need to go outdoors that morning to appreciate the fury of the storm.
Ringold had sent for a complete, though small, moving picture outfit, and with this some of the pictures were thrown on a screen. "They're the finest I've ever seen!" declared Mr. Hadley, after inspecting them critically. "That charge of the soldiers can't be beaten, and as for the Indian dances, they are as plain as if we were right on the ground.
The operator, a young fellow; whom both Blake and Joe knew, looked around and nodded at them, when he had to stop grinding out the film a moment, to allow the director to correct something that had unexpectedly gone wrong. "Don't you wish you had this easy job?" the operator asked. "We may, before we come back from Panama," answered Blake. A little later Mr. Ringold and Mr.
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