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Ringold was recounting his version of the first touchdown how he had been forced inch by inch across the goal line to the tune of thirty thousand yelling throats and his companions were hanging upon his words, when their new friend interrupted in such a tone that Anthony inquired in surprise: "What's wrong, old man? Are you sick?" Locke shook his head.
He had taken a huge, ungainly Nova Scotian lad named Ringold for centre; he had placed a square-jawed, tow-headed boy from Duluth in the line; he had selected a high-strung, unseasoned chap, who for two years had been eating his heart out on the side-lines, and made him into a quarter-back.
And then, as the men again got the nozzle under control, the comedian, dripping water at every point, walked away, saying: "There, I told you something would happen!" "I should say it has!" declared Mr. Ringold, for once agreeing with the gloomy actor.
"Dr Cockle has seen him and says so," I answered boldly. "Tell him to come up, or I'll send a couple of hands to bring him neck and crop," thundered the captain. I was as determined as before not to tell Esdale, knowing that he would come if sent for. "Go below and bring up that lazy young rascal," shouted the captain to Tom Ringold and another man standing near him.
Then, whether the building was older and more tinder-like than was supposed, or whether Mr. Levinberg, the "villain" who fired the shack, used too much red fire and kerosene, was not explained. At any rate, the little building was more quickly wrapped in flame and smoke than was expected, and Mr. Ringold yelled excitedly: "Come on out, C. C.! Don't wait any longer. Never mind if it isn't time!
We'll all go together, and you'll have plenty of chance to locate your father!" The announcement of Mr. Ringold was followed by a silence, during which Joe and Blake looked at each other. It seemed like too much good fortune to learn that they would still have the company of their friends in this new quest. "Do you really mean that?" asked Joe.
"I wonder I didn't think of it myself. Come on!" "Don't be late!" advised Tom Cardiff, as they ran toward the ancient carriage they had hired. "We don't want any slip-up this time. I'm glad we're going to try for the capture by daylight, though, instead of darkness; it gives us a better chance." Mr. Ringold and Mr.
"He and his crowd are all in jail. They were caught in the act of setting a false light." "And I don't believe you'll even have to prove your innocence," said Mr. Ringold. "They'll be convicted, and their evidence will never be accepted. You are already cleared, Mr. Duncan." "My name cleared and my son with me what else could I want?" murmured the happy man.
They caught him, too, and got the reward, with which they purchased some moving picture cameras, and went into business on their own account. They made films to order, and were often employed by Mr. Hadley or by Mr. Ringold, head of the Film Theatrical Company. This company consisted of a number of actors and actresses who were engaged to enact various sorts of plays and dramas before the camera.
This last, however, was all very blurred and indistinct. As to who was with him on the ride, or what took place thereafter, he had no memory and no opportunity of learning, owing to certain unexpected and alarming occurrences which made it imperative for him to terminate his connection with his college, as big Marty Ringold had done earlier in the day, and begin to pack his belongings.
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