Frank Baum

Aunt Jane's Nieces Out West

CHAPTER I

CAUGHT BY THE CAMERA

"This is getting to be an amazing old world," said a young girl, still in

her "teens," as she musingly leaned her chin on her hand.

"It has always been an amazing old world, Beth," said another girl who

was sitting on the porch railing and swinging her feet in the air.

"True, Patsy," was the reply; "but the people are doing such peculiar

things nowadays."

"Yes, yes!" exclaimed a little man who occupied a reclining chair within

hearing distance; "that is the way with you young folks--always

confounding the world with its people."

"Don't the people make the world, Uncle John?" asked Patricia Doyle,

looking at him quizzically.

"No, indeed; the world could get along very well without its people; but

the people--"

"To be sure; they need the world," laughed Patsy, her blue eyes

twinkling so that they glorified her plain, freckled face.

"Nevertheless," said Beth de Graf, soberly, "I think the people have

struck a rapid pace these days and are growing bold and impudent. The law

appears to allow them too much liberty. After our experience of this

morning I shall not be surprised at anything that happens--especially in

this cranky state of California."

"To what experience do you allude, Beth?" asked Uncle John, sitting up

straight and glancing from one to another of his two nieces. He was a

genial looking, round-faced man, quite bald and inclined to be a trifle

stout; yet his fifty-odd years sat lightly upon him.

"Why, we had quite an adventure this morning," said Patsy, laughing

again at the recollection, and answering her uncle because Beth

hesitated to. "For my part, I think it was fun, and harmless fun, at

that; but Beth was scared out of a year's growth. I admit feeling a

little creepy at the time, myself; but it was all a joke and really we

ought not to mind it at all."

"Tell me all about it, my dear!" said Mr. Merrick, earnestly, for

whatever affected his beloved nieces was of prime importance to him.

"We were taking our morning stroll along the streets," began Patsy, "when

on turning a corner we came upon a crowd of people who seemed to be

greatly excited. Most of them were workmen in flannel shirts, their

sleeves rolled up, their hands grimy with toil. These stood before a

brick building that seemed like a factory, while from its doors other

crowds of workmen and some shopgirls were rushing into the street and

several policemen were shaking their clubs and running here and there in

a sort of panic. At first Beth and I stopped and hesitated to go on, but

as the sidewalk seemed open and fairly free I pulled Beth along, thinking

we might discover what the row was about. Just as we got opposite the

building a big workman rushed at us and shouted: 'Go back--go back! The

wall is falling.'

"Well, Uncle, you can imagine our dismay. We both screamed, for we

thought our time had come, for sure. My legs were so weak that Beth had

to drag me away and her face was white as a sheet and full of terror.

Somehow we managed to stagger into the street, where a dozen men caught

us and hurried us away. I hardly thought we were in a safe place when the

big workman cried: 'There, young ladies; that will do. Your expression

was simply immense and if this doesn't turn out to be the best film of

the year, I'll miss my guess! Your terror-stricken features will make a

regular hit, for the terror wasn't assumed, you know. Thank you very much

for happening along just then.'"

Patsy stopped her recital to laugh once more, with genuine merriment, but

her cousin Beth seemed annoyed and Uncle John was frankly bewildered.

"But--what--what--was it all about?" he inquired.

"Why, they were taking a moving picture, that was all, and the workmen

and shopgirls and policemen were all actors. There must have been a

hundred of them, all told, and when we recovered from our scare I could

hear the machine beside me clicking away as it took the picture."

"Did the wall fall?" asked Uncle John.

"Not just then. They first got the picture of the rush-out and the

panic, and then they stopped the camera and moved the people to a safe

distance away. We watched them set up some dummy figures of girls and

workmen, closer in, and then in some way they toppled over the big brick

wall. It fell into the street with a thundering crash, but only the

dummies were buried under the debris."

Mr. Merrick drew a long breath.

"It's wonderful!" he exclaimed. "Why, it must have cost a lot of money to

ruin such a building--and all for the sake of a picture!"

"That's what I said to the manager," replied Patsy; "but he told us the

building was going to be pulled down, anyhow, and a better one built in

its place; so he invented a picture story to fit the falling walls and it

didn't cost him so much as one might think. So you see, Uncle, we are in

that picture--big as life and scared stiff--and I'd give a lot to see how

we look when we're positively terror-stricken."

"It will cost you just ten cents," remarked Beth, with a shrug; "that is,

if the picture proves good enough to be displayed at one of those horrid

little theatres."

"One?" said Uncle John. "One thousand little theatres, most likely, will

show the picture, and perhaps millions of spectators will see you and

Patsy running from the falling wall."

"Dear me!" wailed Patsy. "That's more fame than I bargained for. Do

millions go to see motion pictures, Uncle?"

"I believe so. The making of these pictures is getting to be an enormous

industry. I was introduced to Otis Werner, the other day, and he told me

a good deal about it. Werner is with one of the big concerns here--the

Continental, I think--and he's a very nice and gentlemanly fellow. I'll

introduce you to him, some time, and he'll tell you all the wonders of

the motion picture business."

"I haven't witnessed one of those atrocious exhibitions for months,"

announced Beth; "nor have I any desire to see one again."

"Not our own special picture?" asked Patsy reproachfully.

"They had no right to force us into their dreadful drama," protested

Beth. "Motion pictures are dreadfully tiresome things--comedies and

tragedies alike. They are wild and weird in conception, quite unreal and

wholly impossible. Of course the scenic pictures, and those recording

historical events, are well enough in their way, but I cannot understand

how so many cheap little picture theatres thrive."

"They are the poor people's solace and recreation," declared Mr. Merrick.

"The picture theatre has become the laboring man's favorite resort. It

costs him but five or ten cents and it's the sort of show he can

appreciate. I'm told the motion picture is considered the saloon's worst

enemy, for many a man is taking his wife and children to a picture

theatre evenings instead of joining a gang of his fellows before the bar,

as he formerly did."

"That is the best argument in their favor I have ever heard," admitted

Beth, who was strong on temperance; "but I hope, Uncle, you are not

defending the insolent methods of those picture-makers."

"Not at all, my dear. I consider the trapping of innocent bystanders to

be--eh--er--highly reprehensible, and perhaps worse. If I can discover

what picture manager was guilty of the act, I shall--shall--"

"What, Uncle?"

"I shall hint that he owes you an apology," he concluded, rather lamely.

Beth smiled scornfully.

"Meantime," said she, "two very respectable girls, who are not actresses,

will be exhibited before the critical eyes of millions of stupid workmen,

reformed drunkards, sad-faced women and wiggling children--not in

dignified attitudes, mind you, but scurrying from what they supposed was

an imminent danger."

"I hope it will do the poor things good to see us," retorted Patsy. "To

be strictly honest, Beth, we were not trapped at all; we were the victims

of circumstances. When I remember how quick-witted and alert that manager

was, to catch us unawares and so add to the value of his picture, I can

quite forgive the fellow his audacity."

"It wasn't audacity so much as downright impudence!" persisted Beth.

"I quite agree with you," said Mr. Merrick. "Do you wish me to buy that

film and prevent the picture's being shown?"

"Oh, no!" cried Patsy in protest. "I'm dying to see how we look. I

wouldn't have that picture sidetracked for anything."

"And you, Beth?"

"Really, Uncle John, the thing is not worth worrying over," replied his

niece. "I am naturally indignant at being drawn into such a thing against

my will, but I doubt if anyone who knows us, or whose opinion we value,

will ever visit a moving picture theatre or see this film. The common

people will not recognize us, of course."

You must not think Beth de Graf was snobbish or aristocratic because of

this speech, which her cousin Patsy promptly denounced as "snippy." Beth

was really a lovable and sunny-tempered girl, very democratic in her

tastes in spite of the fact that she was the possessor of an unusual

fortune. She was out of sorts to-day, resentful of the fright she had

endured that morning and in the mood to say harsh things.

Even Patricia Doyle had been indignant, at first; but Patsy's judgment

was clearer than her cousin's and her nature more responsive. She quickly

saw the humorous side of their adventure and could enjoy the recollection

of her momentary fear.

These two girls were spending the winter months in the glorious climate

of Southern California, chaperoned by their uncle and guardian, John

Merrick. They had recently established themselves at a cosy hotel in

Hollywood, which is a typical California village, yet a suburb of the

great city of Los Angeles. A third niece, older and now married--Louise

Merrick Weldon--lived on a ranch between Los Angeles and San Diego, which

was one reason why Uncle John and his wards had located in this pleasant

neighborhood.

To observe this trio--the simple, complacent little man and his two young

nieces--no stranger would suspect them to be other than ordinary

tourists, bent on escaping the severe Eastern winter; but in New York the

name of John Merrick was spoken with awe in financial circles, where his

many millions made him an important figure. He had practically retired

from active business and his large investments were managed by his

brother-in-law, Major Gregory Doyle, who was Miss Patsy's father and sole

surviving parent. All of Mr. Merrick's present interest in life centered

in his three nieces, and because Louise was happily married and had now

an establishment of her own--including a rather new but very remarkable

baby--Uncle John was drawn closer to the two younger nieces and devoted

himself wholly to their welfare.

The girls had not been rich when their fairy godfather first found them.

Indeed, each of them had been energetically earning, or preparing to

earn, a livelihood. Now, when their uncle's generosity had made them

wealthy, they almost regretted those former busy days of poverty, being

obliged to discover new interests in life in order to keep themselves

occupied and contented. All three were open-handed and open-hearted,

sympathetic to the unfortunate and eager to assist those who needed

money, as many a poor girl and worthy young fellow could testify. In all

their charities they were strongly supported by Mr. Merrick, whose

enormous income permitted him to indulge in many benevolences. None gave

ostentatiously, for they were simple, kindly folk who gave for the pure

joy of giving and begrudged all knowledge of their acts to anyone outside

their own little circle.

There is no doubt that John Merrick was eccentric. It is generally

conceded that a rich man may indulge in eccentricities, provided he

maintains a useful position in society, and Mr. Merrick's peculiarities

only served to render him the more interesting to those who knew him

best. He did astonishing things in a most matter-of-fact way and acted

more on impulse than on calm reflection; so it is not to be wondered at

that the queer little man's nieces had imbibed some of his queerness.

Being by nature lively and aggressive young women, whose eager interest

in life would not permit them to be idle, they encountered many

interesting experiences.

They had just come from a long visit to Louise at the ranch and after

conferring gravely together had decided to hide themselves in Hollywood,

where they might spend a quiet and happy winter in wandering over the

hills, in boating or bathing in the ocean or motoring over the hundreds

of miles of splendid boulevards of this section.

Singularly enough, their choice of a retreat was also the choice of a

score or more of motion picture makers, who had discovered Hollywood

before them and were utilizing the brilliant sunshine and clear

atmosphere in the production of their films, which were supplied to

picture theatres throughout the United States and Europe. Appreciating

the value of such a monster industry, the authorities permitted the

cameras to be set up on the public streets or wherever there was an

appropriate scene to serve for a background to the photo-plays. It was no

unusual sight to see troops of cowboys and Indians racing through the

pretty village or to find the cameraman busy before the imposing

residence of a millionaire or the vine-covered bungalow of a more modest

citizen. No one seemed to resent such action, for Californians admire the

motion picture as enthusiastically as do the inhabitants of the Eastern

states, so the girls' "adventure" was really a common incident.

CHAPTER II

AN OBJECT LESSON

It was the following afternoon when Uncle John captured his casual

acquaintance, Mr. Otis Werner, in the office of the hotel and dragged the

motion picture man away to his rooms to be introduced to his nieces.

"Here, my dears, is Mr. Werner," he began, as he threw open the door of

their apartment and escorted his companion in. "He is one of those

picture makers, you'll remember, and--and--"

He paused abruptly, for Beth was staring at Mr. Werner with a frown on

her usually placid features, while Patsy was giggling hysterically. Mr.

Werner, a twinkle of amusement in his eye, bowed with exaggerated

deference.

"Dear me!" said Uncle John. "Is--is anything wrong!"

"No; it's all right, Uncle," declared Patsy, striving to control a fresh

convulsion of laughter. "Only--this is the same dreadful manager who

dragged us into his picture yesterday."

"I beg your pardon," said Mr. Werner; "I'm not a manager; I'm merely what

is called in our profession a 'producer,' or a 'stage director.'"

"Well, you're the man, anyhow," asserted Patsy. "So what have you to say

for yourself, sir?"

"If you were annoyed, I humbly apologize," he returned. "Perhaps I was

unintentionally rude to frighten you in that way, but my excuse lies in

our subservience to the demands of our art. We seldom hesitate at

anything which tends to give our pictures the semblance of reality."

"_Art_, did you say, Mr. Werner?" It was Beth who asked this and there

was a bit of a sneer in her tone.

"It is really art--art of the highest character," he replied warmly. "Do

you question it, Miss--Miss--"

"Miss de Graf. I suppose, to be fair, I must admit that the photography

is art; but the subjects of your pictures, I have observed, are far from

artistic. Such a picture, for instance, as you made yesterday can have

little value to anyone."

"Little value! Why, Miss de Graf, you astonish me," he exclaimed. "I

consider that picture of the falling wall one of my greatest

triumphs--and I've been making pictures for years. Aside from its

realism, its emotional nature--'thrills,' we call it--this picture

conveys a vivid lesson that ought to prove of great benefit to humanity."

Beth was looking at him curiously now. Patsy was serious and very

attentive. As Uncle John asked his visitor to be seated his voice

betrayed the interest he felt in the conversation.

"Of course we saw only a bit of the picture," said Patsy Doyle. "What was

it all about, Mr. Werner?"

"We try," said he, slowly and impressively, as if in love with his

theme, "to give to our pictures an educational value, as well as to

render them entertaining. Some of them contain a high moral lesson;

others, a warning; many, an incentive to live purer and nobler lives.

All of our plots are conceived with far more thought than you may

suppose. Underlying many of our romances and tragedies are moral

injunctions which are involuntarily absorbed by the observers, yet of so

subtle a nature that they are not suspected. We cannot preach except by

suggestion, for people go to our picture shows to be amused. If we

hurled righteousness at them they would soon desert us, and we would be

obliged to close up shop."

"I must confess that this is, to me, a most novel presentation of the

subject," said Beth, more graciously. "Personally, I care little for your

pictures; but I can understand how travel scenes and scientific or

educational subjects might be of real benefit to the people."

"I can't understand anyone's being indifferent to the charm of motion

pictures," he responded, somewhat reproachfully.

"Why, at first they struck me as wonderful," said the girl. "They were

such a novel invention that I went to see them from pure curiosity. But,

afterward, the subjects presented in the pictures bored me. The drama

pictures were cheap and common, the comedy scenes worse; so I kept away

from the picture theatres."

"Educational pictures," said Mr. Werner, musingly, "have proved a

failure, as I hinted, except when liberally interspersed with scenes of

action and human interest. The only financial failures among the host of

motion picture theatres, so far as I have observed, are those that have

attempted to run travel scenes and educational films exclusively. There

are so few people with your--eh--culture and--and--elevated tastes, you

see, when compared with the masses."

"But tell us about _our_ picture," pleaded Patsy. "What lesson can that

falling wall possibly convey?"

"I'll be glad to explain that," he eagerly replied, "for I am quite proud

of it, I assure you. There are many buildings throughout our larger

cities that were erected as cheaply as possible and without a single

thought for the safety of their tenants. So many disasters have resulted

from this that of late years building inspectors have been appointed in

every locality to insist on proper materials and mechanical efficiency

in the erection of all classes of buildings. These inspectors, however,

cannot tear the old buildings down to see if they are safe, and paint and

plaster cover a multitude of sins of unscrupulous builders. Usually the

landlord or owner knows well the condition of his property and in many

cases refuses to put it into such shape as to insure the safety of his

tenants. Greed, false economy and heartless indifference to the welfare

of others are unfortunately too prevalent among the wealthy class. No

ordinary argument could induce owners to expend money in strengthening or

rebuilding their income-producing properties. But I get after them in my

picture with a prod that ought to rouse them to action.

"The picture opens with a scene in the interior of a factory. Men, girls

and boys are employed. The foreman observes a warning crack in the wall

and calls the proprietor's attention to it. In this case the manufacturer

is the owner of the building, but he refuses to make repairs. His

argument is that the wall has stood for many years and so is likely to

stand for many more; it would be a waste of money to repair the old

shell. Next day the foreman shows him that the crack has spread and

extended along the wall in an alarming manner but still the owner will

not act. The workmen counsel together seriously. They dare not desert

their jobs, for they must have money to live. They send a petition to the

owner, who becomes angry and swears he won't be driven to a useless

expense by his own employees. In the next scene the manufacturer's

daughter--his only child--having heard that the building was unsafe,

comes to her father's office to plead with him to change his mind and

make the needed repairs. Although he loves this daughter next to his

money he resents her interference in a business matter, and refuses. Her

words, however, impress him so strongly that he calls her back from the

door to kiss her and say that he will give the matter further thought,

for her sake.

"As she leaves the office there is a cry of terror from the factory and

the working people come rushing out of the now tottering building. That

was when you two young ladies came walking up the street and were dragged

out of danger by the foreman of the shop--in other words, by myself. The

owner's daughter, bewildered by the confusion, hesitates what to do or

which way to turn, and as she stands upon the sidewalk she is crushed by

the falling wall, together with several of her father's employees."

"How dreadful!" exclaimed Patsy.

"Of course no one was actually hurt," he hastened to say; "for we used

dummy figures for the wall to fall upon. In the final scene the bereaved

father suddenly realizes that he has been working and accumulating only

for this beloved child--the child whose life he has sacrificed by his

miserly refusal to protect his workmen. His grief is so intense that no

one who follows the story of this picture will ever hesitate to repair a

building promptly, if he learns it is unsafe. Do you now understand the

lesson taught, young ladies?"

Mr. Werner's dramatic recital had strongly impressed the two girls, while

Uncle John was visibly affected.

"I'm very glad," said the little man fervently, "that none of my money is

in factories or other buildings that might prove unsafe. It would make

my life miserable if I thought I was in any way responsible for such a

catastrophe as you have pictured."

"It seems to me," observed Patsy, "that your story is unnecessarily

cruel, Mr. Werner."

"Then you do not understand human nature," he retorted; "or, at least,

that phase of human nature I have aimed at. Those indifferent rich men

are very hard to move and you must figuratively hit them squarely between

the eyes to make them even wink."

They were silent for a time, considering this novel aspect of the picture

business. Then Beth asked:

"Can you tell us, sir, when and where we shall be able to see this

picture?"

"It will be released next Monday."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that we, as manufacturers, supply certain agencies in all the

large cities, who in turn rent our films to the many picture theatres.

When a picture is ready, we send copies to all our agencies and set a

day when they may release it, or give it to their customers to use. In

this way the picture will be shown in all parts of the United States on

the same day--in this case, next Monday."

"Isn't that very quick?"

"Yes. The picture we took yesterday will to-night be shipped, all

complete and ready to run, to forty-four different centers."

"And will any picture theatre in Hollywood or Los Angeles show it?"

"Certainly. It will be at the Globe Theatre in Los Angeles and at the

Isis Theatre in Hollywood, for the entire week."

"We shall certainly see it," announced Uncle John.

When Mr. Werner had gone they conversed for some time on the subject of

motion pictures, and the man's remarkable statement concerning them.

"I had no idea," Beth confessed, "that the industry of making pictures is

so extensive and involves so much thought and detail."

"And money," added Uncle John. "It must be a great expense just to

employ that army of actors."

"I suppose Mr. Werner, being a theatrical man, has drawn the long bow in

his effort to impress us," said Patsy. "I've been thinking over some of

the pictures I've seen recently and I can't imagine a moral, however

intangible or illusive, in connection with any of them. But perhaps I

wasn't observant enough. The next time I go to a picture show I shall

study the plays more carefully."

CHAPTER III

AN ATTRACTIVE GIRL

On Saturday they were treated to a genuine surprise, for when the omnibus

drew up before the hotel entrance it brought Arthur Weldon and his

girl-wife, Louise, who was Uncle John's eldest niece. It also brought

"the Cherub," a wee dimpled baby hugged closely in the arms of Inez, its

Mexican nurse.

Patsy and Beth shrieked in ecstasy as they rushed forward to smother

"Toodlums," as they irreverently called the Cherub, with kisses. Inez, a

handsome, dark-eyed girl, relinquished her burden cheerfully to the two

adoring "aunties," while Uncle John kissed Louise and warmly shook the

hand of her youthful husband.

"What in the world induced you to abandon your beloved ranch?" inquired

Mr. Merrick.

"Don't ask me, sir!" replied Arthur, laughing at the elder gentleman's

astonishment. He was a trim young fellow, with a clean-cut, manly face

and frank, winning manners.

"It's sort of between hay and grass with us, you know," he explained.

"Walnuts all marketed and oranges not ready for the pickers. All our

neighbors have migrated, this way or that, for their regular winter

vacations, and after you all left, Louise and I began to feel lonely. So

at breakfast this morning we decided to flit. At ten o'clock we caught

the express, and here we are--in time for lunch. I hope it's ready,

Uncle John."

It was; but they must get their rooms and settle the baby in her new

quarters before venturing to enter the dining room. So they were late for

the midday meal and found themselves almost the only guests in the great

dining hall.

As they sat at table, chatting merrily together, Arthur asked:

"What are you staring at, Patsy?"

"A lovely girl," said she. "One of the loveliest girls I have ever seen.

Don't look around, Arthur; it might attract their attention."

"How many girls are there?"

"Two; and a lady who seems to be their mother. The other girl is pretty,

too, but much younger than her sister--or friend, for they do not

resemble one another much. They came in a few minutes ago and are seated

at the table in the opposite corner."

"New arrivals, I suppose," remarked Uncle John, who from his position

could observe the group.

"No," said Patsy; "their waitress seems to know them well. But I've never

before seen them in the hotel."

"We are always early at meal time," explained Beth, "and to-day these

people are certainly late. But they _are_ pretty girls, Patsy. For once I

concur in your judgment."

"You arouse my curiosity," said Arthur, speaking quietly, so as not to be

overheard in the far corner. "If I hear more ecstatic praises of these

girls I shall turn around and stare them out of countenance."

"Don't," said Louise. "I'm glad your back is toward them, Arthur, for it

preserves you from the temptation to flirt."

"Oh, as for that, I do not need to turn around in order to see pretty

girls," he replied.

"Thank you, Arthur," said Patsy, making a face at him. "Look me over all

you like, and flirt if you want to. I'm sure Louise won't object."

"Really, Patsy, you're not bad to look at," he retorted, eyeing her

critically. "Aside from your red hair, the pug nose and the freckles, you

have many excellent qualities. If you didn't squint--"

"Squint!"

"What do you call that affection of your eyes?"

"That," she said, calmly eating her dessert, "was a glance of

scorn--burning, bitter scorn!"

"I maintain it was a squint," declared Arthur.

"That isn't her only expression," announced Uncle John, who loved these

little exchanges of good-humored banter. "On Monday I will show you Patsy

as a terror-stricken damsel in distress."

"Also Beth, still more distressful," added Patsy; and then they told

Louise and Arthur about the picture.

"Fine!" he cried. "I'm deeply gratified that my own relatives--"

"By marriage."

"I am gratified that my secondhand cousins have been so highly honored.

I'd rather see a good moving picture than the best play ever produced."

"You'll see a good one this time," asserted Patsy, "for we are the

stars."

"I think that unscrupulous Mr. Werner deserves a reprimand," said Louise.

"Oh, he apologized," explained Beth. "But I'm sure he'd take the same

liberty again if he had the chance."

"He admits that his love of art destroys his sense of propriety,"

said Patsy.

As they rose from the table Arthur deliberately turned to view the party

in the other corner, and then to the amazement of his friends he coolly

walked over and shook the elder lady's hand with evident pleasure. Next

moment he was being introduced to the two girls. The three cousins and

their Uncle John walked out of the dining hall and awaited Arthur Weldon

in the lobby.

"It is some old acquaintance, of course," said Louise. "Arthur knows a

tremendous lot of people and remembers everyone he ever has met."

When he rejoined them he brought the lady and the two beautiful girls

with him, introducing Mrs. Montrose as one of his former acquaintances in

New York, where she had been a near neighbor to the Weldons. The girls,

who proved to be her nieces instead of her daughters, were named Maud and

Florence Stanton, Maud being about eighteen years of age and Florence

perhaps fifteen. Maud's beauty was striking, as proved by Patsy's

admiration at first sight; Florence was smaller and darker, yet very

dainty and witching, like a Dresden shepherdess.

The sisters proved rather shy at this first meeting, being content to

exchange smiles with the other girls, but their aunt was an easy

conversationalist and rambled on about the delights of Hollywood and

southern California until they were all in a friendly mood. Among other

things Mrs. Montrose volunteered the statement that they had been at the

hotel for several weeks, but aside from that remark disclosed little of

their personal affairs. Presently the three left the hotel and drove

away in an automobile, having expressed a wish to meet their new friends

again and become better acquainted with them.

"I was almost startled at running across Mrs. Montrose out here," said

Arthur. "After father's death, when I gave up the old home, I lost track

of the Montroses; but I seem to remember that old Montrose went to the

happy hunting grounds and left a widow, but no children. I imagine these

people are wealthy, as Montrose was considered a successful banker. I'll

write to Duggins and inquire about them."

"Duggins seems to know everything," remarked Louise.

"He keeps pretty good track of New York people, especially of the old

families," replied her husband.

"I can't see what their history matters to us," observed Patsy. "I like

to take folks as I find them, without regard to their antecedents or

finances. Certainly those Stanton girls are wonderfully attractive and

ladylike."

But now the baby claimed their attention and the rest of that day was

passed in "visiting" and cuddling the wee Toodlums, who seemed to know

her girl aunties and greeted them with friendly coos and dimpled smiles.

On Sunday they took a motor trip through the mountain boulevards and on

their way home passed the extensive enclosure of the Continental Film

Company. A thriving village has been built up at this place, known as

Film City, for many of those employed by the firm prefer to live close to

their work. Another large "plant" of the same concern is located in the

heart of Hollywood.

As they passed through Film City Uncle John remarked:

"We are invited to visit this place and witness the making of a motion

picture. I believe it would prove an interesting sight."

"Let us go, by all means," replied Arthur. "I am greatly interested in

this new industry, which seems to me to be still in its infancy. The

development of the moving picture is bound to lead to some remarkable

things in the future, I firmly believe."

"So do I," said Uncle John. "They'll combine the phonograph with the

pictures, for one thing, so that the players, instead of being silent,

will speak as clearly as in real life. Then we'll have the grand operas,

by all the most famous singers, elaborately staged; and we'll be able to

see and hear them for ten cents, instead of ten dollars. It will be the

same with the plays of the greatest actors."

"That would open up a curious complication," asserted Louise. "The operas

would only be given once, before the camera and the recorder. Then what

would happen to all the high-priced opera singers?"

"They would draw royalties on all their productions, instead of

salaries," replied Arthur.

"Rather easy for the great artists!" observed Patsy. "One

performance--and the money rolling in for all time to come."

"Well, they deserve it," declared Beth. "And think of what the public

would gain! Instead of having to suffer during the performances of

incompetent actors and singers, as we do to-day, the whole world would be

able to see and hear the best talent of the ages for an insignificant

fee. I hope your prediction will come true, Uncle John."

"It's bound to," he replied, with confidence. "I've read somewhere that

Edison and others have been working on these lines for years, and

although they haven't succeeded yet, anything possible in mechanics is

bound to be produced in time."

CHAPTER IV

AUNT JANE'S NIECES

The picture, which was entitled "The Sacrifice," proved--to use Patsy's

words--"a howling success." On Monday afternoons the little theatres are

seldom crowded, so Mr. Merrick's party secured choice seats where they

could observe every detail of the photography. The girls could not wait

for a later performance, so eager were they to see themselves in a motion

picture, nor were they disappointed to find they were a mere incident in

the long roll of film.

The story of the photo-play was gripping in its intensity, and since Mr.

Werner had clearly explained the lesson it conveyed, they followed the

plot with rapt attention. In the last scene their entrance and exit was

transitory, but they were obliged to admit that their features were

really expressive of fear. The next instant the wall fell, burying its

victims, and this rather bewildered them when they remembered that fully

half an hour had elapsed while the dummies were being placed in position,

the real people removed from danger and preparations made to topple over

the wall from the inside of the building. But the camera had been

inactive during that period and so cleverly had the parts of the picture

been united that no pause whatever was observable to the spectators.

"My! what a stuffy place," exclaimed Louise, as they emerged into the

light of day. "I cannot understand why it is necessary to have these

moving picture theatres so gloomy and uncomfortable."

"It isn't necessary," replied Uncle John. "It's merely a habit the

builders have acquired. There seemed to be a total lack of ventilation in

that place."

"No one expects much for ten cents," Arthur reminded him. "If the

pictures are good the public will stand for anything in the matter of

discomfort."

"Did you notice," said Patsy, slowly, "how many children there were in

that theatre?"

"Yes, indeed," answered Beth. "The pictures seem to be an ideal

amusement for children. I do not suppose they can understand all the

dramas and love stories, but the pictures entertain them, whatever the

theme may be."

"They are not allowed to go unless accompanied by a parent or guardian,"

Arthur stated; "but I saw a group of eleven under the care of one

cheery-looking old lady, so I suppose the little ones evade the law in

that way."

On Tuesday forenoon they drove to the office of the Continental Film

Manufacturing Company and inquired for Mr. Werner. Every approach to the

interior of the big stockade was closely guarded in order to prevent the

curious from intruding, but Werner at once hurried out to greet them and

escorted them into the enclosure.

"You are just in time," said he, "to witness one of the scenes in our

great picture, 'Samson and Delilah.' They're getting it on now, so you

must hurry if you want to see the work. It's really the biggest thing our

firm has ever turned out."

They passed a group of low but extensive frame buildings, threading

their way between them until finally they emerged within a large open

space where huge frames covered with canvas were propped up in broad

daylight and apparently in great disorder. Huddled here and there were

groups of people wearing Oriental costumes of the Bible days, their

skins stained brown, the make-up on their faces showing hideously in the

strong light. A herd of meek donkeys, bearing burdens of faggots, was

tethered near by.

"Follow me closely," cautioned their guide, "so you will not step over

the 'dead line' and get yourselves in the picture."

"What is the 'dead line'?" inquired Uncle John.

"The line that marks the limit of the camera's scope. Outside of that you

are quite safe. You will notice it is plainly marked in chalk."

They passed around to the front and were amazed at the picture disclosed

by the reverse of the gaunt, skeleton-like framework. For now was

displayed Solomon's temple in all its magnificence, with huge pillars

supporting a roof that seemed as solid and substantial as stone and

mortar could make it.

The perspective was wonderful, for they could follow a line of vision

through the broad temple to a passage beyond, along which was

approaching a procession of priests, headed by dancing girls and

musicians beating tomtoms and playing upon reeds. The entire scene was

barbaric in its splendor and so impressive that they watched it

spellbound, awed and silent.

Yet here beside them was the motion-picture camera, clicking steadily

away and operated by a man in his shirt-sleeves who watched the scene

with sharp eyes, now frowning and now nodding approval. Beside him at

times, but rushing from one point to another just outside the chalk-marks

that indicated the "dead line," was the director of this production, who

shouted commands in a nervous, excited manner and raged and tore his hair

when anything went wrong.

Something went very wrong presently, for the director blew a shrill blast

on his whistle and suddenly everything stopped short. The camera man

threw a cloth over his lenses and calmly lighted a cigarette. The

procession halted in uncertainty and became a disordered rabble; but the

director sprang into the open space and shouted at his actors and

actresses in evident ill temper.

"There it is again!" he cried. "Five hundred feet of good film, ruined by

the stupidity of one person. Get out of that priest's robe, Higgins, and

let Jackson take your place. Where's Jackson, anyhow?"

"Here," answered a young man, stepping out from a group of spectators.

"Do you know the work? Can you lead that procession into the temple so

they will leave room for Delilah to enter, and not crowd her off the

platform?" asked the director.

Jackson merely nodded as he scrambled into the priest's robe which the

discomfited Higgins resigned to him. Evidently the bungling actor was in

disgrace, for he was told to go to the office and get his pay and then

"clear out."

So now the procession was sent back into the passage and rearranged in

proper order; the signal was given to begin and in an instant the camera

renewed its clicking as the operator slowly revolved the handle that

carried the long strip of film past the lenses. The musicians played, the

girls danced, the procession slowly emerged from the passage.

This time it advanced properly and came to a halt just at the head of the

staircase leading up to the entrance to the temple.

"Delilah!" shouted the director, and now appeared a beautiful girl who

made a low obeisance to the chief priest.

"Why--goodness me!" cried Patsy. "It's--it's Maud Stanton!"

"Nonsense!" returned Arthur, sharply; and then he looked again and drew a

long breath; for unless it were indeed the elder niece of Mrs. Montrose,

there must be two girls in the world identically alike.

Mr. Werner settled the question by quietly remarking: "Of course it's

Maud Stanton. She's our bright, particular star, you know, and the public

would resent it if she didn't appear as the heroine of all our best

pictures."

"An actress!" exclaimed Arthur. "I--I didn't know that."

"She and her sister Flo are engaged by us regularly," replied Werner,

with an air of pride. "They cost us a lot of money, as you may imagine,

but we can't afford to let any competitor have them."

If Arthur Weldon felt any chagrin at this, discovery it was not in the

least shared by the others of his party. Beth was admiring the young

girl's grace and dignity; Patsy was delighted by her loveliness in the

fleecy, picturesque costume she wore; Louise felt pride in the fact that

she had been introduced to "a real actress," while Uncle John wondered

what adverse fortune had driven this beautiful, refined girl to pose

before a motion picture camera.

They soon discovered Florence Stanton in the picture, too, among the

dancing girls; so there could be no mistake of identity. Mrs. Montrose

was not visible during the performance; but afterward, when Samson had

pulled down the pillars of the temple and it had fallen in ruins, when

the "show" was over and the actors trooping away to their

dressing-rooms, then the visitors were ushered into the main office of

the establishment to meet Mr. Goldstein, the manager, and seated by the

window was the aunt of the two girls, placidly reading a book. She looked

up with a smile as they entered.

"Did you see the play?" she asked. "And isn't it grand and impressive? I

hope you liked Maud's 'Delilah.' The poor child has worked so hard to

create the character."

They assured her the girl was perfect in her part, after which Mr.

Merrick added: "I'm astonished you did not go out to see the play

yourself."

She laughed at his earnestness.

"It's an old story to me," she replied, "for I have watched Maud rehearse

her part many times. Also it is probable that some--if not all--of the

scenes of 'Samson and Delilah' will be taken over and over, half a dozen

times, before the director is satisfied."

"The performance seemed quite perfect to-day," said Uncle John. "I

suppose, Mrs. Montrose, you do not--er--er--act, yourself?"

"Oh. I have helped out, sometimes, when a matronly personation is

required, but my regular duties keep me busily engaged in the office."

"May we ask what those duties are?" said Louise.

"I'm the reader of scenarios."

"Dear me!" exclaimed Patsy. "I'm sure we don't know any more than we

did before."

"A 'scenario,'" said the lady, "is a description of the plot for a

photo-play. It is in manuscript form and hundreds of scenarios are

submitted to us from every part of the country, and by people in all

walks of life."

"I shouldn't think you could use so many," said Beth.

"We can't, my dear," responded the lady, laughing at her simplicity. "The

majority of the scenarios we receive haven't a single idea that is worth

considering. In most of the others the ideas are stolen, or duplicated

from some other picture-play. Once in a while, however, we find a plot of

real merit, and then we accept it and pay the author for it."

"How much?" inquired Arthur.

"So little that I am ashamed to tell you. Ideas are the foundation of

our business, and without them we could not make successful films; but

when Mr. Goldstein buys an idea he pays as little for it as possible, and

the poor author usually accepts the pittance with gratitude."

"We were a little surprised," Uncle John ventured to say, "to find you

connected with this--er--institution. I suppose it's all right; but those

girls--your nieces--"

"Yes, they are motion picture actresses, and I am a play reader. It is

our profession, Mr. Merrick, and we earn our living in this way. To be

frank with you, I am very proud of the fact that my girls are popular

favorites with the picture theatre audiences."

"That they are, Mrs. Montrose!" said Goldstein, the manager, a lean

little man, earnestly endorsing the statement; "and that makes them the

highest priced stars in all our fourteen companies of players. But

they're worth every cent we pay 'em--and I hope ev'rybody's satisfied."

Mrs. Montrose paid little deference to the manager. "He is only a detail

man," she explained when Goldstein had gone way, "but of course it is

necessary to keep these vast and diverse interests running smoothly, and

the manager has enough details on his mind to drive an ordinary mortal

crazy. The successful scenario writers, who conceive our best plays, are

the real heart of this business, and the next to them in importance are

the directors, or producers, who exercise marvelous cleverness in staging

the work of the authors."

"I suppose," remarked Arthur Weldon, "it is very like a theatre."

"Not so like as you might imagine," was the reply. "We employ scenery,

costumes and actors, but not in ways theatrical, for all our work is

subservient to the camera's eye and the requirements of photography."

While they were conversing, the two Stanton girls entered the office,

having exchanged their costumes for street clothes and washed the make-up

from their faces, which were now fresh and animated.

"Oh, Aunt Jane!" cried Flo, running to Mrs. Montrose, "we're dismissed

for the day. Mr. McNeil intends to develop the films before we do

anything more, and Maud and I want to spend the afternoon at the beach."

The lady smiled indulgently as Maud quietly supported her sister's

appeal, the while greeting her acquaintances of yesterday with her sweet,

girlish charm of manner.

"A half-holiday is quite unusual with us," she explained, "for it is the

custom to hold us in readiness from sunrise to sunset, in case our

services are required. An actress in a motion picture concern is the

slave of her profession, but we don't mind the work so much as we do

waiting around for orders."

"Suppose we all drive to the beach together," suggested Mr. Merrick. "We

will try to help you enjoy your holiday and it will be a rich treat to us

to have your society."

"Yes, indeed!" exclaimed Patsy Doyle. "I'm just crazy over this motion

picture business and I want to ask you girls a thousand questions

about it."

They graciously agreed to the proposition and at once made preparations

for the drive. Mrs. Montrose had her own automobile, but the party

divided, the four young girls being driven by Mr. Merrick's chauffeur in

his machine, while Uncle John, Arthur and Louise rode with Mrs. Montrose.

It did not take the young people long to become acquainted, and the air

of restraint that naturally obtained in the first moments gradually wore

away. They were all in good spirits, anticipating a jolly afternoon at

the ocean resorts, so when they discovered themselves to be congenial

companions they lost no time in stilted phrases but were soon chattering

away as if they had known one another for years.

CHAPTER V

A THRILLING RESCUE

"It must be fine to be an actress," said Patsy Doyle, with enthusiasm.

"If I had the face or the figure or the ability--all of which I sadly

lack--I'd be an actress myself."

"I suppose," replied Maud Stanton, thoughtfully, "it is as good a

profession for a girl as any other. But the life is not one of play, by

any means. We work very hard during the rehearsals and often I have

become so weary that I feared I would drop to the ground in sheer

exhaustion. Flo did faint, once or twice, during our first engagement

with the Pictograph Company; but we find our present employers more

considerate, and we have gained more importance than we had in the

beginning."

"It is dreadfully confining, though," remarked Florence, with a sigh.

"Our hours are worse than those of shopgirls, for the early morning sun

is the best part of the day for our work. Often we are obliged to reach

the studio at dawn. To be sure, we have the evenings to ourselves, but we

are then too tired to enjoy them."

"Did you choose, this profession for amusement, or from necessity?"

inquired Beth, wondering if the question sounded impertinent.

"Stern necessity," answered Maud with a smile. "We had our living to

earn."

"Could not your aunt assist you?" asked Patsy.

"Aunt Jane? Why, she is as poor as we are."

"Arthur Weldon used to know the Montroses," said Beth, "and be believed

Mr. Montrose left his widow a fortune."

"He didn't leave a penny," asserted Florence. "Uncle was a stock gambler,

and when he died he was discovered to be bankrupt."

"I must explain to you," said Maud, "that our father and mother were both

killed years ago in a dreadful automobile accident. Father left a small

fortune to be divided between Flo and me, and appointed Uncle George our

guardian. We were sent to a girls' school and nicely provided for until

uncle's death, when it was found he had squandered our little inheritance

as well as his own money."

"That was hard luck," said Patsy sympathetically.

"I am not so sure of that," returned the girl musingly. "Perhaps we are

happier now than if we had money. Our poverty gave us dear Aunt Jane for

a companion and brought us into a field of endeavor that has proved

delightful."

"But how in the world did you ever decide to become actresses, when so

many better occupations are open to women?" inquired Beth.

"Are other occupations so much better? A motion picture actress is quite

different from the stage variety, you know. Our performances are all

privately conducted, and although the camera is recording our actions it

is not like being stared at by a thousand critical eyes."

"A million eyes stare at the pictures," asserted Patsy.

"But we are not there to be embarrassed by them," laughed Flo.

"We have but one person to please," continued Maud, "and that is the

director. If at first the scene is not satisfactory, we play it again and

again, until it is quite correct. To us this striving for perfection is

an art. We actors are mere details of an artistic conception. We have now

been in Hollywood for five months, yet few people who casually notice us

at the hotel or on the streets have any idea that we act for the

'movies.' Sometimes we appear publicly in the streets, in characteristic

costume, and proceed to enact our play where all may observe us; but

there are so many picture companies in this neighborhood that we are no

longer looked upon as a novelty and the people passing by pay little

attention to us."

"Were you in that picture of the falling wall?" asked Beth.

"No. We were rehearsing for 'Samson and Delilah.' But sometimes we

are called upon to do curious things. One night, not long ago, a big

residence burned down in the foothills back of our hotel. At the

first alarm of fire one of the directors wakened us and we jumped

into our clothes and were whisked in an automobile to the scene of

the conflagration. The camera-man was already there and, while we

had to dodge the fire-fighters and the hose men, both Flo and I

managed to be 'saved from the flames' by some of our actors--not

once, but several times."

"It must have been thrilling!" gasped Patsy.

"It was exciting, at the moment," confessed Maud. "One of the pictures

proved very dramatic, so an author wrote a story where at the climax a

girl was rescued from the flames by her lover, and we took our time to

act the several scenes that led up to the fire. The completed picture was

a great success, I'm told."

"Those directors must be wonderfully enterprising fellows," said Beth.

"They are, indeed, constantly on the lookout for effects. Every incident

that occurs in real life is promptly taken advantage of. The camera-men

are everywhere, waiting for their chance. Often their pictures prove of

no value and are destroyed, but sometimes the scenes they catch are very

useful to work into a picture play. A few weeks ago I was shipwrecked on

the ocean and saved by clinging to a raft. That was not pleasant and I

caught a severe cold by being in the water too long; but I was chosen

because I can swim. Such incidents are merely a part of our game--a game

where personal comfort is frequently sacrificed to art. Once Flo leaped

over a thirty-foot precipice and was caught in a net at the bottom. The

net was, of course, necessary, but when the picture was displayed her

terrible leap was followed by a view of her mangled body at the bottom of

the canyon."

"How did they manage to do that?" asked Patsy.

"Stopped the camera, cut off the piece of film showing her caught by the

net, and substituted a strip on which was recorded Flo's body lying among

the jagged rocks, where it had been carefully and comfortably arranged.

We do a lot of deceptive tricks of that sort, and sometimes I myself

marvel at the natural effects obtained."

"It must be more interesting than stage acting."

"I believe it is. But we've never been on the stage," said Maud.

"How did you happen to get started in such a queer business?"

inquired Patsy.

"Well, after we found ourselves poor and without resources we began

wondering what we could do to earn money. A friend of Aunt Jane's knew a

motion picture maker who wanted fifty young girls for a certain picture

and would pay each of them five dollars a day. Flo and I applied for the

job and earned thirty dollars between us; but then the manager thought he

would like to employ us regularly, and with Auntie to chaperon us we

accepted the engagement. The first few weeks we merely appeared among the

rabble--something like chorus girls, you see--but then we were given

small parts and afterward more important ones. When we discovered our own

value to the film makers Auntie managed to get us better engagements, so

we've acted for three different concerns during the past two years, while

Aunt Jane has become noted as a clever judge of the merits of scenarios."

"Do both of you girls play star parts?" Beth inquired.

"Usually. Flo is considered the best 'child actress' in the business, but

when there is no child part she makes herself useful in all sorts of

ways. To-day, for instance, you saw her among the dancing girls. I do

the ingenue, or young girl parts, which are very popular just now. I did

not want to act 'Delilah,' for I thought I was not old enough; but Mr.

McNeil wanted me in the picture and so I made myself took as mature as

possible."

"You were ideal!" cried Patsy, admiringly.

The young girl blushed at this praise, but said deprecatingly:

"I doubt if I could ever be a really great actress; but then, I do not

intend to act for many more years. Our salary is very liberal at present,

as Goldstein grudgingly informed you, and we are saving money. As soon as

we think we have acquired enough to live on comfortably we shall abandon

acting and live as other girls do."

"The fact is," added Flo, "no one will employ us when we have lost our

youth. So we are taking advantage of these few fleeting years to make hay

while the sun shines."

"Do many stage actresses go into the motion picture business?"

asked Beth.

"A few, but all are not competent," replied Maud. "In the 'silent drama'

facial expression and the art of conveying information by a gesture is of

paramount importance. In other words, action must do the talking and

explain everything. I am told that some comedians, like 'Bunny' and

Sterling Mace, were failures on the stage, yet in motion pictures they

are great favorites. On the other hand, some famous stage actors can do

nothing in motion pictures."

On their arrival at Santa Monica Mr. Merrick invited the party to be his

guests at luncheon, which was served in a cosy restaurant overlooking

the ocean. And then, although at this season it was bleak winter back

East, all but Uncle John and Aunt Jane took a bath in the surf of the

blue Pacific, mingling with hundreds of other bathers who were enjoying

the sport.

Mrs. Montrose and Uncle John sat on the sands to watch the merry scene,

while the young people swam and splashed about, and they seemed--as Miss

Patsy slyly observed--to "get on very well together."

"And that is very creditable to your aunt," she observed to Maud Stanton,

who was beside her in the water, "for Uncle John is rather shy in the

society of ladies and they find him hard to entertain."

"He seems like a dear old gentleman," said Maud.

"He is, indeed, the dearest in all the world. And, if he likes your Aunt

Jane, that is evidence that she is all right, too; for Uncle John's

intuition never fails him in the selection of friends. He--"

"Dear me!" cried Maud; "there's someone in trouble, I'm sure."

She was looking out across the waves, which were fairly high to-day, and

Patsy saw her lean forward and strike out to sea with strokes of

remarkable swiftness. Bathers were scattered thickly along the coast, but

only a few had ventured far out beyond the life-lines, so Patsy naturally

sought an explanation by gazing at those farthest out. At first she was

puzzled, for all the venturesome seemed to be swimming strongly and

composedly; but presently a dark form showed on the crest of a wave--a

struggling form that tossed up its arms despairingly and then

disappeared.

She looked for Maud Stanton and saw her swimming straight out, but still

a long way from the person in distress. Then Patsy, always quick-witted

in emergencies, made a dash for the shore where a small boat was drawn up

on the beach.

"Come, Arthur, quick!" she cried to the young man, who was calmly wading

near the beach, and he caught the note of terror in her voice and

hastened to help push the little craft into the water.

"Jump in!" she panted, "and row as hard as you ever rowed in all

your life."

Young Weldon was prompt to obey. He asked no useless questions but,

realizing that someone was in danger, he pulled a strong, steady oar and

let Patsy steer the boat.

The laughter and merry shouts of the bathers, who were all unaware that a

tragedy was developing close at hand, rang in the girl's ears as she

peered eagerly ahead for a sign to guide her. Now she espied Maud

Stanton, far out beyond the others, circling around and diving into this

wave or that as it passed her.

"Whoever it was," she muttered, half aloud, "is surely done for by this

time. Hurry, Arthur! I'm afraid Maud has exhausted all her strength."

But just then Maud dived again and when she reappeared was holding fast

to something dark and inanimate. A moment later the boat swept to her

side and she said:

"Get him aboard, if you can. Don't mind me; I'm all right."

Arthur reached down and drew a slight, boyish form over the gunwale,

while Patsy clasped Maud's hand and helped the girl over the side. She

was still strong, but panted from her exertions to support the boy.

"Who is it?" inquired Patsy, as Arthur headed the boat for the shore.

Maud shook her head, leaning forward to look at the face of the rescued

one for the first time.

"I've never seen him before," she said. "Isn't it too bad that I reached

him too late?"

Patsy nodded, gazing at the white, delicate profile of the young fellow

as he lay lifeless at her feet. Too late, undoubtedly; and he was a mere

boy, with all the interests of life just unfolding for him.

Their adventure had now been noticed by some of the bathers, who crowded

forward to meet the boat as it grounded on the beach. Uncle John, always

keeping an eye on his beloved nieces, had noted every detail of the

rescue and as a dozen strong men pulled the boat across the sands, beyond

the reach of the surf, the Merrick automobile rolled up beside it.

"Now, then!" cried the little man energetically, and with the assistance

of his chauffeur he lifted the lifeless form into the car.

"The hospital?" said Patsy, nodding approval.

"Yes," he answered. "No; you girls can't come in your wet bathing suits.

I'll do all that can be done."

Even as he spoke the machine whirled away, and looking after it Maud

said, shaking her head mildly: "I fear he's right. Little can be done for

the poor fellow now."

"Oh, lots can be done," returned Patsy; "but perhaps it won't bring him

back to life. Anyhow, it's right to make every attempt, as promptly as

possible, and certainly Uncle John didn't waste any time."

Beth and Florence now joined them and Louise came running up to ask eager

questions.

"Who was it, Patsy?"

"We don't know. Some poor fellow who got too far out and had a cramp,

perhaps. Or his strength may have given out. He didn't seem very rugged."

"He was struggling when first I saw him," said Maud. "It seemed dreadful

to watch the poor boy drowning when hundreds of people were laughing and

playing in the water within earshot of him."

"That was the trouble," declared Arthur Weldon. "All those people were

intent on themselves and made so much noise that his cries for help could

not be heard."

The tragedy, now generally known, had the effect of sobering the bathers

and most of them left the water and trooped to the bathhouses to dress.

Mrs. Montrose advised the girls to get their clothes on, as all were

shivering--partly from nervousness--in their wet bathing suits.

They were ready an hour before Mr. Merrick returned, and his long absence

surprised them until they saw his smiling face as he drove up in his car.

It gave them a thrill of hope as in chorus they cried:

"Well--Uncle John?"

"I think he will live," returned the little man, with an air of great

satisfaction. "Anyway, he's alive and breathing now, and the doctors say

there's every reason to expect a rapid recovery."

"Who is he?" they asked, crowding around him.

"A. Jones."

"A--what?" This from Patsy, in a doubtful tone.

"Jones. A. Jones."

"Why, he must have given you an assumed name!"

"He didn't give us any name. As soon as he recovered consciousness he

fell asleep, and I left him slumbering as peacefully as a baby. But we

went through his clothes, hoping to get a trace of his friends, so they

could be notified. His bathing suit is his own, not rented, and the name

'A. Jones' is embroidered on tape and sewn to each piece. Also the key to

bathhouse number twenty-six was tied to his wrist. The superintendent

sent a man for his clothing and we examined that, too. The letters 'A.J.'

were stamped in gold on his pocketbook, and in his cardcase were a number

of cards engraved: 'A. Jones, Sangoa.' But there were no letters, or any

other papers."

"Where is Sangoa?" inquired Beth.

"No one seems to know," confessed Uncle John. "There was plenty of money

in his pocket-book and he has a valuable watch, but no other jewelry.

His clothes were made by a Los Angeles tailor, but when they called him

up by telephone he knew nothing about his customer except that he had

ordered his suit and paid for it in advance. He called for it three days

ago, and carried it away with him, so we have no clue to the boy's

dwelling place."

"Isn't that a little strange--perhaps a little suspicious?" asked

Mrs. Montrose.

"I think not, ma'am," answered Mr. Merrick. "We made these

investigations at the time we still feared he would die, so as to

communicate with any friends or relatives he might have. But after he

passed the crisis so well and fell asleep, the hospital people stopped

worrying about him. He seems like any ordinary, well-to-do young

fellow, and a couple of days in the hospital ought to put him upon his

feet again."

"But Sangoa, Uncle; is that a town or a country?"

"Some out-of-the-way village, I suppose. People are here from every crack

and corner of America, you know."

"It sounds a bit Spanish," commented Arthur. "Maybe he is from Mexico."

"Maybe," agreed Uncle John. "Anyhow, Maud has saved his life, and if it's

worth anything to him he ought to be grateful."

"Never mind that," said Maud, flushing prettily with embarrassment as all

eyes turned upon her, "I'm glad I noticed him in time; but now that he is

all right he need never know who it was that rescued him. And, for that

matter, sir, Patsy Doyle and Mr. Weldon did as much for him as I.

Perhaps they saved us both, while your promptness in getting him to the

hospital was the main factor in saving his life."

"Well, it's all marked down in the hospital books," remarked Uncle John.

"I had to tell the whole story, you see, as a matter of record, and all

our names are there, so none can escape the credit due her--or him."

"In truth," said Mrs. Montrose with a smile, "it really required four of

you to save one slender boy."

"Yes, he needed a lot of saving," laughed Flo. "But," her pretty face

growing more serious, "I believe it was all Fate, and nothing else. Had

we not come to the beach this afternoon, the boy might have drowned; so,

as I suggested the trip, I'm going to take a little credit myself."

"Looking at it in that light," said Patsy, "the moving picture man saved

the boy's life by giving you a half-holiday."

This caused a laugh, for their spirits were now restored to normal. To

celebrate the occasion, Mr. Merrick proposed to take them all into Los

Angeles to dine at a "swell restaurant" before returning to Hollywood.

This little event, in conjunction with the afternoon's adventure, made

them all more intimate, so that when they finally reached home and

separated for the night they felt like old friends rather than recent

acquaintances.

CHAPTER VI

A. JONES

There was work for the Stanton girls at the "film factory," as they

called it, next morning, so they had left the hotel before Mr. Merrick's

party assembled at the breakfast table.

"I must telephone the Santa Monica hospital and find out how our patient

is," remarked Uncle John, when the meal was over; but presently he

returned from the telephone booth with a puzzled expression upon his

face. "A. Jones has disappeared!" he announced.

"Disappeared! What do you mean, Uncle?" asked Beth.

"He woke early and declared he was himself again, paid his bill, said

'good morning' to the hospital superintendent and walked away. He

wouldn't answer questions, but kept asking them. The nurse showed him the

book with the record of how he was saved, but she couldn't induce him to

say who he was, where he came from nor where he was going. Seems a little

queer, doesn't it?"

They all confessed that it did.

"However," said Patsy Doyle, "I'm glad he recovered, and I'm sure Maud

will be when she hears the news. The boy has a perfect right to keep his

own counsel, but he might have had the grace to tell us what that initial

'A.' stands for, and where on earth Sangoa is."

"I've been inquiring about Sangoa," announced Arthur, just then joining

the group, "and no one seems wiser than we are. There's no record of such

a town or state in Mexico, or in the United States--so far as I can

discover. The clerk has sent for a map of Alaska, and perhaps we'll find

Sangoa there."

"What does it matter?" inquired Louise.

"Why, we don't like to be stumped," asserted Patsy, "that's all. Here is

a young man from Sangoa, and--"

"Really," interrupted Beth, who was gazing through the window, "I believe

here _is_ the young man from Sangoa!"

"Where?" they all cried, crowding forward to look.

"Coming up the walk. See! Isn't that the same mysterious individual whose

life Maud saved?"

"That's the identical mystery," declared Uncle John. "I suppose he has

come here to look us up and thank us."

"Then, for heaven's sake, girls, pump him and find out where Sangoa is,"

said Arthur hastily, and the next moment a bell boy approached their

party with a card.

They looked at the young fellow curiously as he came toward them. He

seemed not more than eighteen years of age and his thin features wore a

tired expression that was not the result of his recent experience but

proved to be habitual. His manner was not languid, however, but rather

composed; at the same time he held himself alert, as if constantly on his

guard. His dress was simple but in good taste and he displayed no

embarrassment as he greeted the party with a low bow.

"Ah," said Uncle John, heartily shaking his hand, "I am delighted to

find you so perfectly recovered."

A slight smile, sad and deprecating, flickered for an instant over his

lips. It gave the boyish face a patient and rather sweet expression as he

slowly replied:

"I am quite myself to-day, sir, and I have come to assure you of my

gratitude for your rescue of me yesterday. Perhaps it wasn't worth all

your bother, but since you generously took the trouble to save me, the

least I can do is to tender you my thanks." Here he looked from one to

another of the three girls and continued: "Please tell me which young

lady swam to my assistance."

"Oh, it was none of us," said Patsy. "Miss Stanton--Maud Stanton--swam

out to you, when she noticed you were struggling, and kept you afloat

until we--until help came."

"And Miss Stanton is not here?"

"Not at present, although she is staying at this hotel."

He gravely considered this information for a moment. As he stood there,

swaying slightly, he appeared so frail and delicate that Uncle John

seized his arm and made him sit down in a big easy chair. The boy sighed,

took a memorandum from his pocket and glanced at it.

"Miss Doyle and Mr. Weldon pulled out in a boat and rescued both Miss

Stanton and me, just as we were about to sink," he said. "Tell me,

please, if either Miss Doyle or Mr. Weldon is present."

"I am Arthur Weldon," said that young gentleman; "but I was merely the

boatman, under command of Miss Doyle, whom I beg to present to you."

A. Jones looked earnestly into Patsy's face. Holding out his hand he

said with his odd smile: "Thank you." Then he turned to shake Arthur's

hand, after which he continued: "I also am indebted to Mr. Merrick for

carrying me to the hospital. The doctor told me that only this prompt

action enabled them to resuscitate me at all. And now, I believe it

would be courteous for me to tell you who I am and how I came to be in

such dire peril."

He paused to look around him questioningly and the interest on every

face was clearly evident. Arthur took this opportunity to introduce Jones

to Louise and Beth and then they all sat down again. Said Uncle John to

the stranger, in his frank and friendly way:

"Tell us as much or as little as you like, my boy. We are not unduly

inquisitive, I assure you."

"Thank you, sir. I am an American, and my name is Jones. That is, I may

claim American parentage, although I was born upon a scarcely known

island in the Pacific which my father purchased from the government of

Uruguay some thirty years ago."

"Sangoa?" asked Arthur.

He seemed surprised at the question but readily answered:

"Yes; Sangoa. My father was a grandnephew of John Paul Jones and very

proud of the connection; but instead of being a sailor he was a

scientist, and he chose to pass his life in retirement from the world."

"Your father is no longer living, then?" said Mr. Merrick.

"He passed away a year ago, on his beloved island. My mother died

several years before him. I began to feel lonely at Sangoa and I was

anxious to visit America, of which my mother had so often told me. So

some months ago I reached San Francisco, since when I have been traveling

over your country--my country, may I call it?--and studying your modern

civilization. In New York I remained fully three months. It is only about

ten days since I returned to this coast."

He stopped abruptly, as if he considered he had told enough. The brief

recital had interested his auditors, but the ensuing pause was rather

embarrassing.

"I suppose you have been visiting relatives of your parents," remarked

Uncle John, to ease the situation.

"They--had no relatives that I know of," he returned. "I am quite alone

in the world. You must not suppose I am unaccustomed to the water," he

hastened to add, as if to retreat from an unpleasant subject. "At Sangoa

I have bathed in the sea ever since I can remember anything; but--I am

not in good health. I suffer from indigestion, a chronic condition,

which is my incubus. Yesterday my strength suddenly deserted me and I

became helpless."

"How fortunate it was that Maud noticed you!" exclaimed Patsy, with

generous sympathy.

Again the half sad smile softened his face as he looked at her.

"I am not sure it was wholly fortunate for me," he said, "although I

admit I have no wish to end my uninteresting life by drowning. I am not a

misanthrope, in spite of my bad stomach. The world is more useful to me

than I am to the world, but that is not my fault. Pardon me for talking

so much about myself."

"Oh, we are intensely interested, I assure you," replied Patsy. "If some

of us were indeed the instruments that saved you yesterday, it is a

pleasure to us to know something of the--the man--we saved."

She had almost said "boy," he was such a youthful person, and he knew it

as well as she did.

"I would like to meet Miss Stanton and thank her personally," he

presently resumed. "So, if you have no objection, I think I shall

register at this hotel and take a room. I--I am not very strong yet, but

perhaps Miss Stanton will see me when I have rested a little."

"She won't return before five o'clock," explained Mr. Merrick. "Miss

Stanton is--er--connected with a motion picture company, you know, and is

busy during the day."

He seemed both surprised and perplexed, at first, but after a moment's

thought he said:

"She is an actress, then?"

"Yes; she and her sister. They have with them an aunt, Mrs. Montrose, for

companion."

"Thank you. Then I will try to meet them this evening."

As he spoke he rose with some difficulty and bade them adieu. Arthur went

with him to the desk and proffered his assistance, but the young man said

he needed nothing but rest.

"And just think of it," said Patsy, when he had gone. "We don't know yet

what that 'A' stands for!"

"Arthur," suggested Louise.

"Albert," said Beth.

"Or Algernon," added Uncle John with a chuckle.

"But we haven't seen the last of him yet," declared Miss Doyle. "I've a

romance all plotted, of which A. Jones is to be the hero. He will fall in

love with Maud and carry her away to his island!"

"I'm not so sure of that result," observed Uncle John thoughtfully. "It

wouldn't astonish me to have him fall in love with Maud Stanton; we've

all done that, you know; but could Maud--could any girl--be attracted by

a lean, dismal boy with a weak stomach, such as A. Jones?"

"Even with these drawbacks he is quite interesting," asserted Beth.

"He is sure to win her sympathy," said Louise.

"But, above all," declared Patsy, "he has an island, inherited from his

royal daddy. That island would count for a lot, with any girl!"

CHAPTER VII

THE INVALID

The girls intercepted Maud Stanton when she returned to the hotel that

evening, and told her all about A. Jones. The tale was finished long

before that dyspeptic youth had wakened from his slumbers. Then they all

dressed for dinner and afterward met in the lobby, where Uncle John told

them he had arranged to have a big round table prepared for the entire

party, including a seat for A. Jones, who might like to join them.

However, the young man did not make his appearance, and as they trooped

into the dining room Patsy said resentfully:

"I believe A. Jones is in a trance and needs rolling on a barrel again."

"He probably found himself too weak to appear in public," replied Flo

Stanton. "I'm sure if I had been all but drowned a few hours ago, I would

prefer bed to society."

"I'm astonished that he summoned energy to visit us at all," declared

Mrs. Montrose. "He may be weak and ill, but at least he is grateful."

"Jones seems a vary gentlemanly young fellow," said Mr. Merrick. "He is a

bit shy and retiring, which is perhaps due to his lonely life on his

island; but I think he has been well brought up."

As they came out from dinner they observed the porters wheeling several

big trunks up the east corridor. The end of each trunk was lettered:

"A. Jones."

"Well," said Beth, with an amused smile, "he intends to stay a while,

anyhow. You'll have a chance to meet him yet, Maud."

"I'm glad of that," answered Maud, "for I am anxious to calculate the

worth of the life I helped to save. Your reports are ambiguous, and I am

undecided whether you are taking the boy seriously or as a joke. From

your description of his personal appearance, I incline to the belief that

under ordinary circumstances I would not look twice at Mr. Jones, but

having been partly instrumental in preserving him to the world, I

naturally feel a proprietary interest in him."

"Of course," said Flo. "He's worth one look, out of pure curiosity; but

it would be dreadful to have him tagging you around, expressing his

everlasting gratitude."

"I don't imagine he'll do that," observed Patsy Doyle. "A. Jones strikes

me as having a fair intellect in a shipwrecked body, and I'll wager a

hatpin against a glove-buttoner that he won't bore you. At the same time

he may not interest you--or any of us--for long, unless he develops

talents we have not discovered. I wonder why he doesn't use his whole

name. That mystic 'A' puzzles me."

"It's an English notion, I suppose," said Mrs. Montrose.

"But he isn't English; he's American."

"Sangoese," corrected Beth.

"Perhaps he doesn't like his name, or is ashamed of it," suggested

Uncle John.

"It may be 'Absalom,'" said Flo. "We once knew an actor named Absalom,

and he always called himself 'A. Judson Keith.' He was a dignified chap,

and when we girls one day called him 'Ab,' he nearly had hysterics."

"Mr. Werner had hysterics to-day," asserted Maud, gravely; "but I didn't

blame him. He sent out a party to ride down a steep hill on horseback, as

part of a film story, and a bad accident resulted. One of the horses

stepped in a gopher hole and fell, and a dozen others piled up on him,

including their riders."

"How dreadful!" was the general exclamation.

"Several of the horses broke their legs and had to be shot," continued

Maud; "but none of the riders was seriously injured except little

Sadie Martin, who was riding a bronco. The poor thing was caught under

one of the animals and the doctor says she won't be able to work again

for months."

"Goodness me! And all for the sake of a picture?" cried Patsy

indignantly. "I hope you don't take such risks, Maud."

"No; Flo and I have graduated from what is called 'the bronco bunch,' and

now do platform work entirely. To be sure we assume some minor risks in

that, but nothing to compare with the other lines of business."

"I hope the little girl you mentioned will get well, and has enough money

to tide her over this trouble," said Uncle John anxiously.

"The manager will look after her," returned Mrs. Montrose. "Our people

are very good about that and probably Sadie Martin's salary will continue

regularly until she is able to work again."

"Well," said Beth, drawing a long breath, "I suppose we shall read all

about it in the morning papers."

"Oh, no!" exclaimed Maud and added: "These accidents never get into the

papers. They happen quite often, around Los Angeles, where ten thousand

or more people make their living from motion pictures; but the public is

protected from all knowledge of such disasters, which would detract from

their pleasure in pictures and perhaps render all films unpopular."

"I thought the dear public loved the dare-devil acts," remarked

Arthur Weldon.

"Oh, it does," agreed Mrs. Montrose; "yet those who attend the picture

theatres seem not to consider the action taking place before their eyes

to be real. Here are pictures only--a sort of amplified story book--and

the spectators like them exciting; but if they stopped to reflect that

men and women in the flesh were required to do these dangerous feats for

their entertainment, many would be too horrified to enjoy the scenes. Of

course the makers of the pictures guard their actors in all possible

ways; yet, even so, casualties are bound to occur."

They had retired to a cosy corner of the public drawing room and were

conversing on this interesting topic when they espied A. Jones walking

toward them. The youth was attired in immaculate evening dress, but his

step was slow and dragging and his face pallid.

Arthur and Uncle John drew up an easy chair for him while Patsy performed

the introductions to Mrs. Montrose and her nieces. Very earnestly the boy

grasped the hand of the young girl who had been chiefly responsible for

his rescue, thanking her more by his manner than in his few carefully

chosen words.

As for Maud, she smilingly belittled her effort, saying lightly: "I

know I must not claim that it didn't amount to anything, for your life is

valuable, Mr. Jones, I'm sure. But I had almost nothing to do beyond

calling Patsy Doyle's attention to you and then swimming out to keep you

afloat until help came. I'm a good swimmer, so it was not at all

difficult."

"Moreover," he added, "you would have done the same thing for anyone in

distress."

"Certainly."

"I realize that. I am quite a stranger to you. Nevertheless, my gratitude

is your due and I hope you will accept it as the least tribute I can pay

you. Of all that throng of bathers, only you noticed my peril and came to

my assistance."

"Fate!" whispered Flo impressively.

"Nonsense," retorted her sister. "I happened to be the only one looking

out to sea. I think, Mr. Jones, you owe us apologies more than gratitude,

for your folly was responsible for the incident. You were altogether too

venturesome. Such action on this coast, where the surf rolls high and

creates an undertow, is nothing less than foolhardy."

"I'm sure you are right," he admitted. "I did not know this coast, and

foolishly imagined the old Pacific, in which I have sported and played

since babyhood, was my friend wherever I found it."

"I hope you are feeling better and stronger this evening," said Mr.

Merrick. "We expected you to join us at dinner."

"I--I seldom dine in public," he explained, flushing slightly. "My

bill-of-fare is very limited, you know, owing to my--my condition; and so

I carry my food-tablets around with me, wherever I go, and eat them in my

own room."

"Food-tablets!" cried Patsy, horrified.

"Yes. They are really wafers--very harmless--and I am permitted to eat

nothing else."

"No wonder your stomach is bad and you're a living skeleton!" asserted

the girl, with scorn.

"My dear," said Uncle John, gently chiding her, "we must give Mr. Jones

the credit for knowing what is best for him."

"Not me, sir!" protested the boy, in haste. "I'm very ignorant

about--about health, and medicine and the like. But in New York I

consulted a famous doctor, and he told me what to do."

"That's right," nodded the old gentleman, who had never been ill in his

life. "Always take the advice of a doctor, listen to the advice of a

lawyer, and refuse the advise of a banker. That's worldly wisdom."

"Were you ill when you left your home?" inquired Mrs. Montrose, looking

at the young man with motherly sympathy.

"Not when I left the island," he said. "I was pretty well up to that

time. But during the long ocean voyage I was terribly sick, and by the

time we got to San Francisco my stomach was a wreck. Then I tried to eat

the rich food at your restaurants and hotels--we live very plainly in

Sangoa, you know--and by the time I got to New York I was a confirmed

dyspeptic and suffering tortures. Everything I ate disagreed with me. So

I went to a great specialist, who has invented these food tablets for

cases just like mine, and he ordered me to eat nothing else."

"And are you better?" asked Maud.

He hesitated.

"Sometimes I imagine I am. I do not suffer so much pain, but I--I seem

to grow weaker all the time."

"No wonder!" cried Patsy. "If you starve yourself you can't grow strong."

He looked at her with an expression of surprise. Then he asked abruptly:

"What would you advise me to do, Miss Doyle?"

A chorus of laughter greeted this question. Patsy flushed a trifle but

covered her confusion by demanding: "Would you follow my advice?"

He made a little grimace. There was humor in the boy, despite his

dyspepsia.

"I understand there is a law forbidding suicide," he replied. "But I

asked your advice in an attempt to discover what you thought of my absurd

condition. Now that you call my attention to it, I believe I _am_

starving myself. I need stronger and more nourishing food; and yet the

best specialist in your progressive country has regulated my diet."

"I don't believe much in specialists," asserted Patsy. "If _you_ do, go

ahead and kill yourself, in defiance of the law. According to common

sense you ought to eat plenty of good, wholesome food, but you may be so

disordered--in your interior--that even that would prove fatal. So I

won't recommend it."

"I'm doomed, either way," he said quietly. "I know that."

"_How_ do you know it?" demanded Maud in a tone of resentment.

He was silent a moment. Then he replied:

"I cannot remember how we drifted into this very personal argument. It

seems wrong for me to be talking about myself to those who are

practically strangers, and you will realize how unused I am to the

society of ladies by considering my rudeness in this interview."

"Pshaw!" exclaimed Uncle John; "we are merely considering you as a

friend. You must believe that we are really interested in you," he

continued, laying a kindly hand on the young fellow's shoulder. "You seem

in a bad way, it's true, but your condition is far from desperate.

Patsy's frankness--it's her one fault and her chief virtue--led you to

talk about yourself, and I'm surprised to find you so despondent

and--and--what do you call it, Beth?"

"Pessimistic?"

"That's it--pessimistic."

"But you're wrong, sir!" said the boy with a smile; "I may not be elated

over my fatal disease, but neither am I despondent. I force myself to

keep going when I wonder how the miserable machine responds to my urging,

and I shall keep it going, after a fashion, until the final breakdown.

Fate weaves the thread of our lives, I truly believe, and she didn't use

very good material when she started mine. But that doesn't matter," he

added quickly. "I'm trying to do a little good as I go along and not

waste my opportunities. I'm obeying my doctor's orders and facing the

future with all the philosophy I can summon. So now, if you--who have

given me a new lease of life--think I can use it to any better advantage,

I am willing to follow your counsel."

His tone was more pathetic than his words. Maud, as she looked at the boy

and tried to realize that his days were numbered, felt her eyes fill

with tears. Patsy sniffed scornfully, but said nothing. It was Beth who

remarked with an air of unconcern that surprised those who knew her

unsympathetic nature:

"It would be presumptuous for us to interfere, either with Fate or with

Nature. You're probably dead wrong about your condition, for a sick

person has no judgment whatever, but I've noticed the mind has a good

deal to do with one's health. If you firmly believe you're going to die,

why, what can you expect?"

No one cared to contradict this and a pause followed that was growing

awkward when they were all aroused by the sound of hasty footsteps

approaching their corner.

CHAPTER VIII

THE MAGIC OF A NAME

The newcomer proved to be Goldstein, the manager of the Continental.

His face was frowning and severe as he rudely marched up to the group

and, without the formality of a greeting, pointedly addressed the

Stanton girls.

"What does it mean?" he demanded in evident excitement, for his voice

shook and the accusing finger he held out trembled. "How does it happen

that my people, under contract to work for the Continental, are working

for other firms?"

Maud paled and her eyes glistened with resentment as she rose and faced

her manager. Florence pulled her sister's sleeve and said with a forced

laugh: "Sit down, Maud; the man has probably been drinking."

He turned on the young girl fiercely, but now it was Arthur Weldon who

seized the manager's arm and whirled him around.

"Sir, you are intruding," he said sternly. "If you have business with

these ladies, choose the proper time and place to address them."

"I have!" cried Goldstein, blusteringly. "They have treated me

shamefully--unprofessionally! They have played me a trick, and I've the

right to demand why they are working for a rival firm while in my pay."

Mrs. Montrose now arose and said with quiet dignity:

"Mr. Goldstein, you are intruding, as Mr. Weldon says. But you have said

so much to defame my nieces in the eyes of our friends, here assembled,

that you must explain yourself more fully."

The manager seemed astonished by his reception. He looked from one to

another and said more mildly:

"It is easy enough for _me_ to explain, but how can the Stantons explain

their conduct? They are under contract to act exclusively for the

Continental Film Company and I pay them a liberal salary. Yet only

yesterday, when I was kind enough to give them a holiday, they went down

to the beach and posed for a picture for our rivals, the Corona

Company!"

"You are mistaken, sir!" retorted Arthur. "The young ladies were in our

company the entire afternoon and they did not pose for any picture

whatever."

"Don't tell me!" cried Goldstein. "I've just seen the picture down town.

I was going by one of the theatres when I noticed a placard that read:

'Sensational Film by Maud Stanton, the Queen of Motion Picture Actresses,

entitled "A Gallant Rescue!" First run to-night.' I went in and saw the

picture--with my own eyes!--and I saw Maud Stanton in a sea scene,

rescuing a man who was drowning. Don't deny it, Miss," he added, turning

upon Maud fiercely. "I saw it with my own eyes--not an hour ago!"

After a moment's amazed silence his hearers broke into a chorus of

laughter, led by Flo, who was almost hysterical. Even A. Jones smiled

indulgently upon the irate manager, who was now fairly bristling with

indignation.

"The Corona people," remarked Arthur Weldon, "are quite enterprising. I

did not know they had a camera-man at the beach yesterday, but he must

have secured a very interesting picture. It was not posed, Mr. Goldstein,

but taken from life."

"It was Maud Stanton!" asserted, the manager.

"Yes; she and some others. A man was really drowning and the brave girl

swam to his rescue, without a thought of posing."

"I don't believe it!" cried the man rudely.

Here A. Jones struggled to his feet.

"It is true," he said. "I was the drowning man whom Miss Stanton saved."

Goldstein eyed him shrewdly.

"Perhaps you were," he admitted, "for the man in the picture was about

your style of make-up. But how can you prove it was not a put-up job with

the Corona people? How do I know you are not all in the employ of the

Corona people?"

"I give you my word."

"Pah! I don't know you."

"I see you don't," returned the youth stiffly.

"Here is my card. Perhaps you will recognize the name."

He fumbled in his pocket, took out a card and handed it to the manager.

Goldstein looked at it, started, turned red and then white and began

bobbing his head with absurd deference to the youth.

"Pardon, Mr. Jones--pardon!" he gasped. "I--I heard you were in our

neighborhood, but I--I did not recognize you. I--I hope you will pardon

me, Mr. Jones! I was angry at what I supposed was the treachery of an

employee. You will--will--understand that, I am sure. It is my duty to

protect the interests of the Continental, you know, sir. But it's all

right now, of course! Isn't it all right now, Mr. Jones?"

"You'd better go, Goldstein," said the boy in a weary tone, and sat

down again.

The manager hesitated. Then he bowed to Maud Stanton and to the others,

murmuring:

"All a mistake, you see; all a mistake. I--I beg everybody's pardon."

With this he backed away, still bowing, and finally turned and beat a

hasty retreat. But no one was noticing him especially. All eyes were

regarding the boy with a new curiosity.

"That Goldstein is an ill-bred boor!" remarked Uncle John in an

annoyed tone.

"I suppose," said Maud, slowly, "he thought he was right in demanding an

explanation. There is great rivalry between the various film

manufacturers and it was rather mean of the Corona to put my name on

that placard."

"It's wonderful!" exclaimed Patsy. "How did they get the picture, do

you suppose?"

"They have camera-men everywhere, looking for some picture worth while."

explained Mrs. Montrose. "If there's a fire, the chances are a camera-man

is on the spot before the firemen arrive. If there's an accident, it is

often caught by the camera before the victim realizes what has happened.

Perhaps a camera-man has been at the beach for weeks, waiting patiently

for some tragedy to occur. Anyway, he was on hand yesterday and quietly

ran his film during the excitement of the rescue. He was in rare luck to

get Maud, because she is a favorite with the public; but it was not fair

to connect her name with the picture, when they know she is employed by

the Continental."

Young Jones rose from his chair with a gesture of weariness.

"If you will excuse me," he said, "I will go to my room. Our little

conversation has given me much pleasure; I'm so alone in the world.

Perhaps you will allow me to join you again--some other time?"

They hastened to assure him his presence would always be welcome. Patsy

even added, with her cheery smile, that they felt a certain

proprietorship in him since they had dragged him from a watery grave. The

boy showed, as he walked away, that he was not yet very steady on his

feet, but whether the weakness was the result of his malady or his recent

trying experience they could not determine.

"What staggers me," said Maud, looking after him, "is the effect his name

had on Goldstein, who has little respect or consideration for anyone. Who

do you suppose A. Jones is?"

"Why, he has told us," replied Louise. "He is an islander, on his first

visit to this country."

"He must be rather more than that," declared Arthur. "Do you remember

what the manager said to him?"

"Yes," said Beth. "He had heard that A. Jones was in this neighborhood,

but had never met him. A. Jones was a person of sufficient importance

to make the general manager of the Continental Film Company tremble in

his boots."

"He really did tremble," asserted Patsy, "and he was abject in his

apologies."

"Showing," added Flo Stanton, "that Goldstein is afraid of him."

"I wonder why," said Maud.

"It is all very easy of solution," remarked Arthur. "Goldstein believes

that Jones is in the market to buy films. Perhaps he's going to open a

motion picture theatre on his island. So the manager didn't want to

antagonize a good customer."

"That's it," said Uncle John, nodding approval. "There's no great mystery

about young Jones, I'm sure."

CHAPTER IX

DOCTOR PATSY

Next morning Uncle John and the Weldons--including the precious

baby--went for a ride into the mountains, while Beth and Patsy took their

embroidery into a sunny corner of the hotel lobby.

It was nearly ten o'clock when A. Jones discovered the two girls and came

tottering toward them. Tottering is the right word; he fairly swayed as

he made his way to the secluded corner.

"I wish he'd use a cane," muttered Beth in an undertone. "I have the

feeling that he's liable to bump his nose any minute."

Patsy drew up a chair for him, although he endeavored to prevent her.

"Are you feeling better this morning?" she inquired.

"I--I think so," he answered doubtfully. "I don't seem to get back my

strength, you see."

"Were you stronger before your accident?" asked Beth.

"Yes, indeed. I went swimming, you remember. But perhaps I was not

strong enough to do that. I--I'm very careful of myself, yet I seem to

grow weaker all the time."

There was a brief silence, during which the girls plied their needles.

"Are you going to stay in this hotel?" demanded Patsy, in her blunt way.

"For a time, I think. It is very pleasant here," he said.

"Have you had breakfast?"

"I took a food-tablet at daybreak."

"Huh!" A scornful exclamation. Then she glanced at the open door of

the dining-hall and laying aside her work she rose with a determined

air and said:

"Come with me!"

"Where?"

For answer she assisted him to rise. Then she took his hand and marched

him across the lobby to the dining room.

He seemed astonished at this proceeding but made no resistance. Seated

at a small table she called a waitress and said:

"Bring a cup of chocolate, a soft-boiled egg and some toast."

"Pardon me, Miss Doyle," he said; "I thought you had breakfasted."

"So I have," she replied. "The breakfast I've ordered is for you, and

you're going to eat it if I have to ram it down your throat."

"But--Miss Doyle!"

"You've told us you are doomed. Well, you're going to die with a

full stomach."

"But the doctor--"

"Bother the doctor! I'm your doctor, now, and I won't send in a bill,

thank your stars."

He looked at her with his sad little smile.

"Isn't this a rather high-handed proceeding, Miss Doyle?"

"Perhaps."

"I haven't employed you as my physician, you know."

"True. But you've deliberately put yourself in my power."

"How?"

"In the first place, you tagged us here to this hotel."

"You don't mind, do you?"

"Not in the least. It's a public hostelry. In the second place, you

confided to us your disease and your treatment of it--which was really

none of our business."

"I--I was wrong to do that. But you led me on and--I'm so lonely--and you

all seemed so generous and sympathetic--that I--I--"

"That you unwittingly posted us concerning your real trouble. Do you

realize what it is? You're a hypo--hypo--what do they call

it?--hypochondriac!"

"I am not!"

"And your doctor--your famous specialist--is a fool."

"Oh, Miss Doyle!"

"Also you are a--a chump, to follow his fool advice. You don't need

sympathy, Mr. A. Jones. What you need is a slapstick."

"A--a--"

"A slapstick. And that's what you're going to get if you don't

obey orders."

Here the maid set down the breakfast, ranging the dishes invitingly

before the invalid. His face had expressed all the emotions from

amazement to terror during Patsy's tirade and now he gazed from her firm,

determined features to the eggs and toast, in an uncertain, helpless way

that caused the girl a severe effort to curb a burst of laughter.

"Now, then," she said, "get busy. I'll fix your egg. Do you want more

sugar in your chocolate? Taste it and see. And if you don't butter that

toast before it gets cold it won't be fit to eat."

He looked at her steadily now, again smiling.

"You're not joking, Miss Doyle?"

"I'm in dead earnest."

"Of course you realize this is the--the end?"

"Of your foolishness? I hope so. You used to eat like a sensible boy,

didn't you?"

"When I was well."

"You're well now. Your only need is sustaining, strengthening food. I

came near ordering you a beefsteak, but I'll reserve that for lunch."

He sipped the chocolate.

"Yes; it needs more sugar," he said quietly. "Will you please butter my

toast? It seems to me such a breakfast is worth months of suffering. How

delicious this egg is! It was the fragrance of the egg and toast that

conquered me. That, and--"

"And one sensible, determined girl. Don't look at me as if I were a

murderess! I'm your best friend--a friend in need. And don't choke down

your food. Eat slowly. Fletcherize--chew your food, you know. I know

you're nearly famished, but you must gradually accustom yourself to a

proper diet."

He obeyed meekly. Patsy's face was calm, but her heart beat fast, with a

thrill of fear she could not repress. Acting on impulse, as she had, the

girl now began to consider that she was personally responsible for

whatever result might follow this radical treatment for dyspepsia. Had

she been positive it _was_ dyspepsia, she would never have dared

interfere with a doctor's orders; but she felt that the boy needed food

and would die unless he had it. He might die from the effect of this

unusual repast, in which case she would never forgive herself.

Meantime, the boy had cast aside all fear. He had protested, indeed, but

his protests being overruled he accepted his food and its possible

consequences with philosophic resignation and a growing satisfaction.

Patsy balked on the third slice of toast and took it away from him. She

also denied him a second cup of chocolate. He leaned back in his chair

with a sigh of content and said:

"Bless the hen that laid that egg! No dainty was ever more delicious. And

now," he added, rising, "let us go and inquire the address of a good

undertaker. I have made my will, and I'd like to be cremated--it's so

much nicer than the old-fashioned burial, don't you think?"

"I'll attend to all that, if you wish," she replied, trying to repress a

shudder as she followed him from the room. "Do you smoke?"

"I used to, but the doctor forbade it; so I gave it up entirely."

"Go over to that stand and buy a cigar. Then you may sit beside Beth and

me and smoke it."

The girl did not wholly approve of smoking and had often chided Uncle

John and her father and Arthur Weldon for indulging in the habit; but

this advice to young Jones was given in desperation, because all the men

of her family stoutly affirmed that a cigar after a meal assisted

digestion. She resumed her former seat beside Beth, and her cousin

quickly read the anxiety on her face.

"What did you do, Patricia?"

"I fed him."

"Did he really eat?"

"Like a starved cat."

"Hm-m-m," said Beth. "What next, I wonder?"

Patsy wondered, too, the cold shivers chasing one another up and down her

back. The boy was coming toward them, coolly puffing a cigar. He did not

seem to totter quite so much as before, but he was glad to sink into an

easy chair.

"How do you feel?" asked Beth, regarding him curiously.

"Like one of those criminals who are pampered with all the good things

of life before being led to the scaffold."

"Any pains?"

He shook his head.

"Not yet. I've asked the clerk, whenever I signal him, to send someone to

carry me to my room. If I'm not able to say good-bye to you, please

accept now my thanks for all your kindness to a stranger. You see, I'm

not sure whether I'll have a sudden seizure or the pains will come on

gradually."

"What pains?" demanded Patsy.

"I can't explain them. Don't you believe something is bound to happen?"

he inquired, nervously removing the ash from his cigar.

"To be sure. You're going to get well."

He made no reply, but sat watching Beth's nimble fingers. Patsy was too

excited to resume her embroidery.

"I wonder if you are old enough to smoke?" remarked Beth.

"I'm over twenty-one."

"Indeed! We decided you were about eighteen."

"But we are not Spanish in Sangoa."

"What are your people?"

"Formerly all Americans. The younger generation are, like myself I

suppose, Sangoans by birth. But there isn't a black or yellow or brown

man on our island."

"How many inhabitants has Sangoa?"

"About six hundred, all told."

There was silence for a while.

"Any pains yet?" inquired Beth.

"Not yet. But I'm feeling drowsy. With your permission I'll lie down and

take a nap. I slept very little last night."

He threw away his cigar, which he had smoked nearly to the end, and

rising without assistance, bowed and walked away.

"Will he ever waken, I wonder?" said Beth softly.

"Of course," declared Patsy. "He has crossed the Rubicon and is going to

get well. I feel it in my bones!"

"Let us hope," responded Beth, "that Ajo also feels it in his bones,

rather than in his stomach."

CHAPTER X

STILL A MYSTERY

The day advanced to luncheon time and Uncle John and the Weldons came

back from their mountain trip. Hollywood is in the foothills and over the

passes are superb automobile roads into the fruitful valleys of San

Fernando and La Canada.

"Seen anything of the boy--A. Jones?" inquired Arthur.

"Yes; and perhaps we've seen the last of him," answered Beth.

"Oh. Has he gone?"

"No one knows. Patsy fed him and he went to sleep. What has happened

since we cannot tell."

The girls then related the experiences of the morning, at which both

Uncle John and Arthur looked solemn and uncomfortable. But Louise

said calmly:

"I think Patsy was quite right. I wouldn't have dared such a thing

myself, but I'm sure that boy needed a square meal more than anything. If

he dies, that breakfast has merely hastened his end; but if he doesn't

die it will do him good."

"There's another possibility," remarked Uncle John. "He may be suffering

agonies with no one to help him."

Patsy's face was white as chalk. The last hour or two had brought her

considerable anxiety and her uncle's horrible suggestion quite unnerved

her. She stole away to the office and inquired the number of Mr. Jones'

room. It was on the ground floor and easily reached by a passage. The

girl tiptoed up to the door and putting her ear to the panel listened

intently. A moment later a smile broke over her face; she chuckled

delightedly and then turned and ran buck to her friends.

"He's snoring like a walrus!" she cried triumphantly.

"Are you sure they are not groans?" asked Arthur.

"Pah! Can't I recognize a snore when I hear it? And I'll bet it's the

first sound sleep he's had in a month."

Mr. Merrick and Arthur went to the door of the boy's room to satisfy

themselves that Patsy was not mistaken, and the regularity of the sounds

quickly convinced them the girl was right. So they had a merry party at

luncheon, calling Patsy "Doctor" with grave deference and telling her she

had probably saved the life of A. Jones for a second time.

"And now," proposed Uncle John, when the repast was over, "let us drive

down to the sea and have a look at that beautiful launch that came in

yesterday. Everyone is talking about it and they say it belongs to some

foreign prince."

So they motored to Santa Monica and spent the afternoon on the sands,

watching the bathers and admiring the graceful outlines of the big yacht

lying at anchor a half mile from the shore. The boat was something of a

mystery to everybody. It was named the "Arabella" and had come from

Hawaii via San Francisco; but what it was doing here and who the owner

might be were questions no one seemed able to answer. Rumor had it that

a Japanese prince had come in it to inspect the coast line, but newspaper

reporters were forbidden to scale the side and no satisfaction was given

their eager questioning by the bluff old captain who commanded the craft.

So the girls snapped a few kodak pictures of the handsome yacht and then

lost interest in it.

That evening they met Mrs. Montrose and the Stanton girls at dinner and

told them about the boy, who still remained invisible. Uncle John had

listened at his door again, but the snores had ceased and a deathlike

silence seemed to pervade the apartment. This rendered them all a trifle

uneasy and when they left the dining room Arthur went to the hotel clerk

and asked:

"Have you seen Mr. Jones this evening?"

"No," was the reply. "Do you know him?"

"Very slightly."

"Well, he's the queerest guest we've ever had. The first day he ate

nothing at all. This morning I hear he had a late breakfast. Wasn't

around to lunch, but a little while ago we sent a meal to his room that

would surprise you."

"Indeed!"

"Yes. A strange order it was! Broiled mushrooms, pancakes with maple

syrup and ice cream. How is that for a mix-up--and at dinner time, too!"

said the clerk, disgustedly.

Arthur went back and reported.

"All right," said Patsy, much relieved. "We've got him started and now he

can take care of himself. Come, Uncle; let's all go down town and see the

picture that drove Mr. Goldstein crazy."

"He was very decent to us to-day," asserted Flo Stanton.

"Did he ask any explanation about Maud's appearing in the picture of a

rival company?" inquired Arthur.

"No, not a word."

"Did he mention Mr. Jones, who conquered him so mysteriously?"

asked Beth.

"Not at all. Goldstein confined himself strictly to business; but he

treated us with unusual courtesy," explained Maud.

They were curious to see the films of the rescue, and the entire party

rode to the down-town theatre where the Corona picture was being run.

Outside the entrance they found the audacious placard, worded just as

Goldstein had reported, and they all agreed it was a mean trick to claim

another firm's star as their own.

"I do not think the Corona Company is responsible for this announcement,"

said Uncle John. "It is probably an idea of the theatre proprietor, who

hoped to attract big business in that way."

"He has succeeded," grumbled Arthur, as he took his place at the end of a

long line of ticket buyers.

The picture, as it flashed on the screen, positively thrilled them. First

was shown the crowd of merry bathers, with Patsy and Maud standing in the

water a little apart from the others. Then the boy--far out beyond the

rest--threw up his arms, struggling desperately. Maud swam swiftly toward

him, Patsy making for the shore. The launching of the boat, the race to

rescue, Maud's effort to keep the drowning one afloat, and the return to

the shore, where an excited crowd surrounded them--all was clearly shown

in the picture. Now they had the advantage of observing the expressions

on the faces of the bathers when they discovered a tragedy was being

enacted in their midst. The photographs were so full of action that the

participants now looked upon their adventure in a new light and regarded

it far more seriously than before.

The picture concluded with the scene where Uncle John lifted the body

into the automobile and dashed away with it to the hospital.

Maud Stanton, used as she was to seeing herself in motion pictures, was

even more impressed than the others when observing her own actions at a

time when she was wholly unconscious that a camera-man had his lens

focused upon her.

"It's a great picture!" whispered Flo, as they made their way out of the

crowded theatre. "Why can't all our films be as natural and absorbing as

this one?"

"Because," said her sister, "in this case there is no acting. The picture

carries conviction with a force that no carefully rehearsed scene could

ever accomplish."

"That is true," agreed her Aunt Jane. "The nature scenes are the best,

after all."

"The most unsatisfactory pictures I have ever seen," remarked Uncle John,

"were those of prominent men, and foreign kings, and the like, who stop

before the camera and bow as awkwardly as a camel. They know they are

posing, and in spite of their public experience they're as bashful as

schoolboys or as arrogant as policemen, according to their personal

characteristics."

"Did you notice the mob of children in that theatre?" asked Patsy, as

they proceeded homeward. "I wish there were more pictures made that are

suitable to their understandings."

"They enjoy anything in the way of a picture," said Arthur. "It isn't

necessary to cater to children; they'll go anyhow, whatever is shown."

"That may be, to an extent, true," said Beth. "Children are fascinated by

any sort of motion pictures, but a lot of them must be wholly

incomprehensible to the child mind. I agree with Patsy that the little

ones ought to have their own theatres and their own pictures."

"That will come, in time," prophesied Aunt Jane. "Already the film

makers are recognizing the value of the children's patronage and are

trying to find subjects that especially appeal to them."

They reached the hotel soon after ten o'clock and found "Ajo" seated in

the lobby. He appeared much brighter and stronger than the day before and

rose to greet Patsy with a smile that had lost much of its former sad

expression.

"Congratulate me, Dr. Doyle," said he. "I'm still alive, and--thanks to

your prescription--going as well as could be expected."

"I'm glad I did the right thing," she replied; "but we were all a little

worried for fear I'd make a mistake."

"I have just thrown away about a thousand of those food-tablets," he

informed her with an air of pride. "I am positive there is no substitute

for real food, whatever the specialists may say. In fact," he continued

more soberly, "I believe you have rescued me a second time from certain

death, for now I have acquired a new hope and have made up my mind to

get well."

"Be careful not to overdo it," cautioned Uncle John. "You ordered a

queer supper, we hear."

"But it seemed to agree with me. I've had a delightful sleep--the first

sound sleep in a month--and already I feel like a new man. I waited up to

tell you this, hoping you would be interested."

"We are!" exclaimed Patsy, who felt both pride and pleasure. "This

evening we have been to see the motion picture of your rescue from

drowning."

"Oh. How did you like it?"

"It's a splendid picture. I'm not sure it will interest others as much as

ourselves, yet the people present seemed to like it."

"Well it was their last chance to observe my desperate peril and my

heroic rescue," said the boy. "The picture will not be shown after

to-night."

"Why not?" they asked, in surprise.

"I bought the thing this afternoon. It didn't seem to me quite modest to

exploit our little adventure in public."

This was a new phase of the strange boy's character and the girls did

not know whether to approve it or not.

"It must have cost you something!" remarked Flo, the irrepressible.

"Besides, how could you do it while you were asleep?"

"Why, I wakened long enough to use the telephone," he replied with a

smile. "There are more wonderful inventions in the world than motion

pictures, you know."

"But you like motion pictures, don't you?" asked Maud, wondering why he

had suppressed the film in question.

"Very much. In fact, I am more interested in them than in anything else,

not excepting the telephone--which makes Aladdin's lamp look like a

firefly in the sunshine."

"I suppose," said Flo, staring into his face with curious interest,

"that you will introduce motion pictures into your island of Sangoa,

when you return?"

"I suppose so," he answered, a little absently. "I had not considered

that seriously, as yet, but my people would appreciate such a treat,

I'm sure."

This speech seemed to destroy, in a manner, their shrewd conjecture

that he was in America to purchase large quantities of films. Why,

then, should Goldstein have paid such abject deference to this

unknown islander?

In his own room, after the party had separated for the night, Mr. Merrick

remarked to Arthur Weldon as they sat smoking their cigars:

"Young Jones is evidently possessed of some means."

"So it seems," replied Arthur. "Perhaps his father, the scientific

recluse, had accumulated some money, and the boy came to America to get

rid of it. He will be extravagant and wasteful for awhile, and then go

back to his island with the idea that he has seen the world."

Uncle John nodded.

"He is a rather clean-cut young fellow," said he, "and the chances are he

won't become dissipated, even though he loses his money through lack of

worldly knowledge or business experience. A boy brought up and educated

on an island can't be expected to prove very shrewd, and whatever the

extent of his fortune it is liable to melt like snow in the sunshine."

"After all," returned Arthur, "this experience won't hurt him. He will

still have his island to return to."

They smoked for a time in silence.

"Has it ever occurred to you, sir," said Arthur, "that the story Jones

has related to us, meager though it is, bears somewhat the stamp of a

fairy tale?"

Uncle John removed his cigar and looked reflectively at the ash.

"You mean that the boy is not what he seems?"

"Scarcely that, sir. He seems like a good boy, in the main. But his story

is--such as one might invent if he were loath to tell the truth."

Uncle John struck a match and relit his cigar.

"I believe in A. Jones, and I see no reason to doubt his story," he

asserted. "If real life was not full of romance and surprises, the

novelists would be unable to interest us in their books."

CHAPTER XI

A DAMSEL IN DISTRESS

The day had not started auspiciously for the Stanton sisters. Soon after

they arrived at the Continental Film Company's plant Maud had wrenched

her ankle by stumbling over some loose planks which had been carelessly

left on the open-air stage, and she was now lying upon a sofa in the

manager's room with her limb bandaged and soaked with liniment.

Flo was having troubles, too. A girl who had been selected by the

producer to fall from an aeroplane in mid-air had sent word she was ill

and could not work to-day, and the producer had ordered Flo to prepare

for the part. Indignantly she sought the manager, to file a protest, and

while she waited in the anteroom for an audience, Mr. A. Jones of Sangoa

came in and greeted her with a bow and a smile.

"Good gracious! Where did _you_ come from?" she inquired.

"My hotel. I've just driven over to see Goldstein," he replied.

"You'll have to wait, I'm afraid," she warned him. "The manager is busy

just now. I've been wiggling on this bench half an hour, and haven't seen

him yet--and my business is very important."

"So is mine, Miss Flo," he rejoined, looking at her with an odd

expression. Then, as a stenographer came hurrying from the inner room, he

stopped the girl and said:

"Please take my card to Mr. Goldstein."

"Oh, he won't see anybody now, for he's busy talking with one of our

producers. You'll have to call again," she said flippantly. But even as

she spoke she glanced at the card, started and turned red. "Oh, pardon

me!" she added hastily and fled back to the managerial sanctum.

"That's funny!" muttered Flo, half to herself.

"Yes," he said, laughing, "my cards are charged with electricity, and

they're bound to galvanize anyone in this establishment. Come in, Miss

Flo," he added, as Goldstein rushed out of his office to greet the boy

effusively; "your business takes precedence to mine, you know."

The manager ushered them into his office, a big room with a busy aspect.

At one end were two or three girls industriously thumping typewriters;

McNeil, the producer, was sorting manuscript on Goldstein's own desk; a

young man who served as the manager's private secretary was poring over a

voluminous record-book, wherein were listed all the films ever made by

the manufacturers of the world. On a sofa in a far corner reclined the

injured "star" of the company, Maud Stanton, who--being half asleep at

the moment--did not notice the entrance of her sister and young Jones.

"Sit down, Mr. Jones; pray sit down!" exclaimed Goldstein eagerly,

pointing to his own chair. "Would you like me to clear the room, so that

our conversation may be private?"

"Not yet," replied the boy, refusing the seat of honor and taking a

vacant chair. "Miss Stanton has precedence, and I believe she wishes to

speak with you."

Goldstein took his seat at the desk and cast an inquiring glance at Flo.

"Well?" he demanded, impatiently.

"Mr. Werner has ordered me to do the airship stunt for his picture,

because Nance Holden isn't here to-day," began the girl.

"Well, why annoy me with such trifles? Werner knows what he wants, and

you'll do as well as the Holden girl."

"But I don't want to tumble out of that airship," she protested.

"There's no danger. Life nets will be spread underneath the aeroplane,"

said the manager. "The camera merely catches you as you are falling, so

the thing won't be more than twenty or thirty feet from the ground. Now

run away and don't bother. I must speak with Mr. Jones."

"But I'm afraid, Mr. Goldstein!" pleaded the girl. "I don't want to go up

in the aeroplane, and these stunts are not in my line, or what I was

engaged to do."

"You'll do what I tell you!" asserted the manager, with marked

irritation. "I won't stand for any rebellion among my actors, and you'll

do as Werner orders or you'll forfeit your week's pay."

Here Maud half rose from her sofa to address her employer.

"Please, Mr. Goldstein," she said, "don't make Flo do that fall. There

are plenty of other girls to take her place, and she--"

"Silence, Miss Stanton!" roared the manager. "You'll disrupt all

discipline if you interfere. A nice time we'd have here, if we allowed

our actors to choose their own parts! I insist that your sister obey my

producer's orders."

"Quite right, Goldstein," remarked young Jones, in his quiet voice.

"You've carried your point and maintained discipline. I like that. Miss

Flo Stanton will do exactly what you request her to do. But you're going

to change your mind and think better of her protest. I'm almost sure,

Goldstein, from the expression of your face, that you intend to issue

prompt orders that another girl must take her place."

Goldstein looked at him steadily a moment and the arrogant expression

changed to one of meek subservience.

"To be sure!" he muttered. "You have read my mind accurately, Mr. Jones.

Here, Judd," to his secretary, "find Werner and tell him I don't approve

his choice of Flo Stanton as a substitute for Nance Holden. Let's see;

tell him to put that Moore girl in her place."

The young fellow bowed and left the room. McNeil smiled slyly to himself

as he bent over his manuscript. Jones had gone to Maud's side to inquire

anxiously after her injury.

"I don't imagine it will amount to much," she said reassuringly. "Mr.

Goldstein wants me to rest quietly until this afternoon, when our new

photo-play is to be produced. I'm to do the leading part, you know, and

he thinks I'll be able by that time to get through all right."

Goldstein overheard this and came toward them, rubbing his hands together

nervously.

"That seems unwise, Miss Maud," objected Jones. "To use your foot so

soon might make it much worse. Let us postpone the play until some

other time."

Goldstein's face was a study. His body twitched spasmodically.

"Oh, Mr. Jones!" he exclaimed; "that's impossible; it wouldn't do at

all! We've been rehearsing this play and preparing for its production for

the last two weeks, and to-day all our actors and assistants are here and

ready to make the picture. I've already postponed it four hours--until

this afternoon--to favor Miss Stanton, but, really--"

"Never mind the details," interrupted the boy. "I do not consider Miss

Stanton able to do her work to-day. Send her back to her hotel at once

and order the play postponed until she is able to attend."

Goldstein was greatly disturbed by this order, issued quietly but in a

tone of command that brooked no opposition. Again he glanced shrewdly at

the young man, and in the manager's face astonishment and fear were

intermingled.

"Sir," he said in repressed tones, for he was really angry and had been

accustomed to wield the power of an autocrat in this establishment, "you

are placing me in an embarrassing position. I am expected to make every

day count, so that the Continental may pay a liberal profit to its

owners. To follow your instructions would burden us with an enormous

expense, quite useless, I assure you, and--"

"Very well. Incur the expense, Goldstein."

"All right, Mr. Jones. Excuse me a moment while I issue instructions for

the postponement."

McNeil rose and faced the manager.

"Are you really going to postpone this important play?" he demanded, in a

voice of wonder.

Goldstein was glad to vent his chagrin on the producer.

"No insolence, sir!" he roared. "Come with me, and," as he dragged McNeil

to the door and paused there, "if you dare lisp a word of what you've

overheard, I'll fire you like a shot!"

When they had left the room Maud said with a puzzled air:

"I can't understand your power over Goldstein, Mr. Jones. He is a

dictator--almost a tyrant--and in this place his word is law. At least,

it was until you came, and--and--"

"Don't try to understand it, Miss Stanton," he answered in a careless

manner. "Do you think you can manage to crawl to the automobile, or shall

we carry you?"

"I'll bet Goldstein has murdered someone, and Mr. Jones knows all about

it!" exclaimed Flo, who had been an interested witness of the scene.

Maud stood up, with her sister's support, and tested her lame ankle.

"It still hurts a little," she said, "but I can manage to hobble on it."

"Get your sister's wraps," the boy said to Flo, "and we'll send her

straight home."

"I expect Goldstein will dock my salary, as well as fine Flo," remarked

Maud musingly, as she waited for her hat and coat. "He obeyed you very

meekly, Mr. Jones, but I could see a wicked glitter in his eye,

nevertheless."

"I am sure the manager will neither dock nor fine either of you," he

replied reassuringly. "On the contrary, you might sue the company for

damages, for leaving that lumber where you would fall over it."

"Oh, no," she returned, laughing at the idea. "We have signed contracts

waiving any damages for injuries sustained while at work on the premises.

We all have to do that, you know, because the business is hazardous at

its best. On the other hand, Mr. Goldstein has a physician and surgeon

always within call, in case of accident, and the service is quite free to

all the employees."

He nodded.

"I know. But the fact that you signed such a contract, under compulsion,

would not prevent the court from awarding damages, if you sustained them

while on duty."

"This hurt is nothing of importance," she said hastily. "In a day or two

I shall be able to walk as well as ever."

Flo came running back with Maud's things. Aunt Jane followed, saying

that if Maud was to go to the hotel she would accompany her and take

care of her.

"I've examined the ankle," she said to young Jones, "and I assure you it

is not a severe strain. But it is true that she will be better off in her

own room, where she can rest quietly. So I will go with her."

"How about Miss Flo?" asked the boy.

"Flo is very self-reliant and will get along to-day very nicely without

me," replied Mrs. Montrose.

Mr. Goldstein entered, frowning and still resenting the interference of

this Mr. A. Jones of Sangoa. But he ventured no further protest nor did

he speak until Maud, Flo and Aunt Jane had all left the room.

"You're not going, Mr. Jones?" he asked.

"Only to see Miss Stanton started for home. Then I'll come back and have

a little talk with you."

"Thank you, sir."

CHAPTER XII

PICTURES, GIRLS AND NONSENSE

"Well, Aunt Jane," said Maud Stanton, when their car was rolling toward

the hotel and the girl had related the remarkable interview in the

office, "what do you think of Ajo now?"

"He is certainly an amazing young man," was the reply. "I cannot in any

way figure out his connection with Goldstein, or his power over the man.

The Continental Film Manufacturing Company is a great corporation, with

headquarters in New York, and Mr. Goldstein is the authorized head and

manager of the concern on the Pacific coast. I understand his salary is

ten thousand a year. On the other hand, young Jones has only been in this

country for a year, coming from an insignificant island somewhere in the

South Seas, where he was born and reared. Much of the time since he

arrived in America he has been an invalid. Aside from this meager

information, no one seems to know anything about him."

"Putting the case that way makes it all the more remarkable," observed

Maud. "A big, experienced, important man, cowed by a mere boy. When

Goldstein first met this callow, sallow youth, he trembled before him.

When the boy enters the office of the great film company he dictates to

the manager, who meekly obeys him. Remember, too, that A. Jones, by his

interference, has caused a direct loss to the company, which Goldstein

will have to explain, as best he may, in his weekly report to the New

York office. A more astonishing state of affairs could not be imagined,

Aunt Jane!"

"The puzzle will solve itself presently," said the lady. "Abnormal

conditions seldom last long."

Maud passed the day in bed, quietly reading a book. Her injury was really

slight and with rest it mended rapidly. Patsy and Beth came in to see her

and in the conversation that ensued the girls were told of the latest

mystery surrounding A. Jones.

"It is surely queer!" admitted Miss Doyle, impressed and thoughtful.

"Uncle John and Arthur were saying this noon, at lunch, that Ajo was a

helpless sort of individual and easily influenced by others--as witness

his caving in to me when I opposed his doctor's treatment. Arthur thinks

he has come to this country to squander what little money his father left

him and that his public career outside the limits of his little island

will be brief. Yet according to your story the boy is no weakling but has

power and knows how to use it."

"He surely laid down the law to Goldstein," said Maud.

"He is very young," remarked Beth, ignoring the fact that she was herself

no older, "and perhaps that is why we attach so much importance to his

actions. A grown-up man is seldom astonishing, however eccentric he may

prove to be. In a boy we expect only boyishness, and young Jones has

interested us because he is unique."

After a little the conversation drifted to motion pictures, for both

Patsy and Beth were eager to learn all about the business details of film

making, which Maud, by reason of her months of experience, was able to

explain to them in a comprehensive manner. Flo came home toward evening,

but had little more to tell them, as the day had passed very quietly at

the "studio." Jones had remained closeted with the manager for a full

hour, and it was remarked that after he had gone away Goldstein was

somewhat subdued and performed his duties less aggressively than usual.

Maud's visitors now left her to dress for dinner, at which meal she was

able to rejoin them, walking with a slight limp but otherwise recovered

from her accident. To their surprise, young Jones appeared as they were

entering the dining room and begged for a seat at their table. Uncle John

at once ordered another place laid at the big round table, which

accommodated the company of nine very nicely.

Ajo sat between Patsy and Maud and although he selected his dishes with

some care he partook of all the courses from soup to dessert.

The morning interview with Goldstein was not mentioned. Ajo inquired

about Maud's hurt but then changed the subject and conversed upon nearly

everything but motion pictures. However, after they had repaired to the

hotel lobby and were seated together in a cosy, informal group, Patsy

broached a project very near to her heart.

"Beth and I," said she, "have decided to build a Children's

Picture Theatre."

"Where?" asked Uncle John, rather startled by the proposition.

"Here, or in Los Angeles," was the reply.

"You see," explained Beth, "there is a crying need for a place where

children may go and see pictures that appeal especially to them and are,

at the same time, quite proper for them to witness. A great educational

field is to be opened by this venture, and Patsy and I would enjoy the

work of creating the first picture theatre, exclusively for children,

ever established in America."

"You may say, 'in the world,'" added Arthur. "I like this idea of yours,

girls, and I hope you will carry it out."

"Oh, they'll carry it out, all right," remarked Uncle John. "I've been

expecting something of this sort, ever since we came here. My girls,

Mr. Jones," he said, turning to the young man, "are always doing some

quaint thing, or indulging in some queer enterprise, for they're a

restless lot. Before Louise married, she was usually in these skirmishes

with fate, but now--"

"Oh, I shall join Patsy and Beth, of course," asserted Louise. "It will

make it easier for all, to divide the expense between us, and I am as

much interested in pictures as they are."

"Perhaps," said Patsy musingly, "we might build two theatres, in

different parts of the city. There are so many children to be amused. And

we intend to make the admission price five cents."

"Have you any idea what it costs to build one of these picture theatres?"

asked Arthur.

"We're not going to build one of 'these' theatres," retorted Patsy. "Many

of the dens I've been in cost scarcely anything, being mere shelters. The

city is strewn with a lot of miserable, stuffy theatres that no one can

enjoy sitting in, even to see a good picture. We have talked this over

and decided to erect a new style of building, roomy and sanitary, with

cushioned seats and plenty of broad aisles. There are one or two of this

class already in Los Angeles, but we want to make our children's theatres

a little better than the best."

"And the expense?"

"Well, it will cost money, of course. But it will be a great delight to

the children--bless their little hearts!"

"This is really a business enterprise," added Beth gravely.

Uncle John chuckled with amusement.

"Have you figured out the profits?" he inquired.

"It really ought to pay, Uncle," declared Patsy, somewhat nettled by this

flaccid reception of her pet scheme. "All the children will insist on

being taken to a place like that, for we shall show just the pictures

they love to see. And, allowing there is no money to be made from the

venture, think of the joy we shall give to innumerable little ones!"

"Go ahead, my dears," said Uncle John, smiling approval. "And, if you

girls find you haven't enough money to carry out your plans, come to me."

"Oh, thank you, Uncle!" exclaimed Beth. "But I feel sure we can manage

the cost ourselves. We will build one of the theatres first, and if that

is a success we will build others."

"But about those films, made especially for children," remarked Arthur.

"Where will you get them?"

"Why, there are lots of firms making films," replied Patsy. "We can

select from all that are made the ones most suitable for our purpose."

"I fear you cannot do that," said Mrs. Montrose, who had listened with

wonder to this conversation. "There are three combinations, or 'trusts,'

among the film makers, which are known as the Licensed, the Mutual and

the Independents. If you purchase from one of these trusts, you cannot

get films from the others, for that is their edict. Therefore you will

have only about one-third of the films made to select from."

"I thought money would buy anything--in the way of merchandise," said

Louise, half laughing and half indignant.

"Not from these film dictators," was the reply.

"They all make a few children's pictures," announced Maud Stanton. "Even

the Continental turns out one occasionally. But there are not nearly

enough, taken all together, to supply an exclusive children's theatre."

"Then we will have some made," declared Patsy. "We will order some fairy

tales, such as the children like. They would be splendid in motion

pictures."

"Some have already been made and exhibited," said Mrs. Montrose. "The

various manufacturers have made films of the fairy tales of Hans

Andersen, Frank Baum, Lewis Carroll and other well-known writers."

"And were they successful?"

"Quite so, I believe; but such films are seldom put out except at

holiday time."

"I think, Beth," said Patsy to her cousin, in a businesslike tone, "that

we must organize a company and make our own films. Then we can get

exactly what we want."

"Oh, yes!" replied Beth, delighted with the suggestion. "And let us get

Maud and Flo to act in our pictures. Won't it be exciting?"

"Pardon me, young ladies," said A. Jones, speaking for the first time

since this subject had been broached. "Would it not be wise to consider

the expense of making films, before you undertake it?"

Patsy looked at him inquiringly.

"Do you know what the things cost?" she asked.

"I've some idea," said he. "Feature films of fairy tales, such as you

propose, cost at least two thousand dollars each to produce. You would

need about three for each performance, and you will have to change your

programmes at least once a week. That would mean an outlay of not less

than six thousand dollars a week, which is doubtless more money than your

five-cent theatre could take in."

This argument staggered the girls for a moment. Then Beth asked: "How do

the ordinary theatres manage?"

"The ordinary theatre simply rents its pictures, paying about three

hundred dollars a week for the service. There is a 'middleman,' called

the 'Exchange,' whose business is to buy the films from the makers and

rent them to the theatres. He pays a big price for a film, but is able

to rent it to dozens of theatres, by turns, and by this method he not

only gets back the money he has expended but makes a liberal profit."

"Well," said Patsy, not to be baffled, "we could sell several copies of

our films to these middlemen, and so reduce the expense of making them

for our use."

"The middleman won't buy them," asserted Jones. "He is the thrall of one

or the other of the trusts, and buys only trust pictures."

"I see," said Uncle John, catching the idea; "it's a scheme to destroy

competition."

"Exactly," replied young Jones.

"What does the Continental do, Maud?" asked Patsy.

"I don't know," answered the girl; "but perhaps Aunt Jane can tell you."

"I believe the Continental is a sort of trust within itself," explained

Mrs. Montrose. "Since we have been connected with the company I have

learned more or less of its methods. It employs a dozen or so producing

companies and makes three or four pictures every week. The concern has

its own Exchange, or middleman, who rents only Continental films to the

theatres that patronize him."

"Well, we might do the same thing," proposed Patsy, who was loath to

abandon her plan.

"You might, if you have the capital," assented Mrs. Montrose. "The

Continental is an immense corporation, and I am told it has more than a

million dollars invested."

"Two millions," said A. Jones.

The girls were silent a while, seriously considering this startling

assertion. They had, between them, considerable money, but they realized

they could not enter a field that required such an enormous investment as

film making.

"I suppose," said Beth regretfully, "we shall have to give up

making films."

"Then where are we to get the proper pictures for our theatre?"

demanded Patsy.

"It is quite evident we _can't_ get them," said Louise. "Therefore we may

be obliged to abandon the theatre proposition."

Another silence, still more grave. Uncle John was discreet enough to say

nothing. The Stantons and Mrs. Montrose felt it was not their affair.

Arthur Weldon was slyly enjoying the chagrin visible upon the faces of

Mr. Merrick's three pretty nieces.

As for A. Jones, he was industriously figuring upon the back of an

envelope with a stubby bit of pencil.

CHAPTER XIII

A FOOLISH BOY

It was the youthful Sangoan who first broke the silence. Glancing at the

figures he had made he said:

"It is estimated that if twenty picture theatres use any one film--copies

of it, of course--that film will pay for its cost of making. Therefore,

if you build twenty children's theatres, instead of the one or two you

originally proposed, you would be able to manufacture your own films and

they would be no expense to you."

They gazed at him in bewilderment.

"That is all simple enough!" laughed Arthur. "Twenty picture theatres at

twenty thousand dollars each--a low estimate, my dears, for such as you

require--would mean an investment of four hundred thousand dollars. A

film factory, with several producing companies to keep it busy, and all

the necessary paraphernalia of costumes and properties, would mean a

million or so more. Say a million and a half, all told. Why, it's a mere

bagatelle!"

"Arthur!" Severely, from Louise.

"I advise you girls to economize in other ways and devote your resources

to this business, which might pay you--and might not," he continued,

oblivious to stony glares.

"Really, Mr. Jones," said Beth, pouting, "we were not joking, but in

real earnest."

"Have I questioned it, Miss De Graf?"

"Mr. Jones was merely trying to show you how--er--er--how impractical

your idea was," explained Uncle John mildly.

"No; I am in earnest, too," said the boy. "To prove it, I will agree to

establish a plant and make the pictures, if the young ladies will build

the twenty theatres to show them in."

Here was another suggestion of a bewildering nature. Extravagant as

the offer seemed, the boy was very serious. He blushed a little as he

observed Mr. Merrick eyeing him earnestly, and continued in an

embarrassed, halting way: "I--I assure you, sir, that I am able to

fulfill my part of the agreement. Also I would like to do it. It

would serve to interest me and keep me occupied in ways that are not

wholly selfish. My--my other business does not demand my personal

attention, you see."

To hear this weak, sickly youth speak of investing a million dollars in

a doubtful enterprise, in spite of the fact that he lived on a far-away

island and was a practical stranger in America, set them all to

speculating anew in regard to his history and condition in life. Seeing

that the boy had himself made an opening for a logical query, Uncle

John asked:

"Do you mind telling us what this other business is, to which you refer?"

A. Jones moved uneasily in his chair. Then he glanced quickly around the

circle and found every eye regarding him with eager curiosity. He blushed

again, a deep red this time, but an instant later straightened up and

spoke in a tone of sudden resolve.

"Most people dislike to speak of themselves," he said, "and I am no

exception. But you, who have kindly received me as a friend, after having

generously saved me from an untimely death, have surely the right to

know something about me--if, indeed, the subject interests you."

"It is but natural that we should feel an interest in you, Mr. Jones,"

replied Mr. Merrick; "yet I assure you we have no desire to pry into your

personal affairs. You have already volunteered a general statement of

your antecedents and the object of your visit to America, and that, I

assure you, will suffice us. Pardon me for asking an impertinent

question."

The boy seemed perplexed, now.

"I did not consider it impertinent, sir. I made a business proposal to

your nieces," he said, "and before they could accept such a proposal they

would be entitled to know something of my financial standing."

For a green, inexperienced youth, he spoke with rare acumen, thought Mr.

Merrick; but the old gentleman had now determined to shield the boy from

a forced declaration of his finances, so he said:

"My nieces can hardly afford to accept your proposition. They are really

able to build one or two theatres without inconveniencing themselves,

but twenty would be beyond their means. You, of course, understand they

were not seeking an investment, but trying, with all their hearts, to

benefit the children. I thoroughly approve their original idea, but if it

requires twenty picture theatres to render it practical, they will

abandon the notion at once."

Jones nodded absently, his eyes half closed in thought. After a brief

pause he replied:

"I hate to see this idea abandoned at the very moment of its birth. It's

a good idea, and in no way impractical, in my opinion. So permit me to

make another proposition. I will build the twenty theatres myself, and

furnish the films for them, provided the young ladies will agree to

assume the entire management of them when they are completed."

Dead silence followed this speech. The girls did some rapid-fire mental

calculations and realized that this young man was proposing to invest

something like fourteen hundred thousand dollars, in order that they

might carry out their philanthropic conception. Why should he do this,

even if he could afford it?

Both Mr. Merrick and Arthur Weldon were staring stolidly at the floor.

Their attitudes expressed, for the first time, doubt--if not positive

unbelief. As men of considerable financial experience, they regarded the

young islander's proposition as an impossible one.

Jones noted this blank reception of his offer and glanced appealingly at

Patsy. It was an uncomfortable moment for the girl and to avoid meeting

his eyes she looked away, across the lobby. A few paces distant stood a

man who leaned against a table and held a newspaper before his face.

Patsy knew, however, that he was not reading. A pair of dark, glistening

eyes peered over the top of the paper and were steadfastly fixed upon the

unconscious features of young Jones.

Something in the attitude of the stranger, whom she had never seen

before, something in the rigid pose, the intent gaze--indicating both

alertness and repression--riveted the girl's attention at once and gave

her a distinct shock of uneasiness.

"I wish," said the boy, in his quiet, firm way, yet with much deference

in his manner and tone, "that you young ladies would consider my offer

seriously, and take proper time to reach a decision. I am absolutely in

earnest. I want to join you in your attempt to give pleasure to children,

and I am willing and--and able--to furnish the funds required. Without

your cooperation, however, I could do nothing, and my health is such that

I wish to leave the management of the theatres entirely in your hands, as

well as all the details of their construction."

"We will consider it, of course, Mr. Jones," answered Beth gravely. "We

are a little startled just now, as you see; but when we grow accustomed

to the immensity of the scheme--our baby, which you have transformed into

a giant--we shall be able to consider it calmly and critically, and

decide if we are competent to undertake the management of so many

theatres."

"Thank you. Then, I think, I will excuse myself for this evening and

return to my room. I'm improving famously, under Dr. Doyle's

instructions, but am not yet a rugged example of health."

Patsy took his hand at parting, as did the others, but her attention was

divided between Ajo and the strange man who had never for a moment

ceased watching him. Not once did the dark eyes waver, but followed each

motion of the boy as he sauntered to the desk, got his key from the

clerk, and then proceeded to his room, turning up one of the corridors

on the main floor.

The stranger now laid his newspaper on the table and disclosed his

entire face for the first time. A middle-aged man, he seemed to be,

with iron-gray hair and a smoothly shaven, rather handsome face. From

his dress he appeared to be a prosperous business man and it was

evident that he was a guest of the hotel, for he wandered through the

lobby--in which many other guests were grouped, some chatting and

others playing "bridge"--and presently disappeared down the corridor

traversed by young Jones.

Patsy drew a deep breath, but said nothing to the others, who, when

relieved of the boy's presence, began to discuss volubly his

singular proposal.

"The fellow is crazy," commented Arthur. "Twenty picture theatres,

with a film factory to supply them, is a big order even for a

multi-millionaire--and I can't imagine this boy coming under that head."

"He seemed in earnest," said Maud, musingly. "What do you think,

Aunt Jane?"

"I am greatly perplexed," admitted Mrs. Montrose. "Had I not known of the

conquest of Goldstein by this boy, who issued orders which the manager of

the Continental meekly obeyed, I would have laughed at his proposition.

As it is, I'm afraid to state that he won't carry out his plan to the

letter of the agreement."

"Would it not be a rash investment, ma'am?" inquired Uncle John.

"Frankly, I do not know. While all the film makers evade any attempt to

discover how prosperous--financially--they are, we know that without

exception they have grown very wealthy. I am wondering if this young

Jones is not one of the owners of the Continental--a large stockholder,

perhaps. If so, that not only accounts for his influence with Goldstein,

but it proves him able to finance this remarkable enterprise. He

doubtless knows what he is undertaking, for his figures, while not

accurate, were logical."

"Of course!" cried Patsy. "That explains everything."

"Still," said Uncle John cautiously, "this is merely surmise on our part,

and before accepting it we must reconcile it with the incongruities in

the case. It is possible that the elder Jones owned an interest in the

Continental and bequeathed it to his son. But is it probable? Remember,

he was an islander, and a recluse."

"More likely," said Beth, "Ajo's father left him a great fortune, which

the boy invested in the Continental stock."

"I have been told," remarked Aunt Jane thoughtfully, "that Continental

stock cannot be bought at any price. It pays such enormous dividends that

no owner will dispose of it."

"The whole thing is perplexing in the extreme," declared Arthur. "The boy

tells a story that at first seems frank and straightforward, yet his

statements do not dovetail, so to speak."

"I think he is holding something back," said Beth; "something that would

explain all the discrepancies in his story. You were wrong, Uncle John,

not to let him speak when he offered to tell you all."

"There was something in his manner that made me revolt from forcing his

confidence," was the reply.

"There was something in his manner that made me think he was about

to concoct a story that would satisfy our curiosity," said Louise

with a shrug.

Uncle John looked around the circle of faces.

"You are not questioning the young fellow's sincerity, I hope?" said he.

"I don't, for a single second!" asserted Patsy, stoutly. "He may have a

queer history, and he may not have told us all of it, but Ajo is honest.

I'll vouch for him!"

"So will I, my dear," said Uncle John.

"That is more than I can do, just at present," Arthur frankly stated. "My

opinion is that his preposterous offer is mere bluff. If you accepted

it, you would find him unable to do his part."

"Then what is his object?" asked Maud.

"I can't figure it out, as yet. He might pose as a millionaire and a

generous friend and philanthropist for some time, before the truth was

discovered, and during that time he could carry out any secret plans he

had in mind. The boy is more shrewd than he appears to be. We, by chance

saved his life, and at once he attached himself to us like a barnacle,

and we can't shake him off."

"We don't want to," said Patsy.

"My explanation is that he has fallen in love with one of us

girls," suggested Flo, with a mischievous glance at her sister. "I

wonder if it's me?"

"It is more likely," said Louise, "that he has discovered Uncle John to

be a very--prosperous--man."

"Nonsense, my dear!" exclaimed that gentleman, evidently irritated by the

insinuation. "Don't pick the boy to pieces. Give him a chance. So far he

has asked nothing from us, but offers everything. He's a grateful fellow

and is anxious to help you girls carry out your ambitious plans. That is

how I read him, and I think it is absurd to prejudge him in the way you

are doing."

The party broke up, the Stantons and Weldons going to their rooms. Beth

also rose.

"Are you coming to bed, Patsy?" she inquired.

"Not just now," her cousin replied. "Between us, we've rubbed Uncle

John's fur the wrong way and he won't get composed until he has

smoked his good-night cigar. I'll sit with him in this corner and

keep him company."

So the little man and his favorite niece were left together, and he did

not seem in the least ruffled as he lit his cigar and settled down in a

big chair, with Patsy beside him, to enjoy it.

CHAPTER XIV

ISIDORE LE DRIEUX

Perhaps the cigar was half gone when Patsy gave a sudden start and

squeezed Uncle John's hand, which she had been holding in both her own.

"What is it, my dear?"

"The man I told you of. There he is, just across the lobby. The man with

the gray clothes and gray hair."

"Oh, yes; the one lighting a cigar."

"Precisely."

Uncle John gazed across the lobby reflectively. The stranger's eyes roved

carelessly around the big room and then he moved with deliberate steps

toward their corner. He passed several vacant chairs and settees on his

way and finally paused before a lounging-chair not six feet distant from

the one occupied by Mr. Merrick.

"Pardon me; is this seat engaged, sir?" he asked.

"No," replied Uncle John, not very graciously, for it was a deliberate

intrusion.

The stranger sat down and for a time smoked his cigar in silence. He was

so near them that Patsy forbore any conversation, knowing he would

overhear it.

Suddenly the man turned squarely in their direction and addressed them.

"I hope you will pardon me, Mr. Merrick, if I venture to ask a

question," said he.

"Well, sir?"

"I saw you talking with Mr. Jones this evening--A. Jones, you know, who

says he came from Sangoa."

"Didn't he?" demanded the old gentleman.

The stranger smiled.

"Perhaps; once on a time; allowing such a place exists. But his last

journey was here from Austria."

"Indeed!"

Mr. Merrick and Patsy were both staring at the man incredulously.

"I am quite sure of that statement, sir; but I cannot prove it, as yet."

"Ah! I thought not."

Patsy had just told her uncle how she had detected this man stealthily

watching Jones, and how he had followed the boy when he retired to his

room. The present interview had, they both knew, something to do with

this singular action. Therefore Mr. Merrick restrained his indignation at

the stranger's pointed questioning. He realized quite well that the man

had come to their corner determined to catechise them and gain what

information he could. Patsy realized this, too. So, being forewarned,

they hoped to learn his object without granting him the satisfaction of

"pumping" them.

"I suppose you are friends of this Mr. A. Jones," was his next remark.

"We are acquaintances," said Mr. Merrick.

"Has he ever mentioned his adventures in Austria to you?"

"Are _you_ a friend of Mr. Jones?" demanded uncle John.

"I am not even an acquaintance," said the man, smiling. "But I am

interested in him, through a friend of mine who met him abroad. Permit me

to introduce myself, sir."

He handed them a card which read:

"ISADORE LE DRIEUX

Importer of Pearls and Precious Stones

36 Maiden Lane,

New York City."

"I have connections abroad, in nearly all countries," continued the man,

"and it is through some of them that I have knowledge of this young

fellow who has taken the name of A. Jones. In fact, I have a portrait of

the lad, taken in Paris, which I will show you."

He searched in his pocket and produced an envelope from which he

carefully removed a photograph, which he handed to Uncle John. Patsy

examined it, too, with a start of surprise. The thin features, the large

serious eyes, even the closely set lips were indeed those of A. Jones.

But in the picture he wore a small mustache.

"It can't be _our_ A. Jones," murmured Patsy. "This one is older."

"That is on account of the mustache," remarked Le Drieux, who was

closely watching their faces. "This portrait was taken more than a

year ago."

"Oh; but he was in Sangoa then," protested Patsy, who was really

bewildered by the striking resemblance.

The stranger smiled indulgently.

"As a matter of fact, there is no Sangoa." said he; "so we may doubt the

young man's assertion that he was ever there."

"Why are you interested in him?" inquired Mr. Merrick.

"A natural question," said Le Drieux, after a moment of hesitation. "I

know you well by reputation, Mr. Merrick, and believe I am justified in

speaking frankly to you and your niece, provided you regard my statements

as strictly confidential. A year ago I received notice from my friend in

Austria that the young man had gone to America and he was anxious I

should meet him. At the time I was too busy with my own affairs to look

him up, but I recently came to California for a rest, and noticed the

strong resemblance between the boy, A. Jones, and the portrait sent me.

So I hunted up this picture and compared the two. In my judgment they are

one and the same. What do _you_ think, sir?"

"I believe there is a resemblance," answered Uncle John, turning the

card over. "But here is a name on the back of the photograph: 'Jack

Andrews.'"

"Yes; this is Jack Andrews," said Le Drieux, nodding. "Have you ever

heard the name before?"

"Never."

"Well, Andrews is noted throughout Europe, and it is but natural he

should desire to escape his notoriety by assuming another name out here.

Do you note the similarity of the initials? 'J.A.' stand for Jack

Andrews. Reverse them and 'A.J.' stand for A. Jones. By the way, what

does he claim the 'A' means? Is it Andrew?"

"It means nothing at all," said Patsy. "He told us so."

"I see. You caught him unprepared. That isn't like Jack. He is always

on guard."

Both Patsy and Uncle John were by this time sorely perplexed. They had a

feeling common to both of them, that the subject of this portrait and A.

Jones were two separate and distinct persons; yet the resemblance could

not be denied, if they were indeed the same, young Jones had deliberately

lied to them, and recalling his various statements and the manner in

which they had been made, they promptly acquitted the boy of the charge

of falsehood.

"For what was Jack Andrews noted throughout Europe?" inquired Mr.

Merrick, after silently considering these things.

"Well, he was a highflier, for one thing." answered Le Drieux. "He was

known as a thorough 'sport' and, I am told, a clever gambler. He had a

faculty of making friends, even among the nobility. The gilded youth of

London, Paris and Vienna cultivated his acquaintance, and through them he

managed to get into very good society. He was a guest at the splendid

villa of Countess Ahmberg, near Vienna, when her magnificent collection

of pearls disappeared. You remember that loss, and the excitement it

caused, do you not?"

"No, sir; I have never before heard of the Countess of Ahmberg or

her pearls."

"Well, the story filled the newspapers for a couple of weeks. The

collection embraced the rarest and most valuable pearls known to exist."

"And you accuse this man, Andrews, of stealing them?" asked Uncle John,

tapping with his finger the portrait he still held.

"By no means, sir; by no means!" cried Le Drieux hastily. "In fact, he

was one of the few guests at the villa to whom no suspicion attached.

From the moment the casket of pearls was last seen by the countess until

their loss was discovered, every moment of Andrews' time was accounted

for. His alibi was perfect and he was quite prominent in the unsuccessful

quest of the thief."

"The pearls were not recovered, then?"

"No. The whole affair is still a mystery. My friend in Vienna, a pearl

merchant like myself, assisted Andrews in his endeavor to discover the

thief and, being much impressed by the young man's personality, sent me

this photograph, asking me to meet him, as I have told you, when he

reached America."

"Is his home in this country?"

"New York knows him, but knows nothing of his family or his history. He

is popular there, spending money freely and bearing the reputation of an

all-around good fellow. On his arrival there, a year ago, he led a gay

life for a few days and then suddenly disappeared. No one knew what had

become of him. When I found him here, under the name of A. Jones, the

disappearance was solved."

"I think," said Uncle John, "you are laboring under a serious, if

somewhat natural, mistake. The subject of this picture is like A. Jones,

indeed, but he is older and his expression more--more--"

"Blase and sophisticated," said Patsy.

"Thank you, my dear; I am no dictionary, and if those are real words they

may convey my meaning. I feel quite sure, Mr. Le Drieux, that the story

of Andrews can not be the story of young Jones."

Le Drieux took the picture and replaced it in his pocket.

"To err is human," said he, "and I will admit the possibility of my being

mistaken in my man. But you will admit the resemblance?"

"Yes. They might be brothers. But young Jones has said he has no

brothers, and I believe him."

Le Drieux sat in silence for a few minutes. Then he said:

"I appealed to you, Mr. Merrick, because I was not thoroughly satisfied,

in my own mind, of my conclusions. You have added to my doubts, I must

confess, yet I cannot abandon the idea that the two men are one and the

same. As my suspicion is only shared by you and your niece, in

confidence, I shall devote myself for a few days to studying young Jones

and observing his actions. In that way I may get a clue that will set all

doubt at rest."

"We will introduce you to him," said Patsy. "and then you may question

him as much as you like."

"Oh, no; I prefer not to make his acquaintance until I am quite sure,"

was the reply. "If he is not Jack Andrews he would be likely to resent

the insinuation that he is here trading under a false name. Good night,

Mr. Merrick. Good night, Miss Doyle. I thank you for your courteous

consideration."

He had risen, and now bowed and walked away.

"Well," said Patsy. "what was he after? And did he learn anything from

us?"

"He did most of the talking himself," replied Uncle John, looking after

Le Drieux with a puzzled expression. "Of course he is not a jewel

merchant."

"No," said Patsy, "he's a detective, and I'll bet a toothpick to a match

that he's on the wrong scent."

"He surely is. Unfortunately, we cannot warn Ajo against him."

"It isn't necessary, Uncle. Why, the whole thing is absurd. Our boy is

not a gambler or roysterer, nor do I think he has ever been in Europe.

Mr. Le Drieux will have to guess again!"

CHAPTER XV

A FEW PEARLS

The next morning Patsy, Beth and Louise met in earnest conference over

the important proposition made them by young Jones, and although Uncle

John and Arthur Weldon were both present the men took no part in the

discussion.

"Some doubt has been expressed," said Beth judicially, "that Ajo is

really able to finance this big venture. But he says he is, and that he

will carry it through to the end, so I propose we let him do it."

"Why not?" asked Louise. "If he succeeds, it will be glorious. If he

fails, we will suffer in no way except through disappointment."

"Well, shall we accept this offer, girls?"

"First," said Louise, "let us consider what we will have to do, on our

part, when the twenty theatres are built and the film factory is in

operation."

"We are to be the general managers," returned Patsy. "We must select the

subjects, or plots, for the pictures, and order them made under our

direction. Then we must see that all of our theatres present them in a

proper manner, and we must invite children to come and see the shows. I

guess that's all."

"That will be enough to keep us busy, I'm sure," said Beth. "But we will

gladly undertake it, and I am sure we shall prove good managers, as soon

as we get acquainted with the details of the business."

"It will give us the sort of employment we like," Patsy assured them.

"Our first duty will be to plan these theatres for children, and make

them as cosy and comfortable as possible, regardless of expense. Ajo will

pay the bills, and when all the buildings are ready we will set to work

in earnest."

So, when A. Jones appeared he was told that the girls would gladly accept

his proposition. The young man seemed greatly pleased by this verdict. He

appeared to be much better and stronger to-day and he entered eagerly

into a discussion of the plans in detail. Together they made a list of a

string of twenty theatres, to be built in towns reaching from Santa

Barbara on the north to San Diego in the south. The film factory was to

be located in the San Fernando Valley, just north of Hollywood.

This consumed the entire forenoon, and after lunch they met a prominent

real estate man whom Jones had summoned to the hotel. This gentleman was

given a copy of the list of locations and instructed to purchase in each

town the best site that could be secured for a motion picture theatre.

This big order made the real estate man open his eyes in surprise.

"Do you wish me to secure options, or to purchase the land

outright?" he asked.

"Be sure of your locations and then close the deals at once," replied

Jones. "We do not wish to waste time in useless dickering, and a location

in the heart of each town, perhaps on the main street, is more important

than the price. You will, of course, protect me from robbery to the best

of your ability; but buy, even if the price is exorbitant. I will this

afternoon place a hundred thousand dollars to your credit in the bank,

with which to make advance payments, and when you notify me how much more

is required I will forward my checks at once."

"That is satisfactory, sir. I will do the best I can to guard your

interests," said the man.

When he had gone the girls accompanied Ajo in a motorcar to Los Angeles,

to consult an architect. They visited several offices before the boy, who

seemed to estimate men at a glance, found one that satisfied him. The

girls explained with care to the architect their idea of a luxurious

picture theatre for children, and when he had grasped their conception,

which he did with enthusiasm, he suggested several improvements on their

immature plans and promised to have complete drawings ready to submit to

them in a few days.

From the architect's office they drove to the German-American Bank, where

Ajo gave his check for a hundred thousand dollars, to be placed to the

credit of Mr. Wilcox, the real estate agent. The deference shown him by

the cashier seemed to indicate that this big check was not the extent of

A. Jones' credit there, by any means.

As they drove back to Hollywood, Patsy could not help eyeing this

youthful capitalist with wonder. During this day of exciting business

deals the boy had behaved admirably, and there was no longer a shadow of

doubt in the minds of any of Uncle John's nieces that he was both able

and anxious to carry out his part of the agreement.

Patsy almost giggled outright as she thought of Le Drieux and his

ridiculous suspicions. One would have to steal a good many pearls in

order to acquire a fortune to match that of the Sangoan.

He was speaking of Sangoa now, in answer to a question of Beth's.

"Yes, indeed," said he, "Sangoa is very beautiful, and the climate is

even more mild than that of your Southern California. The north coast is

a high bluff, on which is a splendid forest of rosewood and mahogany. My

father would never allow any of these magnificent trees to be cut, except

a few that were used in building our house."

"But how do your people live? What is the principal industry of your

islanders?" asked Beth.

"My people are--fishermen," he said, and then the automobile drew up

before the hotel entrance and the conversation ended.

It was on the following afternoon, as they all met in the hotel lobby

after lunch, that a messenger handed young Jones a neat parcel, for which

a receipt was demanded. Ajo held the parcel in his hand a while,

listening to the chatter of the girls, who were earnestly discussing

plans for the new picture enterprise. Then very quietly and unobtrusively

he unwrapped the package and laid upon the table beside him several small

boxes bearing the name of a prominent jeweler.

"I hope," said he, taking advantage of a pause caused by the girls

observing this action, and growing visibly confused by their involuntary

stares of curiosity; "I--I hope that you, my new friends, will pardon a

liberty I have taken. I wanted to--to present those who were instrumental

in saving my life with--with a--a slight token of my gratitude--a sort

of--of--memento of a brave and generous act that gave me back the life I

had carelessly jeopardized. No," as he saw surprise and protest written

on their faces, "don't refuse me this pleasure, I implore you! The

little--eh--eh--mementos are from my own Island of Sangoa, with the

necessary mountings by a Los Angeles jeweler, and--please accept them!"

As he spoke he handed to each of the girls a box, afterward giving one to

Uncle John and another to Arthur. There remained upon the table three

others. He penciled a name upon the bottom of each and then handed them

to Patsy, saying:

"Will you kindly present these, with my compliments, to the Misses

Stanton, and to their aunt, when they return this evening? Thank you!"

And then, before they could recover from their astonishment, he turned

abruptly and fled to his room.

The girls stared at one another a moment and then began laughing. Arthur

seemed crestfallen, while Uncle John handled his small box as gingerly as

if he suspected it contained an explosive.

"How ridiculous!" cried Patsy, her blue eyes dancing. "And did you

notice how scared poor Ajo was, and how he skipped as fearfully as though

he had committed some crime? But I'm sure the poor boy meant well. Let's

open our boxes, girls, and see what foolishness Ajo has been up to."

Slipping off the cover of her box, Beth uttered a low cry of amazement

and admiration. Then she held up a dainty lavalliere, with a pendant

containing a superb pearl. Louise had the mate to this, but the one Patsy

found had a pearl of immense size, its color being an exquisite shade of

pink, such as is rarely seen. Arthur displayed a ring set with a splendid

white pearl, while Uncle John's box contained a stick pin set with a huge

black pearl of remarkable luster. Indeed, they saw at a glance that the

size and beauty of all these pearls were very uncommon, and while the

others expressed their enthusiastic delight, the faces of Mr. Merrick and

Patsy Doyle were solemn and perplexed. They stared at the pearls with

feelings of dismay, rather than joy, and chancing to meet one another's

eyes they quickly dropped their gaze to avoid exchanging the ugly

suspicion that had forced itself upon their minds.

With a sudden thought Patsy raised her head to cast a searching glance

around the lobby, for although their party was seated in an alcove they

were visible to all in the big room of which it formed a part. Yes, Mr.

Isidore Le Drieux was standing near them, as she had feared, and the

slight sneer upon his lips proved that he had observed the transfer of

the pearls.

So the girl promptly clasped her lavalliere around her neck and openly

displayed it, as a proud defiance, if not a direct challenge, to that

detestable sneer.

Arthur, admiring his ring in spite of his chagrin at receiving such a

gift from a comparative stranger, placed the token on his finger.

"It is a beauty, indeed," said he, "but I don't think we ought to accept

such valuable gifts from this boy."

"I do not see why," returned his wife Louise. "I think these pretty

tributes for saving Mr. Jones' life are very appropriate. Of course

neither Beth nor I had anything to do with that affair, but we are

included in the distribution because it would be more embarrassing to

leave us out of it."

"And the pearls came from Sangoa," added Beth, "so all these precious

gifts have cost Ajo nothing, except for their settings."

"If Sangoa can furnish many such pearls as these," remarked Arthur,

reflectively, "the island ought to be famous, instead of unknown. Their

size and beauty render the gems priceless."

"Well," said Patsy soberly, "we know now where A. Jones got his money,

which is so plentiful that he can build any number of film factories and

picture theatres. Sangoa must have wonderful pearl fisheries--don't you

remember, girls, that he told us his people were fishermen?--for each of

these specimens is worth a small fortune. Mine, especially, is the

largest and finest pearl I have ever seen."

"I beg your pardon!" sternly exclaimed Uncle John, as he whirled swiftly

around. "Can I do anything for you, sir?"

For Mr. Le Drieux had stealthily advanced to the alcove and was glaring

at the display of pearls and making notes in a small book.

He bowed, without apparent resentment, as he answered Mr. Merrick: "Thank

you, sir; you have already served me admirably. Pardon my intrusion."

Then he closed the book, slipped it into his pocket and with another low

bow walked away.

"What rank impertinence!" cried Arthur, staring after him. "Some

newspaper reporter, I suppose. Do you know him, Uncle John?"

"He forced an introduction, a few evenings ago. It is a pearl

merchant from New York, named Le Drieux, so I suppose his curiosity

is but natural."

"Shall we keep our pearls, Uncle?" asked Beth.

"I shall keep mine," replied the little man, who never wore any ornament

of jewelry. "It was generous and thoughtful in young Jones to present

these things and we ought not offend him by refusing his 'mementos,' as

he calls them."

Perhaps all the nieces were relieved to hear this verdict, for already

they loved their beautiful gifts. That evening the Stanton girls and

their Aunt Jane received their parcels, being fully as much surprised as

the others had been, and their boxes also contained pearls. Flo and Maud

had lavallieres, the latter receiving one as large and beautiful as that

of Patsy Doyle, while Mrs. Montrose found a brooch set with numerous

smaller pearls.

Patsy urged them all to wear the ornaments to dinner that evening, which

they did, and although Jones was not there to observe the effect of the

splendid pearls, Mr. Le Drieux was at his place in the dining room and

made more notes in his little book.

That was exactly what Patsy wanted. "I can't stand the suspense of this

thing," she whispered to Uncle John, "and if that man wants any

information about these pearls I propose we give it to him. In that way

he will soon discover he is wrong in suspecting the identity of Jack

Andrews and A. Jones."

Mr. Merrick nodded absently and went to his corner for a smoke. Arthur

soon after joined him, while Aunt Jane took her bevy of girls to another

part of the loge.

"Le Drieux will be here presently," said Uncle John to young Weldon.

"Oh, the fellow with the book. Why, sir?"

"He's a detective, I think. Anyhow, he is shadowing Jones, whom he

suspects is a thief."

He then told Arthur frankly of his former conversation with Le Drieux,

and of the puzzling photograph.

"It really resembles the boy," he admitted, with a frown of perplexity,

"yet at the same time I realized the whole thing was absurd. Neither

Patsy nor I can believe that Jones is the man who robbed an Austrian

countess. It's preposterous! And let me say right now, Arthur, that I'm

going to stand by this young fellow, with all my influence, in case those

hounds try to make him trouble."

Arthur did not reply at once. He puffed his cigar silently while he

revolved the startling accusation in his mind.

"Both you and Patsy are staunch friends," he observed, after a while,

"and I have noticed that your intuition as regards character is seldom

at fault. But I advise you, in this instance, not to be hasty, for--"

"I know; you are going to refer to those pearls."

"Naturally. If I don't, Le Drieux will, as you have yourself prophesied.

Pearls--especially such pearls as these--are rare and easy to recognize.

The world does not contain many black-pearls, for instance, such as that

you are wearing. An expert--a man with a photograph that strongly

resembles young Jones--is tracing some stolen pearls of great value--a

collection, I think you said. We find Jones, a man seemingly unknown

here, giving away a number of wonderful pearls that are worthy a place in

any collection. Admit it is curious, Uncle John. It may be all a

coincidence, of course; but how do you account for it, sir?"

"Jones has an island in the South Seas, a locality where most of the

world's famous pearls have been found."

"Sangoa?"

"Yes."

"It is not on any map. This man, Le Drieux, positively stated that there

is no such island, did he not?"

Uncle John rubbed his chin, a gesture that showed he was disturbed.

"He was not positive. He said he thought there was no such island."

"Well, sir?"

"If Jones could lie about his island, he would be capable of the theft of

those pearls," admitted Mr. Merrick reluctantly.

"That is conclusive, sir."

"But he isn't capable of the theft. Le Drieux states that Jack Andrews is

a society swell, an all-around confidence man, and a gambler. Jones is a

diffident and retiring, but a very manly young fellow, who loves quiet

and seems to have no bad habits. You can't connect the two in any

possible way."

Again Arthur took time to consider.

"I have no desire to suspect Jones unjustly," he said. "In fact, I have

been inclined to like the fellow. And yet--his quaint stories and his

foolish expenditures have made me suspicious from the first. You have

scarcely done justice to his character in your description, sir. To us he

appears diffident, retiring, and rather weak, in a way, while in his

intercourse with Goldstein he shows a mailed fist. He can be hard as

nails, on occasion, as we know, and at times he displays a surprising

knowledge of the world and its ways--for one who has been brought up on

an out-of-the-way island. What do we know about him, anyway? He tells a

tale no one can disprove, for the South Seas are full of small islands,

some of which are probably unrecorded on the charts. All this might

possibly be explained by remembering that a man like Jack Andrews is

undoubtedly a clever actor."

"Exactly!" said a jubilant voice behind them, and Mr. Isidore Le Drieux

stepped forward and calmly drew up a chair, in which he seated himself.

"You will pardon me, gentlemen, for eavesdropping, but I was curious to

know what you thought of this remarkable young man who calls himself

'A. Jones.'"

Arthur faced the intruder with a frown. He objected to being startled in

this manner. "You are a detective?" he asked.

"Oh, scarcely that, sir," Le Drieux replied in a deprecating way. "My

printed card indicates that I am a merchant, but in truth I am a special

agent, employed by the largest pearl and gem dealers in the world, a firm

with branches in every large European and American city. My name is Le

Drieux, sir, at your service," and with a flourish he presented his card.

The young rancher preferred to study the man's face.

"I am a sort of messenger," he continued, placidly. "When valuable

consignments of jewels are to be delivered, I am the carrier instead of

the express companies. The method is safer. In twenty-six years of this

work I have never lost a single jewel."

"One firm employs you exclusively, then?"

"One firm. But it has many branches."

"It is a trust?"

"Oh, no; we have many competitors; but none very important. Our closest

rival, for instance, has headquarters on this very coast--in San

Francisco--but spreads, as we do, over the civilized world. Yet

Jephson's--that's the firm--do not claim to equal our business. They deal

mostly in pearls."

"Pearls, eh?" said Arthur, musingly. "Then it was your firm that lost the

valuable collection of pearls you mentioned to Mr. Merrick?"

"No. They were the property of Countess Ahmberg, of Vienna. But we had

sold many of the finest specimens to the countess and have records of

their weight, size, shape and color. The one you are now wearing, sir,"

pointing to Uncle John's scarf pin, "is one of the best black pearls ever

discovered. It was found at Tremloe in 1883 and was originally purchased

by our firm. In 1887 I took it to Tiffany, who sold it to Prince Godesky,

of Warsaw. I carried it to him, with other valuable purchases, and after

his death it was again resold to our firm. It was in October, 1904, that

I again became the bearer of the pearl, delivering it safely to Countess

Ahmberg at her villa. It was stolen from her, together with 188 other

rare pearls, valued at a half million dollars, a little over a year ago."

"This pearl, sir," said Uncle John stiffly, "is not the one you refer

to. It was found on the shores of the island of Sangoa, and you have

never seen it before."

Le Drieux smiled sweetly as he brushed the ashes from his cigar.

"I am seldom mistaken in a pearl, especially one that I have handled,"

said he. "Moreover, a good pearl becomes historic, and it is my business

to know the history of each and every one in existence."

"Even those owned by Jephson's?" asked Arthur.

"Yes; unless they were acquired lately. I have spoken in this manner in

order that you may understand the statements I am about to make, and I

beg you to listen carefully: Three daring pearl robberies have taken

place within the past two years. The first was a collection scarcely

inferior to that of the Countess Ahmberg. A bank messenger was carrying

it through the streets of London one evening, to be delivered to Lady

Grandison, when he was stabbed to the heart and the gems stolen.

Singularly enough, Jack Andrews was passing by and found the dying

messenger. He called for the police, but when they arrived the messenger

had expired. The fate of the pearls has always remained a mystery,

although a large reward has been offered for their recovery."

"Oh; a reward."

"Naturally, sir. Four months later Princess Lemoine lost her wonderful

pearl necklace while sitting in a box at the Grand Opera in Paris. This

was one of the cleverest thefts that ever baffled the police, for the

necklace was never recovered. We know, however, that Jack Andrews

occupied the box next to that of the princess. A coincidence--perhaps. We

now come to the robbery of the Countess Ahmberg, the third on the list.

Jack Andrews was a guest at her house, as I have explained to you. No

blame has ever attached to this youthful adventurer, yet my firm, always

interested in the pearls they have sold, advised me to keep an eye on him

when he returned to America. I did so.

"Now, Mr. Merrick, I will add to the tale I told you the other night.

Andrews behaved very well for a few weeks after he landed at New York;

then he disposed of seven fine pearls and--disappeared. They were not

notable pearls, especially, but two of them I was able to trace to the

necklace of Princess Lemoine. I cabled my firm. They called attention to

the various rewards offered and urged me to follow Andrews. That was

impossible; he had left no clue. But chance favored me. Coming here to

Los Angeles on business, I suddenly ran across my quarry: Jack Andrews.

He has changed a bit. The mustache is gone, he is in poor health, and I

am told he was nearly drowned in the ocean the other day. So at first I

was not sure of my man. I registered at this hotel and watched him

carefully. Sometimes I became positive he was Andrews; at other times I

doubted. But when he began distributing pearls to you, his new friends,

all doubt vanished. There, gentlemen, is my story in a nutshell. What do

you think of it?"

Both Mr. Merrick and young Weldon had listened with rapt interest, but

their interpretation of the tale, which amounted to a positive

accusation of A. Jones, showed the difference in the two men's natures.

"I think you are on the wrong trail, sir," answered Mr. Merrick.

"Doubtless you have been misled by a casual resemblance, coupled with

the fact that Andrews is suspected of stealing pearls and Jones is known

to possess pearls--the pearls being of rare worth in both cases. Still,

you are wrong. For instance, if you have the weight and measurement of

the Tremloe black pearl, you will find they do not fit the pearl I am

now wearing."

Le Drieux smiled genially.

"It is unnecessary to make the test, sir," he replied. "The pearl Andrews

gave to Miss Doyle is as unmistakable as your own. But I am curious to

hear your opinion, Mr. Weldon."

"I have been suspicious of young Jones from the first," said Arthur; "but

I have been studying this boy's character, and he is positively incapable

of the crimes you accuse him of, such as robbery and murder. In other

words, whatever Jones may be, he is not Andrews; or, if by chance he

proves to be Andrews, then Andrews is innocent of crime. All your

theories are based upon a desire to secure rewards, backed by a chain of

circumstantial evidence."

"A chain," said Le Drieux, grimly, "that will hold Jack Andrews fast in

its coils, clever though he is."

"Circumstantial evidence," retorted Mr. Merrick, "doesn't amount to

shucks! It is constantly getting good people into trouble and allowing

rascals to escape. Nothing but direct evidence will ever convince me that

a man is guilty."

Le Drieux shrugged his shoulders.

"The pearls are evidence enough," said he.

"To be sure. Evidence enough to free the poor boy of suspicion. You may

be a better messenger than you are a detective, Mr. Le Drieux, but that

doesn't convince me you are a judge of pearls."

The agent rose with a frown of annoyance.

"I am going to have Jack Andrews arrested in the morning," he remarked.

"If you warn him, in the meantime, I shall charge you with complicity."

Uncle John nearly choked with anger, but he maintained his dignity.

"I have no knowledge of your Jack Andrews," he replied, and turned his

back.

CHAPTER XVI

TROUBLE

Uncle John and Arthur decided not to mention to the girls this astounding

charge of Isidore Le Drieux, fearing the news would make them nervous and

disturb their rest, so when the men joined the merry party in the alcove

they did not refer to their late interview.

Afterward, however, when all but Arthur Weldon had gone to bed and he was

sitting in Uncle John's room, the two discussed the matter together with

much seriousness.

"We ought to do something, sir," said Arthur. "This Jones is a mere

boy, and in poor health at that. He has no friends, so far as we

know, other than ourselves. Therefore it is our duty to see him

through this trouble."

Mr. Merrick nodded assent.

"We cannot prevent the arrest," he replied, "for Le Drieux will not

listen to reason. If we aided Jones to run away he would soon be caught.

Absurd as the charge is, the youngster must face it and prove his

innocence."

Arthur paced the floor in a way that indicated he was disturbed by

this verdict.

"He ought to have no difficulty in proving he is not Jack Andrews," he

remarked, reflectively; "and yet--those pearls are difficult to explain.

Their similarity to the ones stolen in Europe fooled the expert, Le

Drieux, and they are likely to fool a judge or jury. I hope Jones has

some means of proving that he brought the pearls from Sangoa. That would

settle the matter at once."

"As soon as he is arrested we will get him a lawyer--the best in this

country," said Mr. Merrick. "More than that we cannot do, but a good

lawyer will know the proper method of freeing his client."

The next morning they were up early, awaiting developments; but Le Drieux

seemed in no hurry to move. He had breakfast at about nine o'clock, read

his newspaper for a half hour or so, and then deliberately left the

hotel. All of Mr. Merrick's party had breakfasted before this and soon

after Le Drieux had gone away young Jones appeared in the lobby. He was

just in time to see the Stanton girls drive away in their automobile,

accompanied by their Aunt Jane.

"The motion picture stars must be late to-day," said the boy, looking

after them.

"They are," answered Patsy, standing beside him at the window; "but Maud

says this happens to be one of their days of leisure. No picture is to be

taken and they have only to rehearse a new play. But it's a busy life,

seems to me, and it would really prove hard work if the girls didn't

enjoy it so much."

"Yes," said he, "it's a fascinating profession. I understand, and nothing

can be called _work_ that is interesting. When we are obliged to do

something that we do not like to do, it becomes 'work.' Otherwise, what

is usually called 'work' is mere play, for it furnishes its quota of

amusement."

He was quite unconscious of any impending misfortune and when Beth and

Louise joined Patsy in thanking him for his pretty gifts of the pearls he

flushed with pleasure. Evidently their expressions of delight were very

grateful to his ears.

Said Uncle John, in a casual way: "Those are remarkably fine pearls, to

have come from such an island as Sangoa."

"But we find much better ones there, I assure you," replied the boy. "I

have many in my room of much greater value, but did not dare ask you to

accept them as gifts."

"Do many pearls come from Sangoa, then?" asked Arthur.

"That is our one industry," answered the young man. "Many years ago my

father discovered the pearl fisheries. It was after he had purchased the

island, but he recognized the value of the pearls and brought a colony of

people from America to settle at Sangoa and devote their time to pearl

fishing. Once or twice every year we send a ship to market with a

consignment of pearls to our agent, and--to be quite frank with you--that

is why I am now able to build the picture theatres I have contracted for,

as well as the film factory."

"I see," said Uncle John. "But tell me this, please: Why is Sangoa so

little known, or rather, so quite unknown?"

"My father," Jones returned, "loved quiet and seclusion. He was willing

to develop the pearl fisheries, but objected to the flock of adventurers

sure to descend upon his island if its wealth of pearls became generally

known. His colony he selected with great care and with few exceptions

they are a sturdy, wholesome lot, enjoying the peaceful life of Sangoa

and thoroughly satisfied with their condition there. It is only within

the last two years that our American agents knew where our pearls came

from, yet they could not locate the island if they tried. I do not feel

the same desire my father did to keep the secret, although I would

dislike to see Sangoa overrun with tourists or traders."

He spoke so quietly and at the same time so convincingly that both

Arthur and Uncle John accepted his explanation unquestioningly.

Nevertheless, in the embarrassing dilemma in which Jones would presently

be involved, the story would be sure to bear the stamp of unreality to

any uninterested hearer.

The girls had now begun to chatter over the theatre plans, and their

"financial backer"--as Patsy Doyle called him--joined them with eager

interest. Arthur sat at a near-by desk writing a letter; Uncle John

glanced over the morning paper; Inez, the Mexican nurse, brought baby to

Louise for a kiss before it went for a ride in its perambulator.

An hour had passed when Le Drieux entered the lobby in company with a

thin-faced, sharp-eyed man in plain clothes. They walked directly toward

the group that was seated by the open alcove window, and Arthur Weldon,

observing them and knowing what was about to happen, rose from the

writing-desk and drew himself tensely together as he followed them. Uncle

John lowered his paper, frowned at Le Drieux and then turned his eyes

upon the face of young Jones.

It was the thin-featured man who advanced and lightly touched the

boy's arm.

"Beg pardon, sir," said he, in even, unemotional tones. "You are Mr.

Andrews, I believe--Mr. Jack Andrews?"

The youth turned his head to look at his questioner.

"No, sir," he answered with a smile. "A case of mistaken identity. My

name is Jones." Then, continuing his speech to Patsy Doyle, he said:

"There is no need to consider the acoustic properties of our theatres,

for the architect--"

"Pardon me again," interrupted the man, more sternly. "I am positive this

is _not_ a case of mistaken identity. We have ample proof that Jack

Andrews is parading here, under the alias of 'A. Jones.'"

The boy regarded him with a puzzled expression.

"What insolence!" muttered Beth in an under-tone but audible enough to be

distinctly heard.

The man flushed slightly and glanced at Le Drieux, who nodded his head.

Then he continued firmly:

"In any event, sir, I have a warrant for your arrest, and I hope you will

come with me quietly and so avoid a scene."

The boy grew pale and then red. His eyes narrowed as he stared fixedly at

the officer. But he did not change his position, nor did he betray

either fear or agitation. In a voice quite unmoved he asked:

"On what charge do you arrest me?"

"You are charged with stealing a valuable collection of pearls from the

Countess Ahmberg, at Vienna, about a year ago."

"But I have never been in Vienna."

"You will have an opportunity to prove that."

"And my name is not Andrews."

"You must prove that, also."

The boy thought for a moment. Then he asked:

"Who accuses me?"

"This gentleman; Mr. Le Drieux. He is an expert in pearls, knows

intimately all those in the collection of the countess and has recognized

several which you have recently presented to your friends, as among those

you brought from Austria."

Again Jones smiled.

"This is absurd, sir," he remarked.

The officer returned the smile, but rather grimly.

"It is the usual protest, Mr. Andrews. I don't blame you for the denial,

but the evidence against you is very strong. Will you come? And quietly?"

"I am unable to offer physical resistance," replied the young fellow,

as he slowly rose from his chair and displayed his thin figure.

"Moreover," he added, with a touch of humor, "I believe there's a fine

for resisting an officer. I suppose you have a legal warrant. May I be

permitted to see it?"

The officer produced the warrant. Jones perused it slowly and then handed

it to Mr. Merrick, who read it and passed it back to the officer.

"What shall I do, sir?" asked the boy.

"Obey the law," answered Uncle John. "This officer is only the law's

instrument and it is useless to argue with him. But I will go with you to

the police station and furnish bail."

Le Drieux shook his head.

"Quite impossible, Mr. Merrick," he said. "This is not a bailable

offense."

"Are you sure?"

"I am positive. This is an extradition case, of international

importance. Andrews, after an examination, will be taken to New York and

from there to Vienna, where his crime was committed."

"But he has committed no crime!"

Le Drieux shrugged his shoulders.

"He is accused, and he must prove his innocence," said he.

"But that is nonsense!" interposed Arthur warmly. "There is no justice in

such an assertion. If I know anything of the purpose of the law, and I

think I do, you must first prove this man's guilt before you carry him to

Austria to be tried by a foreign court."

"I don't care a snap for the purpose of the law," retorted Le Drieux.

"Our treaty with Austria provides for extradition, and that settles

it. This man is already under arrest. The judge who issued the warrant

believes that Jones is Jack Andrews and that Jack Andrews stole the

pearls from the Countess Ahmberg. Of course, the prisoner will have a

formal examination, when he may defend himself as best he can, but we

haven't made this move without being sure of our case, and it will be

rather difficult for him to escape the penalty of his crimes, clever

as he is."

"Clever?" It was Jones himself who asked this, wonderingly.

Le Drieux bowed to him with exaggerated politeness.

"I consider you the cleverest rogue in existence," said he. "But even the

cleverest may be trapped, in time, and your big mistake was in disposing

of those pearls so openly. See here," he added, taking from his pocket a

small packet. "Here are the famous Taprobane pearls--six of them--which

were found in your room a half hour ago. They, also, were a part of the

countess' collection."

"Oh, you have been to my room?"

"Under the authority of the law."

"And you have seen those pearls before?"

"Several times. I am an expert in pearls and can recognize their value at

a glance," said Le Drieux with much dignity.

Jones gave a little chuckle and then turned deprecatingly to Mr. Merrick.

"You need not come with me to the station, sir," said he; "but, if you

wish to assist me, please send me a lawyer and then go to the Continental

and tell Mr. Goldstein of my predicament."

"I will do that," promptly replied Uncle John.

Jones turned to bow to the girls.

"I hope you young ladies can forgive this disgraceful scene," he remarked

in a tone of regret rather then humiliation. "I do not see how any effort

of mine could have avoided it. It seems to be one of the privileges of

the people's guardians, in your free country, to arrest and imprison

anyone on a mere suspicion of crime. Here is a case in which someone has

sadly blundered, and I imagine it is the pompous gentleman who claims to

know pearls and does not," with a nod toward Le Drieux, who scowled

indignantly.

"It is an outrage!" cried Beth.

"It's worse than that," said Patsy; "but of course you can easily prove

your innocence."

"If I have the chance," the boy agreed. "But at present I am a prisoner

and must follow my captor."

He turned to the officer and bowed to indicate that he was ready to go.

Arthur shook the young fellow's hand and promised to watch his interests

in every possible way.

"Go with him now, Arthur," proposed Louise. "It's a hard thing to be

taken to jail and I'm sure he needs a friend at his side at this time."

"Good advice," agreed Uncle John. "Of course they'll give him a

preliminary hearing before locking him up, and if you'll stick to him

I'll send on a lawyer in double-quick time."

"Thank you," said the boy. "The lawyer first, Mr. Merrick, and then

Goldstein."

CHAPTER XVII

UNCLE JOHN IS PUZZLED

Uncle John was off on his errands even before Jones and Arthur Weldon

had driven away from the hotel with the officer and Le Drieux. There had

been no "scene" and none of the guests of the hotel had any inkling of

the arrest.

Uncle John had always detested lawyers and so he realized that he was

sure to be a poor judge of the merits of any legal gentleman he might

secure to defend Jones.

"I may as well leave it to chance," he grumbled, as he drove down the

main boulevard. "The rascals are all alike!"

Glancing to this side and that, he encountered a sign on a building:

"Fred A. Colby, Lawyer."

"All right; I mustn't waste time," he said, and stopping his driver he

ascended a stairway to a gloomy upper hall. Here the doors, all in a row,

were alike forbidding, but one of them bore the lawyer's name, so Mr.

Merrick turned the handle and abruptly entered.

A sallow-faced young man, in his shirt-sleeves, was seated at a table

littered with newspapers and magazines, engaged in the task of putting

new strings on a battered guitar. As his visitor entered he looked up in

surprise and laid down the instrument.

"I want to see Colby, the lawyer," began Uncle John, regarding the

disordered room with strong disapproval.

"You are seeing him," retorted the young man, with a fleeting smile, "and

I'll bet you two to one that if you came here on business you will

presently go away and find another lawyer."

"Why?" questioned Mr. Merrick, eyeing him more closely.

"I don't impress people," explained Colby, picking up the guitar again.

"I don't inspire confidence. As for the law, I know it as well as

anyone--which is begging the question--but when I'm interviewed I have

to admit I've had no experience."

"No practice?"

"Just a few collections, that's all I sleep on that sofa yonder, eat at

a cafeteria, and so manage to keep body and soul together. Once in a

while a stranger sees my sign and needs a lawyer, so he climbs the

stairs. But when he meets me face to face he beats a hasty retreat."

As he spoke, Colby tightened a string and began strumming it to get it

tuned. Uncle John sat down on the one other chair in the room and

thought a moment.

"You've been admitted to the bar?" he asked.

"Yes, sir. Graduate of the Penn Law School."

"Then you know enough to defend an innocent man from an unjust

accusation?"

Colby laid down the guitar.

"Ah!" said he, "this grows interesting. I really believe you have half a

mind to give me your case. Sir, I know enough, I hope, to defend an

innocent man; but I can't promise, offhand, to save him, even from an

unjust accusation."

"Why not? Doesn't law stand for justice?"

"Perhaps; in the abstract. Anyhow, there's a pretty fable to that effect.

But law in the abstract, and law as it is interpreted and applied, are

not even second cousins. To be quite frank, I'd rather defend a guilty

person than an innocent one. The chances are I'd win more easily. Are you

sure your man is innocent?"

Uncle John scowled.

"Perhaps I'd better find another lawyer who is more optimistic," he said.

"Oh, I'm full of optimism, sir. My fault is that I'm not well known in

the courts and have no arrangement to divide my fees with the powers that

be. But I've been observing and I know the tricks of the trade as well as

any lawyer in California. My chief recommendation, however, is that I'm

eager to get a case, for my rent is sadly overdue. Why not try me, just

to see what I'm able to do? I'd like to find that out myself."

"This is a very important matter," asserted Mr. Merrick.

"Very. If I'm evicted for lack of rent-money my career is crippled."

"I mean the case is a serious one."

"Are you willing to pay for success?"

"Liberally."

"Then I'll win it for you. Don't judge my ability by my present

condition, sir. Tell me your story and I'll get to work at once."

Uncle John rose with sudden decision.

"Put on your coat," he said, and while Colby obeyed with alacrity he gave

him a brief outline of the accusation brought against Jones. "I want you

to take my car," he added, "and hasten to the police station, that you

may be present at the preliminary examination. There will be plenty of

time to talk afterward."

Colby nodded. His coat and hat made the young lawyer quite presentable

and without another word he followed Mr. Merrick down the stairs and took

his seat in the motorcar. Next moment he was whirling down the street and

Uncle John looked after him with a half puzzled expression, as if he

wondered whether or not he had blundered in his choice of a lawyer.

A little later he secured a taxicab and drove to the office of the

Continental Film Manufacturing Company. Mr. Goldstein was in his office

but sent word that he was too busy to see visitors. Nevertheless, when

Mr. Merrick declared he had been sent by A. Jones, he was promptly

admitted to the manager's sanctum.

"Our friend, young Jones," he began, "has just been arrested by a

detective."

Goldstein's nervous jump fairly raised him off his chair; but in

an instant he settled back and shot an eager, interested look at

his visitor.

"What for, Mr. Merrick?" he demanded.

"For stealing valuable pearls from some foreign woman. A trumped-up

charge, of course."

Goldstein rubbed the palms of his hands softly together. His face wore a

look of supreme content.

"Arrested! Ah, that is bad, Mr. Merrick. It is very bad indeed. And it

involves us--the Continental, you know--in an embarrassing manner."

"Why so?" asked Uncle John.

"Can't you see, sir?" asked the manager, trying hard to restrain a

smile. "If the papers get hold of this affair, and state that our

president--our biggest owner--the man who controls the Continental

stock--is a common thief, the story will--eh--eh--put a bad crimp in

our business, so to speak."

Uncle John looked at the man thoughtfully.

"So Jones controls the Continental, eh?" he said. "How long since, Mr.

Goldstein?"

"Why, since the January meeting, a year and more ago. It was an

astonishing thing, and dramatic--believe _me_! At the annual meeting of

stockholders in walks this stripling--a mere kid--proves that he holds

the majority of stock, elects himself president and installs a new board

of directors, turning the tired and true builders of the business out in

the cold. Then, without apology, promise or argument, President Jones

walks out again! In an hour he upset the old conditions, turned our

business topsy-turvy and disappeared with as little regard for the

Continental as if it had been a turnip. That stock must have cost him

millions, and how he ever got hold of it is a mystery that has kept us

all guessing ever since. The only redeeming feature of the affair was

that the new board of directors proved decent and Jones kept away from us

all and let us alone. I'd never seen him until he came here a few days

ago and began to order me around. So, there, Mr. Merrick, you know as

much about Jones as I do."

Mr. Merrick was perplexed. The more he heard of young Jones the more

amazing; the boy seemed to be.

"Has the Continental lost money since Jones took possession?" he

inquired.

"I think not," replied Goldstein, cautiously. "You're a business man, Mr.

Merrick, and can understand that our machinery--our business system--is

so perfect that it runs smoothly, regardless of who grabs the dividends.

What I object to is this young fellow's impertinence in interfering with

my work here. He walks in, reverses my instructions to my people, orders

me to do unbusinesslike things and raises hob with the whole

organization."

"Well, it belongs to him, Goldstein," said Uncle John, in defense of

the boy. "He is your employer and has the right to dictate. But just at

present he needs your help. He asked me to come here and tell you of

his arrest."

Goldstein shrugged his shoulders.

"His arrest is none of my business," was his reply. "If Jones stole the

money to buy Continental stock he must suffer the consequences. I'm

working for the stock, not for the individual."

"But surely you will go to the station and see what can be done for him?"

protested Uncle John.

"Surely I will not," retorted the manager. "What's the use? There isn't

even a foot of good picture film in so common a thing as the arrest of a

thief--and the censors would forbid it if there were. Let Jones fight

his own battles."

"It occurs to me," suggested Mr. Merrick, who was growing indignant,

"that Mr. Jones will be able to satisfy the court that he is not a thief,

and so secure his freedom without your assistance. What will happen then,

Mr. Goldstein?"

"Then? Why, it is still none of my business. I'm the manager of a motion

picture concern--one of the biggest concerns in the world--and I've

nothing to do with the troubles of my stockholders."

He turned to his desk and Mr. Merrick was obliged to go away without

farther parley. On his way out he caught a glimpse of Maud Stanton

passing through the building. She was dressed in the costume of an Indian

princess and looked radiantly beautiful. Uncle John received a nod and a

smile and then she was gone, without as yet a hint of the misfortune that

had overtaken A. Jones of Sangoa.

Returning to the hotel, rather worried and flustered by the morning's

events, he found the girls quietly seated in the lobby, busy over their

embroidery.

"Well, Uncle," said Patsy, cheerfully, "is Ajo still in limbo?"

"I suppose so," he rejoined, sinking into an easy chair beside her. "Is

Arthur back yet?"

"No," said Louise, answering for her husband, "he is probably staying to

do all he can for the poor boy."

"Did you get a lawyer?" inquired Beth.

"I got a fellow who claims to be a lawyer; but I'm not sure he will be

of any use."

Then he related his interview with Colby, to the amusement of his nieces,

all three of whom approved the course he had taken and were already

prepared to vouch for the briefless barrister's ability, on the grounds

that eccentricity meant talent.

"You see," explained Miss Patsy, "he has nothing else to do but jump

heart and soul into this case, so Ajo will be able to command his

exclusive services, which with some big, bustling lawyer would be

impossible."

Luncheon was over before Arthur finally appeared, looking somewhat grave

and perturbed.

"They won't accept bail," he reported. "Jones must stay in jail until his

formal examination, and if they then decide that he is really Jack

Andrews he will remain in jail until his extradition papers arrive."

"When will he be examined?" asked Louise.

"Whenever the judge feels in the humor, it seems. Our lawyer demanded

Jones' release at once, on the ground that a mistake of identity had

been made; but the stupid judge is of the opinion that the charge

against our friend is valid. At any rate he refused to let him go. He

wouldn't even argue the case at present. He issues a warrant on a

charge of larceny, claps a man in jail whether innocent or not, and

refuses to let him explain anything or prove his innocence until a

formal examination is held."

"There is some justice in that," remarked Uncle John. "Suppose Jones is

guilty; it would be a mistake to let him go free until a thorough

examination had been made."

"And if he is innocent, he will have spent several days in jail, been

worried and disgraced, and there is no redress for the false

imprisonment. The judge won't even apologize to him!"

"It's all in the interests of law and order, I suppose," said Patsy; "but

the law seems dreadfully inadequate to protect the innocent. I suppose

it's because the courts are run by cheap and incompetent people who

couldn't earn a salary in any other way."

"Someone must run them, and it isn't an ambitious man's job," replied

Uncle John. "What do you think of the lawyer I sent you, Arthur?"

The young ranchman smiled.

"He's a wonder, Uncle. He seemed to know more about the case than Jones

or I did, and more about the law than the judge did. He's an

irrepressible fellow, and told that rascal Le Drieux a lot about pearls

that the expert never had heard before. Where did you find him, sir?"

Uncle John explained.

"Well," said Arthur, "I think Jones is in good hands. Colby has secured

him a private room at the jail, with a bath and all the comforts of home.

Meals are to be sent in from a restaurant and when I left the place the

jailer had gone out to buy Jones a stock of books to while away his

leisure hours--which are bound to be numerous. I'd no idea a prisoner

could live in such luxury."

"Money did it, I suppose," Patsy shrewdly suggested.

"Yes. Jones wrote a lot of checks. Colby got a couple of hundred for a

retaining fee and gleefully informed us it was more money than he had

ever owned at one time in all his previous career. I think he will earn

it, however."

"Where is he now?" asked Uncle John.

"Visiting all the newspaper offices, to 'buy white space,' as he put it.

In other words, Colby will bribe the press to silence, at least until

the case develops."

"I'm glad of that," exclaimed Beth. "What do you think of this queer

business, Arthur?"

"Why, I've no doubt of the boy's innocence, if that is what you mean.

I've watched him closely and am positive he is no more Jack Andrews than

I am. But I fear he will have a hard task to satisfy the judge that he is

falsely accused. It would be an admission of error, you see, and so the

judge will prefer to find him guilty. It is this same judge--Wilton, I

think his name is--who will conduct the formal examination, and to-day he

openly sneered at the mention of Sangoa. On the other hand, he evidently

believed every statement made by Le Drieux about the identity of the

pearls found in Jones' possession. Le Drieux has a printed list of the

Ahmberg pearls, and was able to check the Jones' pearls off this list

with a fair degree of accuracy. It astonished even me, and I could see

that Jones was equally amazed."

"Wouldn't it be queer if they convicted him!" exclaimed Beth.

"It would be dreadful, since he is innocent," said Patsy.

"There is no need to worry about that just at present," Arthur assured

them. "I am placing a great deal of confidence in the ability of

Lawyer Colby."

CHAPTER XVIII

DOUBTS AND DIFFICULTIES

The Stanton girls and Mrs. Montrose came in early that afternoon. They

had heard rumors of the arrest of Jones and were eager to learn what had

occurred. Patsy and Beth followed them to their rooms to give them every

known detail and canvass the situation in all its phases.

"Goldstein has been an angel all afternoon," said Flo. "He grinned

and capered about like a schoolboy and some of us guessed he'd been

left a fortune."

"He ought to be ashamed of himself." Patsy indignantly asserted. "The man

admitted to Uncle John that Ajo is the biggest stockholder in the

Continental, the president, to boot; yet Goldstein wouldn't lift a finger

to help him and positively refused to obey his request to go to him after

he was arrested."

"I know about that," said Aunt Jane, quietly. "Goldstein talked to me

about the affair this afternoon and declared his conviction that young

Jones is really a pearl thief. He has taken a violent dislike to the boy

and is delighted to think his stock will be taken away from him."

Maud had silently listened to this dialogue as she dressed for dinner.

But now she impetuously broke into the conversation, saying:

"Something definite ought to be done for the boy. He needs intelligent

assistance. I'm afraid his situation is serious."

"That is what Arthur thinks," said Beth. "He says that unless he can

furnish proof that he is not Jack Andrews, and that he came by those

pearls honestly, he will be shipped to Austria for trial. No one knows

what those foreigners will do to him, but he would probably fare badly

in their hands."

"Such being the logical conclusion," said Maud, "we must make our fight

now, at the examination."

"Uncle John has engaged a lawyer," announced Patsy, "and if he proves

bright and intelligent he ought to be able to free Ajo."

"I'd like to see that lawyer, and take his measure," answered Maud,

musingly, and her wish was granted soon after they had finished dinner.

Colby entered the hotel, jaunty as ever, and Arthur met him and

introduced him to the girls.

"You must forgive me for coming on a disagreeable mission," began the

young attorney, "but I have promised the judge that I would produce all

the pearls Mr. Jones gave you, not later than to-morrow morning. He wants

them as evidence, and to compare privately with Le Drieux's list,

although he will likely have the expert at his elbow. So I can't promise

that you will ever get your jewels back again."

"Oh. You think, then, that Mr. Jones is guilty?" said Maud coldly.

"No, indeed; I believe he is innocent. A lawyer should never suspect his

client, you know. But to win I must prove my case, and opposed to me is

that terrible Le Drieux, who insists he is never mistaken."

"Arthur--Mr. Weldon--says you understand pearls as well as Mr. Le Drieux

does," suggested Patsy.

"I thank him; but he is in error. I chattered to the judge about

pearls, it is true, because I found he couldn't tell a pearl from a

glass bead; and I believe I even perplexed Le Drieux by hinting at a

broad knowledge on the subject which I do not possess. It was all a bit

of bluff on my part. But by to-morrow morning this knowledge will be a

fact, for I've bought a lot of books on pearls and intend to sit up all

night reading them."

"That was a clever idea," said Uncle John, nodding approval.

"So my mission here this evening is to get the pearls, that I may study

them as I read," continued Colby. "Heretofore I've only seen the things

through a plate glass window, or a show case. The success of our defense

depends upon our refuting Le Drieux's assertion that the pearls found in

Jones' possession are a part of the Countess Ahmberg's collection. He has

a full description of the stolen gems and I must be prepared to show

that none of the Jones' pearls is on the list."

"Can you do that?" asked Maud.

She was gazing seriously into the young man's eyes and this caused him to

blush and stammer a little as he replied:

"I--I hope to, Miss Stanton."

"And are you following no other line of defense?" she inquired.

He sat back and regarded the girl curiously for a moment.

"I would like you to suggest some other line of defense," he replied.

"I've tried to find one--and failed."

"Can't you prove he is not Jack Andrews?"

"Not if the identity of the pearls is established," said the lawyer. "If

the pearls were stolen, and if Jones cannot explain how he obtained

possession of them, the evidence is _prima facia_ that he _is_ Jack

Andrews, or at least his accomplice. Moreover, his likeness to the

photograph is somewhat bewildering, you must admit."

This gloomy view made them all silent for a time, each thoughtfully

considering the matter. Then Maud asked:

"Do you know the cash value of Mr. Jones' stock in the Continental

Film Company?"

Colby shook his head, but Uncle John replied:

"Goldstein told me it is worth millions."

"Ah!" exclaimed the girl. "There, then, is our proof."

The lawyer reflected, with knitted brows.

"I confess I don't quite see your point," said he.

"How much were those stolen pearls worth?" asked the girl.

"I don't know."

"You know they were not worth millions. Jack Andrews was an adventurer,

by Le Drieux's showing; he was a fellow who lived by his wits and

generally earned his livelihood by gambling with the scions of wealthy

families. Even had he stolen the Countess' pearls and disposed of the

collection at enormous prices--which a thief is usually unable to do--he

would still have been utterly unable to purchase a controlling interest

in the Continental stock."

She spoke with quiet assurance, but her statement roused the group to

sudden excitement.

"Hooray!" cried Patsy. "There's your proof, Mr. Colby."

"The logic of genius," commented Uncle John.

"Why, it's proof positive!" said Beth.

"It is certainly a strong argument in favor of the boy's innocence,"

asserted Arthur Weldon.

"Maud's a wonder when she wakes up. She ought to have been a 'lady

detective,'" remarked Flo, regarding her sister admiringly.

Colby, at first startled, was now also regarding Maud Stanton with open

admiration; but there was an odd smile on his lips, a smile of indulgent

toleration.

"Le Drieux's statement connects Andrews with two other pearl robberies,"

he reminded her. "The necklace of the Princess Lemoine is said to be

priceless, and the Grandison collection stolen in London was scarcely

less valuable than that of Countess Ahmberg."

"Allowing all that," said Mr. Merrick, "two or three hundred thousand

dollars would doubtless cover the value of the entire lot. I am quite

certain, Mr. Colby, that Miss Stanton's suggestion will afford you an

excellent line of defense."

"I shall not neglect it, you may be sure," replied the lawyer. "Tonight

I'll try to figure out, as nearly as possible, the total cash value of

all the stolen pearls, and of course Jones will tell us what he paid

for his stock, or how much it is worth. But I am not sure this argument

will have as much weight as Miss Stanton suggests it may. A bold

gambler, such as Andrews, might have obtained a huge sum at Baden Baden

or Monte Carlo; and, were he indeed so clever a thief as his record

indicates, he may have robbed a bank, or stolen in some way an immense

sum of money. Logically, the question has weight and I shall present it

as effectively as I can; but, as I said, I rely more on my ability to

disprove the identity of the pearls, on which the expert Le Drieux lays

so much stress. Jones will have a thorough and formal examination

within a few days--perhaps to-morrow--and if the judge considers that

Andrews the pearl thief has been captured, he will be held here pending

the arrival from Washington of the extradition papers--say two or

three weeks longer."

"Then we shall have all that time to prove his innocence?" inquired Maud.

"Unfortunately, no. There will be no further trial of the prisoner until

he gets to Vienna and is delivered to the authorities there. All our work

must be done previous to the formal examination."

"You do not seem very hopeful," observed Maud, a hint of reproach

in her tone.

"Then appearances are against me, Miss Stanton," replied the lawyer with

a smile. "This is my first important case, and if I win it my future is

assured; so I mean to win. But in order to do that I must consider the

charge of the prosecution, the effect of its arguments upon the judge,

and then find the right means to combat them. When I am with you, the

friends of the accused, I may consider the seamy side of the fabric; but

the presiding judge will find me so sure of my position that he will

instinctively agree with me."

They brought him the pearls Jones had presented to them and then the

lawyer bade them good night and went to his office to master the history

of pearls in general and those famous ones stolen from Countess Ahmberg

in particular.

When he had gone Uncle John remarked:

"Well, what do you think of him?"

They seemed in doubt.

"I think he will do all he can," said Patsy.

"And he appears quite a clever young man," added Beth, as if to

encourage them.

"Allowing all that," said Maud, gravely, "he has warned us of the

possibility of failure. I cannot understand how the coils of evidence

have wrapped themselves so tightly around poor Ajo."

"That," asserted Flo, "is because you cannot understand Ajo himself. Nor

can I; nor can any of us!"

CHAPTER XIX

MAUD MAKES A MEMORANDUM

My mother used to say to me: "Never expect to find brains in a pretty

girl." Perhaps she said it because I was not a pretty girl and she

wished to encourage me. In any event, that absurd notion of the ancients

that when the fairies bestow the gift of beauty on a baby they withhold

all other qualities has so often been disproved that we may well

disregard it.

Maud Stanton was a pretty girl--indeed, a beautiful girl--but she

possessed brains as well as beauty and used her intellect to advantage

more often than her quiet demeanor would indicate to others than her most

intimate associates. From the first she had been impressed by the notion

that there was something mysterious about A. Jones and that his romantic

explanation of his former life and present position was intended to hide

a truth that would embarrass him, were it fully known. Therefore she had

secretly observed the young man, at such times as they were together, and

had treasured every careless remark he had made--every admission or

assertion--and made a note of it. The boy's arrest had startled her

because it was so unexpected, and her first impulse was to doubt his

innocence. Later, however, she had thoroughly reviewed the notes she had

made and decided he was innocent.

In the quiet of her own room, when she was supposed to be asleep, Maud

got out her notebook and read therein again the review of all she had

learned concerning A. Jones of Sangoa.

"For a boy, he has a good knowledge of business; for a foreigner, he has

an excellent conception of modern American methods," she murmured

thoughtfully. "He is simple in little things; shrewd, if not wise, in

important matters. He proved this by purchasing the control of the

Continental, for its shares pay enormous dividends.

"Had he stolen those pearls, I am sure he would have been too shrewd to

have given a portion of them to us, knowing we would display them openly

and so attract attention to them. A thief so ingenious as Andrews, for

instance, would never have done so foolish a thing as that, I am

positive. Therefore, Jones is not Andrews.

"Now, to account for the likeness between Andrews, an American

adventurer, and Jones, reared and educated in the mysterious island of

Sangoa. Ajo's father must have left some near relatives in this country

when he became a recluse in his far-away island. Why did he become a

recluse? That's a subject I must consider carefully, for he was a man of

money, a man of science, a man of affairs. Jones has told us he has no

relatives here. He may have spoken honestly, if his father kept him in

ignorance of the family history. I'm not going to jump at the conclusion

that the man who calls himself Jack Andrews is a near relative of our

Ajo--a cousin, perhaps--but I'll not forget that that might explain the

likeness between them.

"Ajo's father must have amassed a great fortune, during many years, from

his pearl fisheries. That would explain why the boy has so much money at

his disposal. He didn't get it from the sale of stolen pearls, that is

certain. In addition to the money he invested in the Continental, he has

enough in reserve to expend another million or so in Patsy Doyle's motion

picture scheme, and he says he can spare it easily and have plenty left!

This, in my opinion, is a stronger proof of Jones' innocence than Lawyer

Colby seems to consider it. To me, it is conclusive.

"Now, then, where is Sangoa? How can one get to the island? And,

finally, how did Jones get here from Sangoa and how is he to return, if

he ever wants to go back to his valuable pearl fisheries, his people and

his home?"

She strove earnestly to answer these questions, but could not with her

present knowledge. So she tucked the notebook into a drawer of her desk,

put out her light and got into bed.

But sleep would not come to her. The interest she took in the fate of

young Jones was quite impersonal. She liked the boy in the same way she

had liked dozens of boys. The fact that she had been of material

assistance in saving his life aroused no especial tenderness in her. On

his own account, however, Jones was interesting to her because he was so

unusual. The complications that now beset him added to this interest

because they were so curious and difficult to explain. Maud had the

feeling that she had encountered a puzzle to tax her best talents, and so

she wanted to solve it.

Suddenly she bounded out of bed and turned on the electric light. The

notebook was again brought into requisition and she penciled on its pages

the following words:

"What was the exact date that Jack Andrews landed in America? What

was the exact date that Ajo landed from Sangoa? The first question

may be easily answered, for doubtless the police have the record.

But--the other?"

Then she replaced the book, put out the light and went to sleep

very easily.

That last thought, now jotted down in black and white, had effectually

cleared her mind of its cobwebs.

CHAPTER XX

A GIRLISH NOTION

Colby came around next morning just as Mr. Merrick was entering the

breakfast room, and the little man took the lawyer in to have a cup of

coffee. The young attorney still maintained his jaunty air, although

red-eyed from his night's vigil, and when he saw the Stanton girls and

their Aunt Jane having breakfast by an open window he eagerly begged

permission to join them, somewhat to Uncle John's amusement.

"Well?" demanded Maud, reading Colby's face with her clear eyes.

"I made a night of it, as I promised," said he. "This morning I know so

much about pearls that I'm tempted to go into the business."

"As Jack Andrews did?" inquired Flo.

"Not exactly," he answered with a smile. "But it's an interesting

subject--so interesting that I only abandoned my reading when I found I

was burning my electric lamp by daylight. Listen: A pearl is nothing more

or less than nacre, a fluid secretion of a certain variety of oyster--not

the eatable kind. A grain of sand gets between the folds of the oyster

and its shell and irritates the beast. In self-defense the oyster covers

the sand with a fluid which hardens and forms a pearl."

"I've always known that," said Flo, with a toss of her head.

"Yes; but I want you all to bear it in mind, for it will explain a

discovery I have made. Before I get to that, however, I want to say that

at one time the island of Ceylon supplied the world with its most famous

pearls. The early Egyptians discovered them there, as well as on the

Persian and Indian coasts. The pearl which Cleopatra is said to have

dissolved in wine and swallowed was worth about four hundred thousand

dollars in our money; but of course pearls were scarce in her day. A

single pearl was cut in two and used for earrings for the statue of Venus

in the Pantheon at Rome, and the sum paid for it was equal to about a

quarter of a million dollars. Sir Thomas Gresham, in the days of Queen

Elizabeth, had a pearl valued at about seventy-five thousand dollars

which he treated in the same manner Cleopatra did, dissolving it in wine

and boasting he had given the most expensive dinner ever known."

"All of which--" began Maud, impatiently.

"All of which, Miss Stanton, goes to show that pearls have been of great

price since the beginning of history. Nowadays we get just as valuable

pearls from the South Seas, and even from Panama, St. Margarita and the

Caromandel Coast, as ever came from Ceylon. But only those of rare size,

shape or color are now valued at high prices. For instance, a string of

matched pearls such as that owned by Princess Lemoine is estimated as

worth only eighty thousand dollars, because it could be quite easily

duplicated. The collection of Countess Ahmberg was noted for its variety

of shapes and colors more than for its large or costly pearls; and that

leads to my great discovery."

"Thank heaven," said Flo, with a sigh.

"I have discovered that our famous expert. Le Drieux, is an

arrant humbug."

"We had suspected that," remarked Maud.

"Now we know it," declared Colby. "Pearls, I have learned, change their

color, their degree of luster, even their weight, according to

atmospheric conditions and location. A ten-penny-weight pearl in Vienna

might weigh eight or nine pennyweights here in California, or it is more

likely to weigh twelve. The things absorb certain moistures and chemicals

from the air and sun, and shed those absorptions when kept in darkness or

from the fresh air. Pearls die, so to speak; but are often restored to

life by immersions in sea-water, their native element. As for color: the

pink and blue pearls often grow white, at times, especially if kept long

in darkness, but sun-baths restore their former tints. In the same way a

white pearl, if placed near the fumes of ammonia, changes to a pinkish

hue, while certain combinations of chemicals render them black, or

'smoked.' A clever man could steal a pink pearl, bleach it white, and

sell it to its former owner without its being recognized. Therefore, when

our expert, Le Drieux, attempts to show that the pearls found in Jones'

possession are identical with those stolen from the Austrian lady, he

fails to allow for climatic or other changes and cannot be accurate

enough to convince anyone who knows the versatile characteristics of

these gems."

"Ah, but does the judge know that, Mr. Colby?" asked Maud.

"I shall post him. After that, the conviction of the prisoner will be

impossible."

"Do you think the examination will be held to-day?" inquired Mr. Merrick.

"I cannot tell that. It will depend upon the mood of Judge Wilton. If he

feels grouchy or disagreeable, he is liable to postpone the case. If he

is in good spirits and wants to clear his docket he may begin the

examination at ten o'clock, to-day, which is the hour set for it."

"Is your evidence ready, Mr. Colby?"

"Such as I can command, Miss Stanton," he replied. "Last evening I wired

New York for information as to the exact amount of stock Jones owns in

the Continental, and I got a curious reply. The stock is valued at

nineteen hundred thousand dollars, but no one believes that Jones owns

it personally. It is generally thought that for politic reasons the young

man was made the holder of stock for several different parties, who still

own it, although it is in Jones' name. The control of stock without

ownership is not unusual. It gives the real owners an opportunity to hide

behind their catspaw, who simply obeys their instructions."

"I do not believe that Jones is connected with anyone in that manner,"

said Mr. Merrick.

"Nor do I," asserted Aunt Jane. "His interference with Goldstein's plans

proves he is under no obligations to others, for he has acted

arbitrarily, in accordance with his personal desires and against the

financial interests of the concern."

"Why didn't you ask him about this, instead of wiring to New York?"

demanded Maud.

"He might not give us exact information, under the circumstances,"

said Colby.

The girl frowned.

"Jones is not an ordinary client," continued the lawyer, coolly. "He

won't tell me anything about himself, or give me what is known as

'inside information.' On the contrary, he contents himself with saying

he is innocent and I must prove it. I'm going to save the young man, but

I'm not looking to him for much assistance."

Maud still frowned. Presently she said:

"I want to see Mr. Jones. Can you arrange an interview for me, sir?"

"Of course. You'd better go into town with me this morning. If the

examination is held, you will see Jones then. If it's postponed, you may

visit him in the jail."

Maud reflected a moment.

"Very well," said she, "I'll go with you." Then, turning to her aunt, she

continued: "You must make my excuses to Mr. Goldstein, Aunt Jane."

Mrs. Montrose eyed her niece critically.

"Who will accompany you, Maud?" she asked.

"Why, I'll go," said Patsy Doyle; and so it was settled, Uncle John

agreeing to escort the young ladies and see them safely home again.

CHAPTER XXI

THE YACHT "ARABELLA"

As the party drove into town Colby said:

"It wouldn't be a bad idea for Jones to bribe that fellow Le Drieux. If

Le Drieux, who holds a warrant for the arrest of Jack Andrews, issued by

the Austrian government and vised in Washington, could be won to our

side, the whole charge against our friend might be speedily dissolved."

"Disgraceful!" snapped Maud indignantly. "I am positive Mr. Jones would

not consider such a proposition."

"Diplomatic, not disgraceful," commented the lawyer, smiling at her. "Why

should Jones refuse to consider bribery?"

"To use money to defeat justice would be a crime as despicable as

stealing pearls," she said.

"Dear me!" muttered Colby, with a puzzled frown. "What a queer way to

look at it. Le Drieux has already been bribed, by a liberal reward, to

run down a supposed criminal. If we bribe him with a larger sum to give

up the pursuit of Jones, whom we believe innocent, we are merely

defending ourselves from a possible injustice which may be brought about

by an error of judgment."

"Isn't this judge both able and honest?" asked Uncle John.

"Wilton? Well, possibly. His ability consists in his knowledge of law,

rather than of men and affairs. He believes himself honest, I suppose,

but I'll venture to predict he will act upon prejudice and an assumption

of personal dignity, rather than attempt to discover if his personal

impressions correspond with justice. A judge, Mr. Merrick, is a mere

man, with all the average man's failings; so we must expect him to be

quite human."

"Never mind," said Patsy resignedly. "Perhaps we shall find him a better

judge than you are lawyer."

"He has had more experience, anyhow," said Colby, much amused at the

shot.

They found, on arriving at court, that the case had already been

postponed. They drove to the jail and obtained permission to see the

prisoner, who was incarcerated under the name of "Jack Andrews, alias A.

Jones." Maud would have liked a private audience, but the lawyer was

present as well as Patsy and Mr. Merrick, and she did not like to ask

them to go away.

The boy greeted them with his old frank smile and did not seem in the

least oppressed by the fact that he was a prisoner accused of an ugly

crime. The interview was held in a parlor of the jail, a guard standing

by the door but discreetly keeping out of earshot.

Colby first informed the boy of the postponement of his formal

examination and then submitted to his client an outline of the defense he

had planned. Jones listened quietly and shook his head.

"Is that the best you can do for me?"

"With my present knowledge, yes," returned the lawyer.

"And will it clear me from this suspicion?" was the next question.

"I hope so."

"You are not sure?"

"This is an extraordinary case, Mr. Jones. Your friends all believe you

innocent, but the judge wants facts--cold, hard facts--and only these

will influence him. Mr. Le Drieux, commissioned by the Austrian

government, states that you are Jack Andrews, and have escaped to America

after having stolen the pearls of a noble Viennese lady. He will offer,

as evidence to prove his assertion, the photograph and the pearls. You

must refute this charge with counter-evidence, in order to escape

extradition and a journey to the country where the crime was committed.

There you will be granted a regular trial, to be sure, but even if you

then secure an acquittal you will have suffered many indignities and your

good name will be permanently tarnished."

"Well, sir?"

"I shall work unceasingly to secure your release at the examination. But

I wish I had some stronger evidence to offer in rebuttal."

"Go ahead and do your best," said the boy, nonchalantly. "I will abide

by the result, whatever it may be."

"May I ask a few questions?" Maud timidly inquired.

He turned to her with an air of relief.

"Most certainly you may, Miss Stanton."

"And you will answer them?"

"I pledge myself to do so, if I am able."

"Thank you," she said. "I am not going to interfere with Mr. Colby's

plans, but I'd like to help you on my own account, if I may."

He gave her a quick look, at once grateful, suspicious and amused.

Then he said:

"Clear out, Colby. I'm sure you have a hundred things to attend to, and

when you're gone I'll have a little talk with Miss Stanton."

The lawyer hesitated.

"If this conversation is likely to affect your case," he began, "then--"

"Then Miss Stanton will give you any information she may acquire,"

interrupted Jones, and that left Colby no alternative but to go away.

"Now, then, Miss Stanton, out with it!" said the boy.

"There are a lot of things we don't know, but ought to know, in order to

defend you properly," she observed, looking at him earnestly.

"Question me, then."

"I want to know the exact date when you landed in this country

from Sangoa."

"Let me see. It was the twelfth day of October, of last year."

"Oh! so long ago as that? It is fifteen months. Once you told us that you

had been here about a year."

"I didn't stop to count the months, you see. The twelfth of October

is correct."

"Where did you land?"

"At San Francisco."

"Direct from Sangoa?"

"Direct from Sangoa."

"And what brought you from Sangoa to San Francisco?"

"A boat."

"A sailing-ship?"

"No, a large yacht. Two thousand tons burden."

"Whose yacht was it?"

"Mine."

"Then where is it now?"

He reflected a moment.

"I think Captain Carg must be anchored at San Pedro, by now. Or perhaps

he is at Long Beach, or Santa Monica," he said quietly.

"On this coast!" exclaimed Maud.

"Yes."

Patsy was all excitement by now and could no longer hold her tongue.

"Is the yacht _Arabella_ yours?" she demanded.

"It is, Miss Patsy."

"Then it is lying off Santa Monica Bay. I've seen it!" she cried.

"It was named for my mother," said the boy, his voice softening, "and

built by my father. In the _Arabella_ I made my first voyage; so you will

realize I am very fond of the little craft."

Maud was busily thinking.

"Is Captain Carg a Sangoan?" she asked.

"Of course. The entire crew are Sangoans."

"Then where has the yacht been since it landed you here fifteen

months ago?"

"It returned at once to the island, and at my request has now made

another voyage to America."

"It has been here several days."

"Quite likely."

"Has it brought more pearls from Sangoa?"

"Perhaps. I do not know, for I have not yet asked for the captain's

report."

Both Uncle John and Patsy were amazed at the rapidity with which Maud was

acquiring information of a really important character. Indeed, she was

herself surprised and the boy's answers were already clearing away some

of the mists. She stared at him thoughtfully as she considered her next

question, and Jones seemed to grow thoughtful, too.

"I have no desire to worry my friends over my peculiar difficulties," he

presently said. "Frankly, I am not in the least worried myself. The

charge against me is so preposterous that I am sure to be released after

the judge has examined me; and, even at the worst--if I were sent to

Vienna for trial--the Austrians would know very well that I am not the

man they seek."

"That trip would cause you great inconvenience, however," suggested

Mr. Merrick.

"I am told a prisoner is treated very well, if he is willing to pay for

such consideration," said Jones.

"And your good name?" asked Maud, with a touch of impatience.

"My good name is precious only to me, and I know it is still untarnished.

For your sake, my newly found friends, I would like the world to believe

in me, but there is none save you to suffer through my disgrace, and you

may easily ignore my acquaintance."

"What nonsense!" cried Patsy, scornfully. "Tell me, sir, what's to become

of our grand motion picture enterprise, if you allow yourself to be

shipped to Vienna as a captured thief?"

He winced a trifle at the blunt epithet but quickly recovered and

smiled at her.

"I'm sorry, Miss Patsy," said he. "I know you will be disappointed if our

enterprise is abandoned. So will I. Since this latest complication arose

I fear I have not given our project the consideration it deserves."

The boy passed his hand wearily across his forehead and, rising from his

seat, took a few nervous steps up and down the room. Then, pausing, he

asked abruptly:

"Are you still inclined to be my champion, Miss Stanton?"

"If I can be of any help," she replied, simply.

"Then I wish you would visit the yacht, make the acquaintance of Captain

Carg and tell him of the trouble I am in. Will you?"

"With pleasure. That is--I'll be glad to do your errand."

"I'll give you a letter to him," he continued, and turning to the

attendant he asked for writing material, which was promptly furnished

him. At the table he wrote a brief note and enclosed it in an envelope

which he handed to Maud.

"You will find the captain a splendid old fellow," said he.

"Will he answer any questions I may ask him?" she demanded.

"That will depend upon your questions," he answered evasively. "Carg is

considered a bit taciturn, I believe, but he has my best interests at

heart and you will find him ready to serve me in any possible way."

"Is there any objection to my going with Maud?" asked Patsy. "I'd like to

visit that yacht; it looks so beautiful from a distance."

"You may all go, if you wish," said he. "It might be well for Mr. Merrick

to meet Captain Carg, who would prefer, I am sure, to discuss so delicate

a matter as my arrest with a man. Not that he is ungallant, but with a

man such as Mr. Merrick he would be more at his ease. Carg is a sailor,

rather blunt and rugged, both in speech and demeanor, but wholly devoted

to me because I am at present _the_ Jones of Sangoa."

"I'll accompany the girls, of course," said Uncle John; "and I think we

ought not to delay in seeing your man. Colby says you may be called for

examination at any time."

"There is one more question I want to ask," announced Maud as they rose

to go. "On what date did you reach New York, after landing at San

Francisco?"

"Why, it must have been some time in last January. I know it was soon

after Christmas, which I passed in Chicago."

"Is that as near as you can recollect the date?"

"Yes, at short notice."

"Then perhaps you can tell me the date you took possession of the

Continental Film Company by entering the stockholders' meeting and

ejecting yourself president?"

He seemed surprised at her information and the question drew from him an

odd laugh.

"How did you learn about that incident?" he asked.

"Goldstein told Mr. Merrick. He said it was a coup d'etat."

The boy laughed again.

"It was really funny," said he. "Old Bingley, the last president, had no

inkling that I controlled the stock. He was so sure of being reelected

that he had a camera-man on hand to make a motion picture of the scene

where all would hail him as the chief. The picture was taken, but it

didn't interest Bingley any, for it showed the consternation on his face,

and the faces of his favored coterie, when I rose and calmly voted him

out of office with the majority of the stock."

"Oh!" exclaimed Maud. "There was a picture made of that scene, then?"

"To be sure. It was never shown but once to an audience of one. I sat

and chuckled to myself while the film was being run."

"Was it kept, or destroyed?" asked the girl, breathlessly.

"I ordered it preserved amongst our archives. Probably Goldstein now has

the negative out here, stored in our Hollywood vaults."

"And the date--when was it?" she demanded.

"Why, the annual meeting is always the last Thursday in January. Figure

it out--it must have been the twenty-sixth. But is the exact date

important, Miss Stanton?"

"Very," she announced. "I don't know yet the exact date that Andrews

landed in New York on his return from Vienna, but if it happened to be

later than the twenty-sixth of January--"

"I see. In that case the picture will clear me of suspicion."

"Precisely. I shall now go and wire New York for the information I

need."

"Can't you get it of Le Drieux?" asked the young man.

"Perhaps so; I'll try. But it will be better to get the date from the

steamship agent direct."

With this they shook the boy's hand, assuring him of their sympathy and

their keen desire to aid him, and then hurried away from the jail.

CHAPTER XXII

MASCULINE AND FEMININE

Uncle John and the girls, after consulting together, decided to stop at

the Hollywood studio and pick up Flo and Mrs. Montrose.

"It would be a shame to visit that lovely yacht without them," said

Patsy; "and we were all invited, you know."

"Yes, invited by a host who is unavoidably detained elsewhere," added

Uncle John.

"Still, that yacht is very exclusive," his niece stated, "and I'm sure we

are the first Americans to step foot on its decks."

They were all in a brighter mood since the interview at the jail, and

after a hurried lunch at the hotel, during which Maud related to the

others the morning's occurrences, they boarded the big Merrick

seven-passenger automobile and drove to Santa Monica Bay. Louise couldn't

leave the baby, who was cutting teeth, but Arthur and Beth joined the

party and on arrival at the beach Uncle John had no difficulty in

securing a launch to take them out to the _Arabella_.

"They won't let you aboard, though," declared the boatman. "A good

many have tried it, an' come back disjointed. There's something queer

about that craft; but the gov'ment don't seem worried, so I guess it

ain't a pirate."

The beauty of the yacht grew on them as they approached it. It was

painted a pure white in every part and on the stern was the one word:

_Arabella_, but no name of the port from which she hailed. The ladder was

hoisted and fastened to an upper rail, but as they drew up to the smooth

sides a close-cropped bullet-head projected from the bulwarks and a gruff

voice demanded:

"Well, what's wanted?"

"We want to see Captain Carg," called Arthur, in reply.

The head wagged sidewise.

"No one allowed aboard," said the man.

"Here's a letter to the captain, from Mr. Jones," said Maud,

exhibiting it.

The word seemed magical. Immediately the head disappeared and an instant

later the boarding ladder began to descend. But the man, a sub-officer

dressed in a neat uniform of white and gold, came quickly down the steps

and held out his hand for the letter.

"Beg pardon," said he, touching his cap to the ladies, "but the rules are

very strict aboard the _Arabella_. Will you please wait until I've taken

this to the captain? Thank you!"

Then he ran lightly up the steps and they remained seated in the launch

until he returned.

"The captain begs you to come aboard," he then said, speaking very

respectfully but with a face that betrayed his wonder at the order of his

superior. Then he escorted them up the side to the deck, which was

marvelously neat and attractive. Some half a dozen sailors lounged here

and there and these stared as wonderingly at the invasion of strangers as

the subaltern had done. But their guide did not pause longer than to see

that they had all reached the deck safely, when he led them into a

spacious cabin.

Here they faced Captain Carg, whom Patsy afterward declared was the

tallest, thinnest, chilliest man she had ever encountered. His hair was

grizzled and hung low on his neck; his chin was very long and ended in a

point; his nose was broad, with sensitive nostrils that marked every

breath he drew. As for his eyes, which instantly attracted attention,

they were brown and gentle as a girl's but had that retrospective

expression that suggests far-away thoughts or an utter lack of interest

in one's surroundings. They never looked at but through one. The effect

of Carg's eyes was distinctly disconcerting.

The commander of the _Arabella_ bowed with much dignity as his guests

entered and with a sweep of his long arm he muttered in distant tones:

"Pray be seated." They obeyed. The cabin was luxuriously furnished and

there was no lack of comfortable chairs.

Somehow, despite the courteous words and attitude of Captain Carg, there

was something about him that repelled confidence. Already Maud and Patsy

were wondering if such a man could be loyal and true.

"My young master," he was saying, as he glanced at the letter he still

held in his hand, "tells me that any questions you may ask I may answer

as freely as I am permitted to."

"What does that mean, sir?" Maud inquired, for the speech was quite

ambiguous.

"That I await your queries, Miss," with another perfunctory bow in her

direction.

She hesitated, puzzled how to proceed.

"Mr. Jones is in a little trouble," she finally began. "He has been

mistaken for some other man and--they have put him in jail until he can

be examined by the federal judge of this district."

The captain's face exhibited no expression whatever. Even the eyes

failed to express surprise at her startling news. He faced his visitors

without emotion.

"At the examination," Maud went on, "it will be necessary for him to

prove he is from Sangoa."

No reply. The captain sat like a statue.

"He must also prove that certain pearls found in his possession came

from Sangoa."

Still no reply. Maud began to falter and fidget. Beth was amused.

Patsy was fast growing indignant. Flo had a queer expression on her

pretty face that denoted mischief to such an extent that it alarmed

her Aunt Jane.

"I'm afraid," said Maud, "that unless you come to your master's

assistance, Captain Carg, he will be sent to Austria, a prisoner charged

with a serious crime."

She meant this assertion to be very impressive, but it did not seem to

affect the man in the least. She sighed, and Flo, with a giggle, broke an

awkward pause.

"Well, why don't you get busy. Maud?" she asked.

"I--in what way, Flo?" asked her sister, catching at the suggestion

implied.

"Captain Carg would make a splendid motion picture actor," declared the

younger Miss Stanton, audaciously. "He sticks close to his cues, you see,

and won't move till he gets one. He will answer your questions; yes, he

has said he would; but you may prattle until doomsday without effect, so

far as he is concerned, unless you finish your speech with an

interrogation point."

Mrs. Montrose gave a gasp of dismay, while Maud flushed painfully. The

captain, however, allowed a gleam of admiration to soften his grim

features as he stared fixedly at saucy Flo. Patsy marked this fleeting

change of expression at once and said hastily:

"I think. Maud, dear, the captain is waiting to be questioned."

At this he cast a grateful look in Miss Doyle's direction and bowed to

her. Maud began to appreciate the peculiar situation and marshalled her

questions in orderly array.

"Tell me, please, where _is_ Sangoa?" she began.

"In the South Seas, Miss."

"Will you give me the latitude and longitude?"

"I cannot."

"Oh, you mean that you _will_ not?"

"I have been commanded to forget the latitude and longitude of Sangoa."

"But this is folly!" she exclaimed, much annoyed. "Such absurd reticence

may be fatal to Mr. Jones' interests."

He made no reply to this and after reflection she tried again.

"What is the nearest land to Sangoa?"

"Toerdal," said he.

"What is that, an island?"

"Yes."

"Is it on the maps? Is it charted?"

"No, Miss."

She silenced Flo's aggravating giggle with a frown.

"Tell me, sir," she continued, "what is the nearest land to Sangoa that

is known to the world?"

He smiled faintly as he replied: "I cannot tell."

Uncle John had grown very uneasy by this time and he decided he ought to

attempt to assist Maud. So, addressing Captain Carg, he said in a

positive tone:

"We quite understand, sir, that it has been the policy of the owners of

Sangoa to guard all knowledge of the island's whereabouts from the

outside world, as well as the fact that its pearl fisheries are very

rich. We understand that an influx of treasure-seekers would embarrass

the Sangoans. But we are close friends of young Mr. Jones and have no

desire to usurp his island kingdom or seize his pearls. Our only anxiety

is to free him from an unjust suspicion. A foolish man named Le Drieux

accuses Jones of stealing a choice collection of pearls from a lady in

Austria and fleeing with them to America. He has a photograph of the real

criminal, taken abroad, which curiously resembles your young master."

Here the captain turned a quick look upon the speaker and for the first

time his eyes lost their dull expression. But he made no remark and Uncle

John continued:

"This man Le Drieux found several choice pearls in the possession of Mr.

Jones, which he claims are a part of the stolen collection. Hence he

obtained your master's arrest. Jones says he brought the pearls from

Sangoa, his home, where they were found. No one here knows anything of

Sangoa, so they regard his story with suspicion. Now, sir, we believe

that through you we can prove he has told the truth, and so secure his

release. Here is the important question: Will you help us?"

"Willingly, sir," replied the captain.

"Are you forbidden to tell us where Sangoa is, or anything about

the island?"

"Yes, sir; I am forbidden to do that, under any circumstances," was the

ready answer.

"Have you been to Sangoa since you landed Mr. Jones in San Francisco,

some fifteen months ago?"

"Yes, sir."

"And did you bring back with you, on this trip, any pearls?"

"Yes, sir."

"Have you already disposed of them?"

"No, sir."

"Why not?"

"I am awaiting orders from my master."

"Has he been aboard since you anchored here?"

"No, sir."

"What were your instructions?"

"To anchor on this coast and await his coming."

"Well," said Mr. Merrick, reflectively, "I believe you can prove our case

without telling the location of Sangoa. An exhibition of the pearls you

have brought ought to convince any reasonable judge. Are there many of

them in this lot?"

"Not so many as usual, sir."

"Are they very choice ones?"

"Not so choice as usual, sir."

Uncle John was greatly disappointed, but Maud exclaimed eagerly:

"Let us see them, please!"

That was not a question, but the captain rose at once, bowed and left the

cabin. It was some ten minutes before he returned, followed by two men

who bore between them a heavy bronze chest which they placed upon the

cabin floor. Then they left the room and the captain took a key from his

pocket and unlocked a secret panel in the wainscoting of the cabin. A

small compartment was disclosed, in which hung another key on an iron

hook. He removed this and with it unlocked the chest, drawing-from its

recesses several trays which he deposited upon the table. These trays

were lined and padded with white velvet and when the covers were removed,

the girls, who had crowded around the table, uttered cries of

astonishment and delight.

"They may not be as numerous or as choice 'as usual,'" murmured

Mrs. Montrose, "but they are the most amazing lot of pearls I have

ever beheld."

"And did all these come from Sangoa?" Maud asked the captain.

"They represent two months' fishing on the coast of our island," he

replied; "but not the best two months of the year. The weather was bad;

there were many storms."

"Why, the pearls that Ajo gave us were insignificant when compared with

these!" cried Beth. "This collection must be worth an enormous sum.

Uncle John."

Uncle John merely nodded. He had been thinking, as he studied the pearls,

and now turned to Captain Carg.

"Will you come ashore and testify before the judge in behalf of

your master?"

"Yes, if he asks me to do so."

"And will you bring these pearls with you?"

"If my master orders it."

"Very good. We will have him send you instructions."

The captain bowed, after which he turned to the table and began replacing

the trays in the chest. Then he locked it, again hung the key in the

secret aperture and closed the panel. A whistle summoned the two seamen,

who bore away the chest, accompanied by the captain in person.

When they were left alone, Maud said anxiously:

"Is there anything more we can do here?"

"I think not," replied Mr. Merrick.

"Then let us get back. I want to complete my evidence at once, for no one

knows when the judge will summon Ajo for examination."

They thanked the captain when he rejoined them, but he remained as silent

and undemonstrative as ever, so they took their departure without further

ceremony and returned to the shore.

CHAPTER XXIII

THE ADVANTAGE OF A DAY

That evening Le Drieux appeared in the lobby of the hotel and sat himself

comfortably down, as if his sole desire in life was to read the evening

paper and smoke his after-dinner cigar. He cast a self-satisfied and

rather supercilious glance in the direction of the Merrick party, which

on this occasion included the Stantons and their aunt, but he made no

attempt to approach the corner where they were seated.

Maud, however, as soon as she saw Le Drieux, asked Arthur Weldon to

interview the man and endeavor to obtain from him the exact date when

Jack Andrews landed in New York. Uncle John had already wired to Major

Doyle, Patsy's father, to get the steamship lists and find which boat

Andrews had come on and the date of its arrival, but no answer had as yet

been received.

Arthur made a pretext of buying a cigar at the counter and then

strolled aimlessly about until he came, as if by chance, near to where

Le Drieux was sitting. Making a pretense of suddenly observing the man,

he remarked casually:

"Ah, good evening."

"Good evening, Mr. Weldon," replied Le Drieux, a note of ill-suppressed

triumph in his voice.

"I suppose you are now content to rest on your laurels, pending the

formal examination?" said Arthur.

"I am, sir. But the examination is a mere form, you know. I have already

cabled the commissioner of police at Vienna and received a reply stating

that the Austrian ambassador would make a prompt demand for extradition

and the papers would be forwarded from Washington to the Austrian consul

located in this city. The consul has also been instructed to render me

aid in transporting the prisoner to Vienna. All this will require several

days' time, so you see we are in no hurry to conclude the examination."

"I see." said Arthur. "Is it, then, your intention to accompany the

prisoner to Vienna?"

"Of course. I have not mentioned the fact to you before, but I hold a

commission from the Chief of Police of Vienna authorizing me to arrest

Jack Andrews wherever I may find him, and deliver him up for trial. My

firm procured for me this commission, as they are very anxious to recover

the lost pearls."

"Why?"

"Well, to be frank, sir, the countess still owes our firm a large sum for

purchases. She had almost her entire fortune tied up in that collection,

and unless it is recovered--."

"I can well appreciate the anxiety of your firm. But aside from that, Mr.

Le Drieux, I suppose a big reward has been offered?"

"Not big; just a fair amount. It will repay me, quite handsomely, for my

trouble in this affair; but, of course, my firm gets half of the reward."

"They are not too generous. You deserve it all."

"Thank you. It has been an interesting episode, Mr. Weldon."

"It has been more than that. I consider this escapade of Andrews quite a

romance; or is it more of a tragedy, in your opinion?"

"It will be a tragedy for Andrews, before he's through with it," replied

Le Drieux grimly. "They're pretty severe on the long-fingered gentry,

over there in Europe, and you must remember that if the fellow lives

through the sentence they will undoubtedly impose upon him in Vienna, he

has still to answer for the Paris robbery and the London murder. It's all

up with Andrews, I guess; and it's a good thing, too, for he is too

clever to remain at large."

"I do not consider him so clever as his captor," said Arthur smoothly.

"It did not take you long to discover where he had hidden. Why, he has

only returned to America about fifteen months ago."

"Eleven months ago--even less than that, I think," retorted Le Drieux,

with much pride. "Let me see," taking out a notebook, "Andrews landed

from the _Princess Irene_ on the twenty-seventh of January last."

"Oh, the twenty-seventh? Are you sure of that?" said Arthur.

"Of course."

"I was under the impression he landed on the twenty-fifth."

"No; you are wrong. Why, I met the boat myself, but missed him, although

he was on the passenger list. He disembarked very slyly, I afterward

learned, being doubtless afraid he would be arrested. But at that time I

had no positive evidence against him."

Arthur asked a few more questions of no importance and then bade Le

Drieux good night and rejoined the girls.

"You win, Maud," he remarked as he sat down. "That clew of yours was an

inspiration. Andrews arrived in America on January twenty-seventh, just

one day after Jones had a motion picture of himself taken at the

stockholders' meeting of the Continental Film Company."

"Then we needn't worry over Ajo any longer!" asserted Patsy joyfully.

"With this evidence and the testimony of Captain Carg and his pearls, the

most stupid judge on earth would declare the boy innocent. Why, Beth, we

shall get our theatres built, after all!"

CHAPTER XXIV

PICTURE NUMBER NINETEEN

"Well, where have you been?" demanded Goldstein gruffly, as Maud Stanton

entered his office the next morning in response to a summons from the

Continental manager. "What made you run away yesterday? Don't you know

such things make us lots of trouble and cost us money?"

"I'm not worrying about that," replied Maud, as she composedly sat down

opposite the manager.

Goldstein glared at her, but he was cautious.

"You're a fine actress, Miss Stanton, and you're popular on the films,"

he said, "but if you cannot attend to business we are paying you too

much money."

"Indeed!"

"No other firm could afford to give you so much, you know that; and the

only reason we are so extravagant is because you are one of our

features."

"Am I to take this as a dismissal?" she asked carelessly.

"Dismissal!" he cried, holding up his hands. "Of course not. Who is

talking of dismissal? But I owe a duty to my firm. Such actions as yours,

in running away from rehearsals, must have a--a--reprimand. Not severe; I

am not so angry as grieved; but a reprimand is your due--and that

fly-away sister of yours is just as bad."

"We went to assist your president--Mr. Jones--to establish his innocence

of the awful charge made against him," she explained.

"Bah. You can't do that. No one can save him," he replied, with triumph

and satisfaction mingled in his tone.

She looked at him thoughtfully.

"You seem pleased with the idea that he is guilty, Mr. Goldstein."

"I am glad he is caught. What is Jones to me? An interloper! A boy who

gets money, buys stock, and then interferes with a business he knows

nothing about. You are a professional, Miss Stanton. You know how we, who

are in the game, have won our knowledge of it by long experience, by

careful study, by keeping the thousand threads of the rope of success

twisted tightly together. Any fool could buy this business, but only an

expert could run it successfully. You know that. So I am glad this

interfering boy is wiped off the slate forever."

"But he isn't!" she protested. "You still have this boy to reckon with,

Goldstein. When he is examined by the judge he will be set free, for all

the evidence is in his favor and there is ample proof that he is not the

man they are after. And that reminds me. There is a negative here that

was made at the directors' meeting in January, a year ago, which shows

Mr. Jones taking control of the Continental."

"I have never seen it," he said, shaking his head.

"It is here, though, and I want a positive printed at once, and mounted

on a reel, so it can be exhibited before the judge. Have Alfred get it

out of the vault."

"Why should I do that?" he inquired, frowning.

"Because, if you refuse, Mr. Jones is quite likely to find another

manager. No other firm would pay you so much as you are getting here. You

know that."

He grinned with delight at the thrust, then grew solemn.

"You are sure he will go free?"

"Positive," returned Maud. "He doesn't really need that film, but it

would be good policy--excellent policy--for you to produce it."

"Alfred!" called the manager. "Bring me the stock book."

He ran his finger down the pages.

"January--eh--eh--"

"January twenty-sixth," she said.

"Here it is: 'Special of Annual Meeting, C.F.M. Co.--280 feet.--No. 19,'

Get number nineteen out of the vault, Alfred."

While the young man was gone he relapsed into thought. Maud waited

patiently.

"You see," resumed the manager abruptly, "I am making more money for the

Continental than I get paid for. That is because I know how. It is not

good business to cut down the profits; therefore I should be paid a

bigger salary. Miss Stanton, you're a friend of young Jones, who controls

this company. Yon might talk to him about me."

"I will," she said.

"You might say I know every trick of the trade. Tell Jones how all the

other film makers are crazy to get me. But say how I refuse more money

because I believe our directors will wake up to my value and raise my

salary. That sounds pretty good, eh?"

"It sounds remarkable."

"And it's no dream. Ah, here comes Alfred."

The clerk laid upon the table a round box coated with paraffin to exclude

the air. A tag was attached to the box, describing its contents.

"Number nineteen. Quite right. Take it to the printing room and tell

McDonald to make me a copy as quickly as possible. Tell him to let me

know when it's dry and ready to run."

As the clerk disappeared Maud said:

"I needn't wait, I suppose?"

"No. Werner wants you at the rehearsal of 'The Love of a Princess.'

Before you go home to-night I'll call you in to see the run of number

nineteen. Then you may take the film to Jones--with my compliments."

At five o'clock, when she was dressing to go home, Maud was summoned to

the little "dark room" where all films are exhibited, trimmed and tested

before being sent out. She took Aunt Jane and Flo with her and they found

Goldstein already waiting and the operator standing by his machine.

The scene was short and not very exciting, although of interest in the

present crisis. It showed the interior of the hall where the

stock-holders' meeting was held, and began with the assembling of the

members. Two or three pompous individuals then seated themselves facing

the others, and the proceedings began. A slim boy on a back bench arose

and said something. Panic was at once written on the faces of the former

officers. They gesticulated; their lips moved rapidly. The boy, easily

recognized as A. Jones, advanced and displayed a lot of papers, which

were carefully examined. He then took the president's chair, the former

officers fled in disgust and the throng of stockholders wildly applauded.

Then the light went out, the machine stopped, and Goldstein opened the

door to let in light and air.

"It was the same kid, all right," he remarked. "I had never seen this

film run before, but it shows how Jones called the turn on the old

officers in great shape. I wonder where he got all the money?"

Maud secured his promise to send an operator to town, to exhibit the film

before the judge, whenever he might be required. Then she went to her

hotel fully satisfied that she had done all in her power to assist A.

Jones of Sangoa.

CHAPTER XXV

JUDGMENT

A telegram from Major Doyle corroborated Le Drieux's assertion that Jack

Andrews had arrived at the port of New York via the _Princess Irene_ on

January twenty-seventh. A report from Lawyer Colby stated that he was now

so thoroughly posted on everything pertaining to pearls that he could

easily confound the expert, Mr. Isidore Le Drieux. There the matter

rested for three days, during which the Stanton girls continued their

work at the studio and Uncle John's nieces busied themselves enjoying the

charms of the ideal Hollywood climate. Then came the news that the judge

would call Jones for examination at nine o'clock on Friday morning, the

thirteenth.

"Friday, the thirteenth!" said Patsy with a grimace. "I hope Ajo isn't

superstitious."

"That combination proves lucky for some people," replied Arthur,

laughing. "Let us hope that Jones is one of them."

"Of course we shall all go to see what happens," said Beth, and to this

there was no dissenting voice.

Maud obtained a letter from Jones to Captain Carg, asking him to be on

hand, and this she dispatched by a safe messenger to the yacht

_Arabella_. She also told Goldstein to have his operator in attendance

with the film. Finally, a conference was called that evening with Mr.

Colby, at which the complete program of defense was carefully rehearsed.

"Really," said the lawyer, "there's nothing to this case. It's a regular

walkaway, believe me! I'm almost ashamed to take Mr. Jones' money for

conducting a case that Miss Stanton has all cut and dried for me. I'll

not receive one half the credit I should had the thing been complicated,

or difficult. However, I've learned so much about pearls that I'm almost

tempted to go into the jewelry business."

Friday morning was bright and cool--one of those perfect days for which

Southern California is famous. Judge Wilton appeared in court with a

tranquil expression upon his face that proved he was in a contented mood.

All conditions augured well for the prisoner.

The prosecution was represented by two well known attorneys who had

brought a dozen witnesses to support their charge, among them being the

Austrian consul. The case opened with the statement that the prisoner,

Jackson Dowd Andrews, alias A. Jones, while a guest at the villa of the

Countess Ahmberg, near Vienna, had stolen from his hostess a valuable

collection of pearls, which he had secretly brought to America. Some of

the stolen booty the prisoner had disposed of, it was asserted; a part

had been found in his possession at the time of his arrest; some of the

pearls had been mounted by Brock & Co., the Los Angeles jewelers, at his

request, and by him presented to several acquaintances he had recently

made but who were innocent of any knowledge of his past history or his

misdeeds. Therefore the prosecution demanded that the prisoner be kept in

custody until the arrival of extradition papers, which were already on

the way, and that on the arrival of these papers Andrews should be

turned over to Le Drieux, a representative of the Vienna police, and by

him taken to Austria, the scene of his crime, for trial and punishment.

The judge followed the charge of the prosecution rather indifferently,

being already familiar with it. Then he asked if there was any defense.

Colby took the floor. He denied that the prisoner was Jackson Dowd

Andrews, or that he had ever been in Vienna. It was a case of mistaken

identity. His client's liberty had been outraged by the stupid blunders

of the prosecution. He demanded the immediate release of the prisoner.

"Have you evidence to support this plea?" inquired Judge Wilton.

"We have, your honor. But the prosecution must first prove its charge."

The prosecution promptly responded to the challenge. The photograph of

Andrews, taken abroad, was shown. Two recognized experts in physiognomy

declared, after comparison, that it was undoubtedly the photograph of the

prisoner. Then Le Drieux took the stand. He read a newspaper account of

the robbery. He produced a list of the pearls, attested by the countess

herself. Each individual pearl was described and its color, weight and

value given. Then Le Drieux exhibited the pearls taken from Jones and,

except for the small ones in the brooch which had been presented to Mrs.

Montrose, he checked off every pearl against his list, weighing them

before the judge and describing their color.

During this, Judge Wilton continually nodded approval. Such evidence was

concise and indisputable, it seemed. Moreover, the defense readily

admitted that the pearls exhibited had all been in Jones' possession.

Then Colby got up to refute the evidence.

"Mr. Jones," he began, "has--"

"Give the prisoner's full name," said the judge.

"His full name is A. Jones."

"What does the 'A' stand for?"

"It is only an initial, your honor. Mr. Jones has no other name."

"Puh! He ought to have taken some other name. Names are cheap," sneered

the judge.

Colby ignored the point.

"Mr. Jones is a resident of Sangoa, where he was born. Until he landed at

San Francisco, fifteen months ago, he had never set foot on any land but

that of his native island."

"Where is Sangoa?" demanded the judge.

"It is an island of the South Seas."

"What nationality?"

"It is independent. It was purchased from Uruguay by Mr. Jones' father

many years ago, and now belongs exclusively to his son."

"Your information is indefinite," snapped the judge.

"I realize that, your honor; but my client deems it wise to keep the

location of his island a secret, because he has valuable pearl

fisheries on its shores. The pearls exhibited by the prosecution were

all found at Sangoa."

"How do you account, then, for their checking so accurately against the

list of stolen pearls?"

"I can make almost any pearls check with that list, which represents a

huge collection of almost every size, weight and color," replied Colby.

"To prove this, I will introduce in evidence Captain Carg of Sangoa, who

recently arrived at Santa Monica Bay with the last proceeds of the pearl

fisheries of the island."

Captain Carg was on hand, with his two sailors guarding the chest. He now

produced the trays of pearls and spread them on the desk before the

amazed eyes of the judge. Le Drieux was astounded, and showed it plainly

on his face.

Colby now borrowed the list, and picking up a pearl from the tray weighed

it on Le Drieux's scales and then found a parallel to it on the list.

This he did with several of the pearls, chosen at random, until one of Le

Drieux's attorneys took the expert aside and whispered to him. Then Le

Drieux's expression changed from chagrin to joy and coming forward he

exclaimed:

"Your honor, this is the collection--the balance of it--which was stolen

from the Countess Ahmberg!"

The judge looked at him a moment, leaned back in his chair and nodded his

head impressively.

"What nonsense!" protested Colby. "These trays contain twice the number

of pearls included in that entire list, as your honor may plainly see."

"Of course," retorted Le Drieux eagerly; "here are also the pearls from

the necklace of Princess Lemoine, and the London collection of Lady

Grandison. Your honor, in his audacity the defense has furnished us proof

positive that this prisoner can be none other than the adventurer and

clever thief, Jack Andrews."

It was in vain that Colby declared these pearls had just come from

Sangoa, where they were found. The judge cut him short and asked if he

had any other evidence to advance.

"These pearls," he added, indicating the trays, "I shall take possession

of. They must remain in my custody until their owners claim them, or

Captain Carg can prove they are the lawful property of the prisoner."

Consternation now pervaded the ranks of the defense. The girls were

absolutely dismayed, while Uncle John and Arthur Weldon wore bewildered

looks. Only Jones remained composed, an amused smile curling the corners

of his delicate mouth as he eyed the judge who was to decide his fate.

On the side of the prosecution were looks of triumph. Le Drieux already

regarded his case as won.

Colby now played his trump card, which Maud Stanton's logic and energy

had supplied the defense.

"The prosecution," said he, "has stated that the alleged robbery was

committed at Vienna on the evening of September fifteenth, and that

Jack Andrews arrived in America on the steamship _Princess Irene_ on

the afternoon of the January twenty-seventh following. Am I correct in

those dates?"

The judge consulted his stenographer.

"The dates mentioned are correct," he said pompously.

"Here are the papers issued by the Commander of the Port of San

Francisco, proving that the yacht _Arabella_ of Sangoa anchored in that

harbor on October twelfth, and disembarked one passenger, namely: A.

Jones of Sangoa."

"That might, or might not, have been the prisoner," declared the

prosecuting attorney.

"True," said the judge. "The name 'A. Jones' is neither distinguished nor

distinguishing."

"On the evening of January twenty-sixth, twenty-four hours before Jack

Andrews landed in America," continued Colby, "the prisoner, Mr. A. Jones,

appeared at the annual meeting of the stockholders of the Continental

Film Manufacturing Company, in New York, and was formally elected

president of that organization."

"What is your proof?" inquired the judge, stifling a yawn.

"I beg to submit the minutes of the meeting, attested by its secretary."

The judge glanced at the minutes.

"We object to this evidence," said the opposing attorney. "There is no

proof that the A. Jones referred to is the prisoner."

"The minutes," said Colby, "state that a motion picture was taken of the

meeting. I have the film here, in this room, and beg permission to

exhibit it before your honor as evidence."

The judge was a bit startled at so novel a suggestion but assented with

a nod. In a twinkling the operator had suspended a roller-screen from the

chandelier dependent from the ceiling, pulled down the window shades and

attached his projecting machine to an electric-light socket.

Then the picture flashed upon the screen. It was not entirely distinct,

because the room could not be fully darkened and the current was not

strong, yet every face in the gathering of stockholders could be plainly

recognized. Jones, especially, as the central figure, could not be

mistaken and no one who looked upon the picture could doubt his identity.

When the exhibition was concluded and the room again lightened, Le

Drieux's face was visibly perturbed and anxious, while his attorneys sat

glum and disconcerted.

Colby now put Goldstein on the stand, who testified that he recognized

Jones as president of his company and the owner of the majority of

stock. The young man had come to him with unimpeachable credentials to

that effect.

The girls were now smiling and cheerful. To them the defense was

absolutely convincing. But Le Drieux's attorneys were skillful fighters

and did not relish defeat. They advanced the theory that the motion

picture, just shown, had been made at a later dale and substituted for

the one mentioned in the minutes of the meeting. They questioned

Goldstein, who admitted that he had never seen Jones until a few days

previous. The manager denied, however, any substitution of the picture.

He was not a very satisfactory witness for the defense and Colby was

sorry he had summoned him.

As for the judge, he seemed to accept the idea of the substitution with

alacrity. He had practically decided against Jones in the matter of the

pearls. Now he listened carefully to the arguments of the prosecution and

cut Colby short when he raised objections to their sophistry.

Finally Judge Wilton rose to state his decision.

"The evidence submitted in proof of the alleged fact that the prisoner is

Jack Andrews, and that Jack Andrews may have robbed the Countess Ahmberg,

of Vienna, of her valuable collection of pearls, is in the judgment of

this court clear and convincing," he said. "The lawyer for the defense

has further succeeded in entangling his client by exhibiting an

additional assortment of pearls, which may likewise be stolen property.

The attempt to impose upon this court a mythical island called Sangoa

is--eh--distinctly reprehensible. This court is not so easily hoodwinked.

Therefore, in consideration of the evidence advanced, I declare that the

prisoner is Jack Andrews, otherwise Jackson Dowd Andrews, otherwise

parading under the alias of 'A. Jones,' and I recognize the claim of the

Austrian police to his person, that he may be legally tried for his

alleged crimes in the territory where it is alleged he committed them.

Therefore I order that the prisoner be held for requisition and turned

over to the proper authorities when the papers arrive. The court is

adjourned."

CHAPTER XXVI

SUNSHINE AFTER RAIN

Of course not one of our friends agreed with the judge. Indignation and

resentment were written on every face--except that of Goldstein. The

manager rubbed his hands softly together and, approaching Maud, he

whispered:

"You needn't speak to Jones about me. It's all right. I guess he won't be

interfering with me any more, eh? And come _early_ to-morrow morning.

We've got a lot of rehearsing to do. To-day I will call a holiday for

you. And, believe me, Miss Stanton, this is nothing to worry any of us.

The judge settles it, right or wrong, for the law defies us all."

As the manager hurried away Uncle John looked after him and said:

"I wonder if he realizes how true his words are? 'The law defies us all.'

How helpless we are to oppose injustice and oppression when one man,

with a man's limitations and prejudices, is clothed with authority to

condemn us!"

Colby stood silent. The poor fellow's eyes were full of unshed tears.

"This is my first case, and my last," said he. "I won it honestly. It was

the judge, not the evidence, that defeated me. I'm going to rent my

office and apply for a job as a chauffeur."

Jones was the least affected of the group. "Never mind, friends," he said

to them, "it will all come right in the end. If you will stand by me,

Colby, I'll retain you to plead my case in the Austrian court, or at

least advise my Austrian lawyers. I've an idea they will treat me fairly,

over there in Vienna."

"It's outrageous!" quoth indignant Patsy Doyle. "I'd like to give that

judge a piece of my mind."

"If you did," replied Arthur, "he'd fine you for contempt."

"It would be a just line, in that case," said Patsy; "so I'm sure he

wouldn't do it."

The jailer had come to take the prisoner back to his cell. He smiled

whimsically at Miss Doyle's speech and remarked:

"There's always one side to kick, Miss, whichever way the judge decides.

It was only Solomon who could satisfy everybody."

"Clear the room!" shouted the bailiff.

Captain Carg's men took the empty chest back to the launch. The captain

followed them, after pressing the hand of his young master, who said:

"Wait for orders, Captain." Uncle John took his flock back to the hotel,

where they gathered in his room and held an indignation meeting. Here it

was safe to give full vent to their chagrin and disappointment.

"Every bit of honest evidence was on our side," declared Maud. "I shall

never be able to understand why we lost."

"Bribery and corruption," said Flo. "I'll bet a cookie Le Drieux divided

the reward with the judge."

"I suppose it's all up with Ajo now," sighed Beth, regretfully.

"Yes," replied Colby, who had accompanied them; "there is nothing more to

be done for him at present. From the judge's order there is no appeal,

in such a case. Mr. Jones must go to Vienna for trial; but there he may

secure an acquittal."

"He is very brave, I think," said Patsy. "This affair must have hurt his

pride, but he smiles through it all. In his condition of health, the

confinement and humiliation may well shorten his life, yet he has made

no murmur."

"He's good stuff, that boy," commented Uncle John. "Perhaps it is due to

that John Paul blood his father was so proud of."

When Arthur went into the lobby a little later he found Le Drieux seated

comfortably and smoking a long cigar. The pearl expert nodded to the

young ranchman with so much evident satisfaction that Arthur could not

resist engaging him in conversation.

"Well, you won," he remarked, taking a vacant chair beside Le Drieux.

"Yes, of course," was the reply; "but I'll admit that fellow Andrews is a

smooth one. Why, at one time he had even me puzzled with his alibis and

his evidence. That flash of the pearls was the cleverest trick I ever

heard of; but it didn't go, I'd warned the judge to look out for a scoop.

He knew he was dealing with one of the most slippery rogues in

captivity."

"See here, Le Drieux," said Arthur; "let us be honest with one another,

now that the thing is settled and diplomacy is uncalled for. Do you

really believe that Jones is Jack Andrews?"

"Me? I know it, Mr. Weldon. I don't pose as a detective, but I'm

considered to have a shrewd insight into human character, and from the

first moment I set eyes on him I was positive that Jones was the famous

Jack Andrews. I can understand how you people, generous and trusting,

have been deceived in the fellow; I admire the grit you've all shown in

standing by him to the last. I haven't a particle of malice toward any

one of you, I assure you--not even toward Andrews himself."

"Then why have you bounded him so persistently?"

"For two reasons." said Le Drieux. "As a noted pearl expert, I wanted

to prove my ability to run down the thief; and, as a man in modest

circumstances, I wanted the reward."

"How much will you get?"

"All together, the rewards aggregate twenty thousand dollars. I'll get

half, and my firm will get half."

"I think," said Arthur, to test the man, "that Jones would have paid you

double that amount to let him alone."

Le Drieux shook his head; then he smiled.

"I don't mind telling you, Mr. Weldon--in strict confidence, of

course--that I approached Jones on that very subject, the day he was

placed in jail. He must have been sure his tricks would clear him, for he

refused to give me a single penny. I imagine he is very sorry, right now;

don't you, sir?"

"No," said Arthur, "I don't. I still believe in his innocence."

Le Drieux stared at him incredulously.

"What, after that examination of to-day?" he demanded.

"Before and after. There was no justice in the decision of Judge Wilton;

he was unduly prejudiced."

"Be careful, sir!"

"We are talking confidentially."

"To be sure. But you astonish me. I understand the character of Andrews

so thoroughly that I fail to comprehend how any sensible person can

believe in him. Talk about prejudice!"

"I suppose you are to remain at this hotel?" said Arthur, evading

further argument.

"Yes, until the papers arrive. They ought to be here by Monday. Then

I shall take Andrews to New York and we will board the first steamer

for Europe."

Arthur left him. Le Drieux puzzled him more than he puzzled Le Drieux.

The expert seemed sincere in the belief that he had trapped, in Jones, a

noted criminal. Weldon could not help wondering, as he walked away, if

possibly he and his friends had been deceived in A. Jones of Sangoa. The

doubt was but momentary, yet it had forced itself into his mind.

On Saturday afternoon they all made a visit to the prisoner and tried to

cheer him. Again on Sunday they called--the Stantons and Merricks and

Weldons and all. Young Jones received them with composure and begged them

not to worry on his account.

"I am quite comfortable in this jail, I assure you," said he. "On my

journey to Vienna I shall be able to bribe Le Drieux to let me have such

comforts as I desire. There is but one experience I shrink from: the

passage across the Atlantic. If it brings a return of my former malady I

shall suffer terribly."

"It may not be so bad as you fear," Patsy assured him, although in her

heart she realized it might be the death of the boy. "Often those who are

distressed by a voyage on the Pacific endure the Atlantic very well."

"That is encouraging," said he. "It is my dread of the water that has

prevented me from returning to Sangoa, or even visiting my yacht. And

this reminds me of a favor I wish to ask."

"You may rely upon our friendship," said Maud.

"I believe that. Here is a letter to Captain Carg, putting the _Arabella_

at your disposal until my return from Vienna. I have named Mr. Merrick

as the commander of the yacht, in my absence, and if you feel inclined to

make the trip and can spare the time I would like you all to make a

voyage to Sangoa."

"To Sangoa!" they cried in chorus.

"Yes. I am ambitious to prove to you, who have been my staunch friends,

that the island is indeed there. Incidentally you will become acquainted

with the prettiest place in all the world. My house will be at your

disposal while you remain and I am sure you will find it fairly

comfortable."

They were so amazed at this proposition that at first no one found

words to answer the boy. It was Flo, naturally, who first collected

her thoughts.

"It will be awfully jolly!" she cried, clapping her hands with delight.

"I'm sure Maud and I need a vacation. Let's stick up our noses at

Goldstein and sail away to the mysterious isle. What do you say, girls?

And you, Mr. Merrick?"

"I believe, my boy," said Uncle John, laying a kindly hand on the youth's

shoulder, "that all of us are inclined to take advantage of your offer.

That is, if you are sure we can be of no further use to you in your

difficulties."

"I am taking Colby abroad with me and he can do all that may be done

until after my trial. Then I hope to rejoin you here and am looking

forward to a jolly reunion."

Uncle John took the letters which Ajo had written to Captain Carg, to his

superintendent in Sangoa and to his housekeeper. Then they all pressed

the boy's hand and went away.

* * * * *

Monday morning the extradition papers arrived. Le Drieux exhibited them

proudly to young Weldon, to Mr. Merrick, and even to the girls, who

regarded the documents with shuddering awe.

"We'll take the night train," said the man. "That will get us to New York

on Friday, in time to catch the Saturday steamer for Calais."

As he spoke a boy approached and handed Le Drieux a telegram.

"Excuse me," said he, and opened it with an important flourish. The next

moment his face fell. He staggered and sank half fainting into a chair

which Mr. Merrick pushed toward him.

Patsy ran for some water. Maud Stanton fanned the man with a folded

newspaper. Arthur Weldon picked up the telegram which had _fluttered_

from Le Drieux's grasp and deliberately read it. Then he, too, sank

gasping into a chair.

"Listen, girls!" he cried, his voice shrill with emotion. "What do you

think of this?

"'Jack Andrews arrested here in New York to-day by Burns detectives.

Countess Ahmberg's collection of pearls was found in his possession,

intact. Return here first train.'

"Signed: 'Eckstrom & Co.'"

There was a moment of tense silence.

Flo clapped her hands.

"Come on," she shouted in glee, "let's go and tell Ajo!"