CHAPTER XIII
THE HERMIT
"Now, tell me, Miss Ruth," said Mr. Hammond, having taken the girl of theRed Mill into his own car for the short run to Beach Plum Point, "what isthis trouble about your new scenario? You have excited my curiosity duringall these months about the wonderful script, and now you say it is notready for me."
"Oh, Mr. Hammond!" exclaimed Ruth, "I fear it will never be ready foryou."
"Nonsense! Don't lose heart. You have merely come to one of thosethank-you-ma'ams in story writing that all authors suffer. Wait. It willcome to you."
"No, no!" sighed Ruth. "It is nothing like that. I had finished thescenario. I had it all just about as I wanted it, and then----"
"Then what?" he asked in wonder at her emotion.
"It--it was stolen!"
"Stolen?"
"Yes. And all my notes--everything! I--I can't talk about it. And I nevercould write it again," sobbed Ruth. "It is the best thing I ever did, Mr.Hammond."
"If it is better than 'The Heart of a Schoolgirl', or 'The Forty-Niners',or 'The Boys of the Draft', then it must be some scenario, Miss Ruth. Thelast two are still going strong, you know. And I have hopes of the'Seaside Idyl' catching the public fancy just when we are all gettingrather weary of war dramas.
"If you can only rewrite this new story----"
"But Mr. Hammond! I am sure it has been stolen by somebody who will makeuse of it. Some other producer may put it on the screen, and then myversion would fall flat--if no worse."
"Humph! And you have been so secret about it!"
"I took your advice, Mr. Hammond. I have told nobody about it--not athing!"
"And somebody unknown stole it?"
"We think it was a vagrant actor. A tramp. Just the sort of person,though, who would know how to make use of the script."
"Humph! All actors were considered 'vagrants' under the old Englishlaw--in Shakespeare's younger days, for instance," remarked Mr. Hammond.
"You see how unwise it would be for me to try to rewrite the story--evenif I could--and try to screen it."
"I presume you are right. Yes. But I hoped you would bring a story withyou that we could be working on at odd times. I have a good all-aroundcompany here on the lot."
"I had most of your principals in mind when I wrote my scenario," sighedRuth. "But I could not put my mind to that same subject now. I amdiscouraged, Mr. Hammond."
"I would not feel that way if I were you, Miss Ruth," he advised, trying,as everybody else did, to cheer her. "You will get another good idea, andlike all other born writers, you will just _have_ to give expression toit. Meantime, of course, if I get hold of a promising scenario, I shalltry to produce it."
"I hope you will find a good one, Mr. Hammond."
He smiled rather ruefully. "Of course, there is scarcely anybody on thelot who hasn't a picture play in his or her pocket. I was possibly unwiselast week to offer five hundred dollars spot cash for a play I could makeuse of, for now I suppose there will be fifty to read. Everybody, fromJacks, the property man, to the old hermit, believes he can write ascenario."
"Who is the hermit?" asked Ruth, with some curiosity.
"I don't know. Nobody seems to know who he is about Herringport. He wasliving in an old fish-house down on the Point when we came here last weekwith the full strength of the company. And I have made use of the oldfellow in your 'Seaside Idyl'.
"He seems to be a queer duck. But he has some idea of the art of acting,it seems. Director Jim Hooley is delighted with him. But they tell me theold fellow is scribbling all night in his hut. The scenario bug hascertainly bit that old codger. He's out for my five hundred dollars," andthe producing manager laughed again.
"I hope you get a good script," said Ruth earnestly. "But don't ask me toread any of them, Mr. Hammond. It does seem as though I never wanted tolook at a scenario again!"
"Then you are going to miss some amusement in this case," he chuckled.
"Why so?"
"I tell you frankly I do not expect much from even those professionalactors. It was my experience even before I went into the motion picturebusiness that plays submitted by actors were always full of all the oldstuff--all the old theatrical tricks and the like. Actors are the mostinsular people in existence, I believe. They know how plays should bewritten to fulfill the tenets of the profession; but invention is'something else again'."
The young people who had motored so far were welcomed by many of Mr.Hammond's company who had acted in "The Forty-Niners" and had met Ruth andher friends in the West, as related in "Ruth Fielding in the Saddle."
The shacks that had been built especially for the company's use werecomfortable, even if they did smell of new pine boards. The men of thecompany lived in khaki tents. There were several old fish-houses that werelikewise being utilized by the members of the company.
Beach Plum Point was the easterly barrier of sand and rock that defendedthe beautiful harbor from the Atlantic breakers. It was a wind-blownplace, and the moan of the surf on the outer reef was continually in theears of the campers on the Point.
The tang of salt in the air could always be tasted on the lips when onewas out of doors. And the younger folks were out on the sands most of thetime when they were not working, sleeping, or eating.
"We are going to have some fun here," promised Tom Cameron to Ruth, aftertheir party had got established with its baggage. "See that hard strip ofbeach? That's no clamflat. I am going to race my car on that sand. PalmBeach has nothing on this. Jackman, the property man (you remember Jacks,don't you, Ruth?), says the blackfish and bass are biting off the Point.You girls can act in movies if you like, but _I_ am going fishing."
"Don't talk movies to me," sighed the girl. "I almost wish we had notcome, Tom."
"Nonsense! You shall go fishing with me. Put on your oldest dudsand--well, maybe you will have to strip off your shoes and stockings. Itis both wet and slippery on the rocks."
"Pooh! I'll put on my bathing suit and a sweater. I never was afraid ofwater yet," Ruth declared.
This was the morning after their arrival. Tom had been up to the port andbrought down Aunt Kate for the day. Aunt Kate sat under an umbrella nearwhere the company was working on location, and she scribbled all day in anotebook. Jennie whispered that she, too, was bitten by the scenario bug!
"I feel it coming over me," announced Helen. "I've got what I think is adandy idea."
"Oh, there's too much to do," Jennie Stone said. "I couldn't find time todabble in literature."
"My, oh, my!" gasped Helen, with scorn. "How busy we are! You and Henrispend all your time making eyes at each other."
"But just think, Nell!" cried the plump girl. "He's got to go back toFrance and fight----"
"And so has my Tom."
"But Tom is only your brother."
"And Henri is nothing at all to you," rejoined Helen cruelly. "A fiance isonly an expectation. You may change your mind about Henri."
"Never!" cried Jennie, with horror.
"Well, he keeps you busy, I grant. And there go Tom and Ruth mooning offtogether with fish lines. Lots of fishing _they_ will do! They are almostas bad as you and Henri. Why!" ejaculated Helen in some heat, "I am justdriven to writing scenarios to keep from dying of loneliness."
"I notice that 'juvenile lead,' Mr. Simmons, is keeping you quite busy,"remarked Jennie slyly, as she turned away.
It was a fact that Ruth and Tom enjoyed each others' company. But Helenneed not have been even a wee bit jealous. To tell the truth, she did notlike to "get all mussed up," as she expressed it, by going fishing. ToRuth the adventure was a glad relief from worriment. Much as she tried,she could not throw off all thought of her lost scenario.
She welcomed every incident that promised amusement and mental relaxation.Some of the troupe of actors--the men, mostly--were bathing off thePoint.
"And see that man in the old skiff!" cried Ruth. "'The Lone Fisherman'."
The individual in question sat upon a common kitchen chai
r in the skiffwith a big, patched umbrella to keep the sun off, and was fishing with apole that he had evidently cut in the woods along the shore.
"That is that hermit fellow," said Tom. "He's a queer duck. And the boysbother him a good deal."
He was angrily driving some of the swimmers away from his fishing locationat that moment. It was plain the members of the moving picture companyused the hermit as a butt for their jokes.
While one fellow was taking up the hermit's attention in front, anotherbather rose silently behind him and reached into the bottom of the skiff.What this second fellow did Tom and Ruth could not see.
"The old chap can't swim a stroke," explained one of the laughing bathersto the visitors. "He's as afraid of water as a cat. Now you watch."
But Tom and Ruth saw nothing to watch. They went on to the tip of thePoint and Tom prepared the fishing tackle and baited the hooks. Just asRuth made her first cast there sounded a scream from the direction of thelone fisherman.
"What is it?" she gasped, dropping her pole.
The bathers had deserted the old man in the skiff, and were now at somedistance. He was anchored in probably twenty feet of water.
To the amazement of Ruth and her companion, the skiff had sunk until itsgunwales were scarcely visible. The hermit had wrenched away his umbrellaand was now balanced upon the chair on his feet, in danger of sinking. Hisfear of this catastrophe was being expressed in unstinted terms.
Ruth Fielding Down East; Or, The Hermit of Beach Plum Point Page 13
