“That suits me.”
The matter was talked over with the others, and it was speedily arranged that nine of the students should go, including Sam, Tom, Songbird, and Spud. Stanley could not get away, and Max had some lessons he wanted to make up.
“I hope they have some thrilling films,” said Tom, when the time came to leave for Ashton. “I hate these wishy-washy love stories and would-be funny scenes. I once saw a shipwreck that was fine, and a slide down a mountainside that couldn’t be beaten.”
“Well, we’ll have to take what comes,” said Sam. “I understand they change the pictures twice a week.”
When the students arrived at the playhouse in Ashton an agreeable surprise awaited them. Instead of the dingy hall they had expected to see, they saw that the place had been completely transformed. There was a large electric sign over the door, and several big billboards announced the various attractions. A crowd was purchasing tickets at the booth in front, and already the showhouse was half filled for the first performance of the evening.
“‘Her First Love,’” read Tom, from a billboard. “That sounds a little mushy. ‘Broncho Bill’s Reward,’” he went on. “That might be interesting. ‘Lost in the Ice Fields of Alaska, in Two Parts.’ Say, that sounds as if it might be something worth while,” he added, brightening up.
“Yes, I’d like to see some pictures of Alaska,” returned Songbird.
“Provided they weren’t taken in Hoboken, or somewhere like that,” answered Sam. “Some of these moving pictures are great fakes. They take real scenes in China right in New York City, and show you the bottom of the sea, taken on the sixth floor of an office building in Chicago!”
“Never mind, I guess we’ll get our money’s worth,” said another of the students, and then the crowd passed inside, each youth buying his own ticket, as was the usual custom.
They managed to get seats almost in the center of the hall, which was long and narrow, just the shape for such an exhibition. They noticed that a tall, lanky town boy was usher, and Tom nudged Sam in the ribs.
“Just think, William Philander might have had that job!” he chuckled.
“Well, you did the best you could for him,” answered Sam, dryly.
The end of a funny reel was being shown and the audience was laughing heartily. Then came an illustrated song, sung by a young woman with a fairly good voice, and after that “Broncho Bill’s Reward,” a short drama of the plains, with cowboys and cattle thieves, and a sheriff, who aided Broncho Bill to get back his employer’s cattle and win the hand of the girl he loved.
“Maybe you could write some verses about that girl,” suggested Sam to Songbird, in a whisper. “You could call it ‘The Cowboy’s Sweetheart,’ or something like that.”
“So I could,” murmured the would-be poet, and immediately commenced to make up rhymes, which he scribbled on some paper in the dark.
At last came the well-advertised drama, “Lost in the Ice Fields of Alaska.” It was a well put together play, the opening scene taking place in a shipping office in Seattle. Next came the departure of the steamer for the North. There were several views on shipboard, and quite a complicated plot, the villain of the play trying to get the best of a young gold hunter and his partner. A girl appeared, and she exposed the villain, and the latter stalked around and vowed vengeance on both the girl and the young gold hunter.
The second part of the play took place in Alaska, and there was shown a typical mining town and then the mountains. It was mid-winter and the mountains were covered with snow. The young gold hunter and his partner had discovered several nuggets of good size, enough to make them rich, and were bound back to the mining camp when the villain and his cronies appeared and robbed them. Then came a fierce snowstorm and a blizzard, and the young gold hunter and his partner were lost on the fields of ice. This was tremendously realistic, and the audience held its breath in suspense, wondering what would happen next.
“Isn’t it great!” murmured Tom, his eyes fairly glued to the screen before him. “I never saw anything so real!”
“That must surely have been taken in Alaska,” answered Sam.
“Lost in the ice fields!” went on Tom. “How terrible!”
The play went on. The young gold hunter and his partner were almost frozen to death, when the scene shifted to the mining camp. Word of the robbery was brought in by an Indian, and the father of the girl organized a rescuing party, taking his daughter and half a dozen men with him. On the way they ran across the villain and his cronies, frozen stiff in the ice and snow and with the stolen nuggets in their possession. Then the rescuing party went on, until they reached the young gold hunter and his partner just in time to save them from death. The young man was given his nuggets, and he asked for the hand of the girl who had aided in the search; and all ended happily.
“Well, that was certainly a great play!” was Spud’s comment, as the students left the photo playhouse. “Wow! it made me fairly shiver to look at that snow and those fields of ice!”
“It was just as if a fellow was there,” said Sam.
“Think of the work of taking those films!” said Bob Grimes. “I’ll wager the photographer had pretty cold fingers!”
Thus the talk ran on, all of the students being enthusiastic over the production. The only one who was rather quiet was Tom, and soon Sam noticed this.
“What’s the matter, Tom; don’t you feel well?” he asked, anxiously.
“Nothing extra,” was the answer, and Tom put his hands to his eyes. “I guess that moving picture strained my head too much. But it was great—best picture I ever saw! Say, I’d like to go to Alaska once, wouldn’t you, Sam?”
“Yes, but not to be caught in the ice and snow like that,” returned the younger Rover boy. “Say, it’s a good show for the girls, all right,” he went on.
“Fine. We’ll take ’em as soon as we can arrange it.”
All the way back to Brill the students talked about the wonderful Alaskan film, which had really been taken on the spot and had cost a good deal of money. Evidently in opening the new photo playhouse Messrs. Carr and Beckwith had resolved to give the audiences their money’s worth.
It was a good advertisement, too, for not only did the town people flock to the place, but the college students told their friends, and the next evening a score or more of the boys attended the performance. The dimes flowed in steadily, much to the delight of the owners of the project.
That evening Sam noticed that Tom was quite feverish and he advised his brother to take an extra pill, to quiet him.
“Oh, all I need is sleep,” said Tom. “That picture hurt my eyes a little. After they are rested I’ll be all right.” And then he undressed and retired.
Sam had been asleep about two hours when he awoke with a start. He sat up, and in the dim light of the room saw his brother thrashing wildly in the bed.
“Give me the nuggets!” murmured poor Tom, in a nightmare. “I must have the money! Ha, the biggest nugget in Alaska!” He clutched at the pillow. “Out of my way, I say! It is mine! Look, it is snowing! Where is the trail? We are lost! See the ice and snow! Lost! lost! lost!” And Tom floundered around more wildly than ever.
Sam leaped out of bed, and, catching his brother by the arm, shook him vigorously.
“Tom! Tom! wake up!” he cried. “You’re asleep! Wake up! You are not in Alaska! Wake up!”
“Oh, the ice and snow! And the trail is lost! We shall die! Can nothing save— Er—er—eh? What’s the—the matter?” stammered Tom, and suddenly opened his eyes. “What are you shaking me for, Sam?” he demanded.
“You’ve got a nightmare, Tom, and you were shouting to beat the band!”
“Was I? Say, I—I thought I was in Alaska, right in that field of snow and ice. And I was lost! Gosh! what a scare I had!” And poor Tom fairly trembled.
“Well, go to sleep and try t
o forget it,” said Sam, and Tom laid down again, and soon dropped off. Sam also retired once more, but he was much troubled.
“I guess it didn’t do Tom any good to go to that show,” he reasoned.
CHAPTER X
IN WHICH TOM DISAPPEARS
Sam was the first one up in the morning. He found Tom thrashing around in his bed. He had an uncertain look in his eyes and was feverish.
“How do you feel, Tom?” he asked, sitting down and taking his brother’s hand.
“Not as good as usual,” was the reply. Tom put his hand to his head, as of old. “I’ve got a fierce pain here,” he added.
“Shall I send for a doctor?”
“No, I’ll keep quiet and maybe it will go over, Sam.”
“All right, I’ll have you excused from lessons.”
Sam dressed and went below, and after breakfast came up again. He found Tom sound asleep.
“I guess sleep will do him as much good as anything,” he told himself, and went out again, closing the door softly.
Sam had two classes to attend before dinner, so it was not until quarter to twelve that he had a chance to run up to the room again. To his surprise Tom was gone.
“Songbird, did you see Tom?” he called to his chum, who was in the next room.
“No.”
“He’s gone, and I left him sound asleep when I went to lessons.”
“Oh, he must be somewhere around,” suggested the would-be poet of the college. “Maybe he’s taking a bath.”
“I’ll find out,” said Sam.
On the way to the bathroom he met Spud and asked about Tom.
“Why, I saw Tom about eleven o’clock,” said Spud. “He told me he was going to town to see a doctor.”
“Doctor Havens?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, all right,” and Sam felt much relieved. He went to dinner with the others and then waited for Tom’s return. A full hour went by and still Tom did not show himself, and then Sam sought out Spud once more.
“How did Tom act when he went away, Spud?”
“Act? What do you mean?”
“Was he all right?”
“Well, to tell the truth, Sam, I think he looked a bit strange in his eyes. But I guess he was all right. I’d not worry too much if I was you. He’ll be back before long. Maybe Doctor Havens was out and he had to wait.”
“That’s so.”
Presently Sam had a lecture to attend and went off to it. At half-past three he was free once more and hurried again to his room. Tom was still absent, and nobody seemed to know anything about him.
“I guess I had better go to town and see where he is,” thought Sam, and he asked Songbird if he wanted to go along.
“Yes, I’ll go, Sam. But don’t worry so much—I’m certain Tom is O.K.”
“Maybe, Songbird. But you know how queer he acted. He didn’t seem to be able to get over that crack in his head.”
“Well, it was an awful blow, Sam. It would have killed some people.”
Before long the pair were on their way to Ashton. About half way to the town they met two students who had been away from Brill for several days.
“Did you come from Ashton, Cabot?” asked Sam, of one of the boys.
“We did.”
“See anything of my brother Tom?”
“No.”
“I think I saw him,” said the other student, a fellow named Lambert.
“Where?”
“Down at the depot. I was looking for my baggage. I think I saw him near the freight house.”
“Was he alone?”
“Yes, so far as I know. Why, what’s wrong, Rover?”
“Oh, nothing, only I want to find him,” said Sam, and to avoid further questioning, he hurried on, pulling Songbird with him.
“If Tom was at the freight house he must have been taking a walk,” suggested Songbird.
“Perhaps; but I am awfully worried about this.”
It did not take the two students long to reach Ashton, and Sam went directly to the home of Doctor Havens, located in a grove of trees on a side street. A man was washing down the front piazza with a pail of water.
“Is the doctor in?” asked Sam.
“No, sir, he won’t he in until about six o’clock,” said the man.
“How long has he been gone, may I ask?”
“He went to the city directly after breakfast this morning, for a consultation with some other doctors.”
“He hasn’t any assistant?”
“No, sir, but he said if anybody needed a doctor in a hurry to call old Doctor Slate.”
“Where does he live?”
“In the big white house on the hill, opposite the depot.”
“I know the place,” put in Songbird.
“We’ll go there,” said Sam. “Much obliged,” he added, to the man.
“Maybe Tom went there and that is how Lambert came to see him near the freight house,” suggested Songbird.
“We’ll soon know,” returned the youngest Rover.
It did not take the students long to cross the railroad tracks and reach Doctor Slate’s residence. They found the old doctor out in his garden, tying up some bushes. He was a white-haired gentleman and had given up his regular practice some years before.
“No, there has been no young man to see me,” he said, in answer to Sam’s question. “Old Mrs. Powers was in, and Pop Slocum, the negro, and that’s all.”
“In that case, Tom must be hanging around town, waiting for Doctor Havens to return,” said Songbird.
“It’s a puzzle to me,” said Sam, with a deep sigh, and he and his chum walked slowly away.
“I wouldn’t worry so much, Sam,” said Songbird, sympathetically. “I am sure it will be all right.”
“It would be if Tom was all right in his head, Songbird. But you know how he acted that day Stanley and Spud went into the old well hole, and—”
“Well, what could happen to him in Ashton, such a sleepy country town as this is? Oh, he’s around somewhere and will soon turn up, take my word for it.”
They found the depot deserted, for it was a time of day when there were no trains. Then they walked up the main street, past the stores and the Eclipse photo playhouse. The afternoon performance was just over at the show place and a crowd of about a hundred, mostly women and children, was pouring forth. In the crowd were a burly, jolly looking farmer and a pretty girl, his daughter.
“Why, Mr. Sanderson!” cried Songbird, his face lighting up. “And you, Minnie! This is a surprise!” and he shook hands.
“Oh!” cried the girl, and smiled sweetly. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“We were doing some tradin’ in town and thought we’d run in and see the movin’ picters,” said Mr. Sanderson, who knew the boys well. “They sure are great.”
“We came in to find Tom,” said Sam, as he, too, shook hands. He and his brothers had once done Minnie Sanderson a great service, the particulars of which I have related in “The Rover Boys at College.” Since that time Songbird had frequently visited the Sanderson homestead, to call on Minnie, whom he regarded as the nicest young lady of his acquaintance.
“To find Tom?” repeated Minnie.
“Yes. Have you seen him?”
“I saw him about noon time,” said Mr. Sanderson.
“Where?”
“Why, he was walking along the road to Hope Seminary.”
“The road to Hope?” cried Sam. “Are you sure?”
“Tolerably sure, Sam. I was drivin’ rather fast an’ didn’t take much of a look. But I reckon it was Tom.”
“Maybe he went there to call on Nellie,” suggested Songbird.
“This mixes me up,” murmured Sam. “I don’t know what to think.”
“I
trust there is nothing wrong, Sam,” said Minnie, sweetly. She counted the Rovers among her warmest friends.
“I—I hope not, and yet I am very much worried. You see, Tom hasn’t been just himself ever since he got that blow on the head. He came to Ashton to see a doctor, but the doctor was away on business. Now I can’t find him anywhere.”
“If you want to go to Hope I’ll drive you there,” said Mr. Sanderson. “I’ve got to go there anyway—to see about some potatoes they wanted. Minnie said she would stay in town and do some more shopping, until I got back. But I’ve only got a buggy big enough for two,” added the farmer.
“I could stay in town with Minnie until you got back,” said Songbird, eagerly, to Sam. “I could keep my eyes open for Tom.”
“We could both look for him,” added the girl. It pleased her to think she might have the would-be poet’s company.
The matter was talked over for several minutes and then it was agreed that Sam should ride over to the seminary with the farmer.
“You won’t have to hurry back,” said Songbird, on parting. “If it gets too late Minnie and I can go over to the hotel for supper,” and he smiled at the girl, who blushed and smiled in return.
Mr. Sanderson had always owned some excellent horses and the mare attached to his buggy was a swift animal. He and Sam got into the turnout, and away they went with a whirl, soon leaving Ashton behind.
“This year the seminary is going to buy all its potatoes from me,” explained the farmer. “And they get their cabbages, and carrots and turnips from me, too, and a good many of their eggs and chickens. They are quite a customer, and I want to do my best to please ’em.”
“It’s a fine place,” returned Sam. “Just as good as Brill.”
“So it is, Sam. By the way, how is Dick makin’ out? I understand he was lookin’ after your father’s business.”
“He is, and he is getting along very well. Of course, our lawyer is helping him, for some matters are in an awful tangle.”
“That feller who hit Tom over the head ought to have been put in jail.”
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