A spidery, youngish man from one of the platforms built out from the scaffold, now became sharply vocal through a megaphone to a.s.sistants who were bending the elements to the need of this particular hazard of Hortense. He called directions to the men who tugged the rope, to the men in control of the lights, and to another who seemed to create the billows. Among other items he wished more action for the boat and more water for the billows. "See that your tank gets full-up this time,"
he called, whereupon an engine under the scaffold, by means of a large rubber hose reaching into the pool, began to suck water into the tank above.
The speaker must be Miss Baxter"s director, the enviable personage who saw her safely through her perils. When one of the turning reflectors illumined him Merton saw his face of a keen Semitic type. He seemed to possess not the most engaging personality; his manner was aggressive, he spoke rudely to his doubtless conscientious employees, he danced in little rages of temper, and altogether he was not one with whom the watcher would have cared to come in contact. He wondered, indeed, that so puissant a star as Beulah Baxter should not be able to choose her own director, for surely the presence of this unlovely, waspishly tempered being could be nothing but an irritant in the daily life of the wonder-woman. Perhaps she had tolerated him merely for one picture.
Perhaps he was especially good in shipwrecks.
If Merton Gill were in this company he would surely have words with this person, director or no director. He hastily wrote a one-reel scenario in which the man so far forgot himself as to speak sharply to the star, and in which a certain young actor, a new member of the company, resented the ungentlemanly words by pitching the offender into a convenient pool and earned even more than grat.i.tude from the starry-eyed wonder-woman.
The objectionable man continued active, profuse of gesture and loud through the megaphone. Once more the storm. The boat rocked threateningly, the wind roared through its slack rigging, and giant billows swept the frail craft. Light as from a half-clouded moon broke through the mist that issued from a steam pipe. There was another lull, and the Semitic type on the platform became increasingly offensive.
Merton saw himself saying, "Allow me, Miss Baxter, to relieve you of the presence of this bounder." The man was impossible. Constantly he had searched the scene for his heroine. She would probably not appear until they were ready to shoot, and this seemed not to be at once if the rising temper of the director could be thought an indication.
The big hose again drew water from the pool to the tank, whence, at a sudden release, it would issue in billows. The big lights at last seemed to be adjusted to the director"s whim. The aeroplane propeller whirred and the gale was found acceptable. The men at the rope tugged the boat into grave danger. The moon lighted the mist that overhung the scene.
Then at last Merton started, peering eagerly forward across the length of the pool. At the far end, half illumined by the big lights, stood the familiar figure of his wonder--woman, the slim little girl with the wistful eyes. Plainly he could see her now as the mist lifted. She was chatting with one of the pirates who had stepped ash.o.r.e from the boat.
The wonderful golden hair shone resplendent under the glancing rays of the arcs. A cloak was about her shoulders, but at a word of command from the director she threw it off and stepped to the boat"s deck. She was dressed in a short skirt, her trim feet and ankles lightly shod and silken clad. The sole maritime touch in her garb was a figured kerchief at her throat similar to those worn by the piratical crew.
"All ready, Hortense--all ready Jose and Gaston, get your places."
Miss Baxter acknowledged the command with that characteristic little wave of a hand that he recalled from so many of her pictures, a half-humorous, half-mocking little defiance. She used it often when escaping her pursuers, as if to say that she would see them in the next installment.
The star and the two men were now in the cabin, hidden from view. Merton Gill was no seaman, but it occurred to him that at least one of the crew would be at the wheel in this emergency. Probably the director knew no better. Indeed the boat, so far as could be discerned, had no wheel.
Apparently when a storm came up all hands went down into the cabin to get away from it.
The storm did come up at this moment, with no one on deck. It struck with the full force of a tropic hurricane. The boat rocked, the wind blew, and billows swept the deck. At the height of the tempest Beulah Baxter sprang from the cabin to the deck, clutching wildly at a stanchion. Buffeted by the billows she groped a painful way along the side, at risk of being swept off to her death.
She was followed by one of the crew who held a murderous knife in his hand, then by the other sailor who also held a knife. They, too, were swept by the billows, but seemed grimly determined upon the death of the heroine. Then, when she reached midships and the foremost fiend was almost upon her, the mightiest of all the billows descended and swept her off into the cruel waters. Her pursuers, saving themselves only by great effort, held to the rigging and stared after the girl. They leaned far over the ship"s rocking side and each looked from under a spread hand.
For a distressing interval the heroine battled with the waves, but her frail strength availed her little. She raised a despairing face for an instant to the camera and its agony was illumined. Then the dread waters closed above her. The director"s whistle blew, the waves were stilled, the tumult ceased. The head of Beulah Baxter appeared halfway down the tank. She was swimming toward the end where Merton stood.
He had been thrilled beyond words at this actual sight of his heroine in action, but now it seemed that a new emotion might overcome him. He felt faint. Beulah Baxter would issue from the pool there at his feet. He might speak to her, might even help her to climb out. At least no one else had appeared to do this. Seemingly no one now cared where Miss Baxter swam to or whether she were offered any a.s.sistance in landing.
She swam with an admirable crawl stroke, reached the wall, and put up a hand to it. He stepped forward, but she was out before he reached her side. His awe had delayed him. He drew back then, for the star, after vigorously shaking herself, went to a tall brazier in which glowed a charcoal fire.
Here he now noticed for the first time the prop-boy Jimmie, he who had almost certainly defaulted with an excellent razor. Jimmie threw a blanket about the star"s shoulders as she hovered above the glowing coals. Merton had waited for her voice. He might still venture to speak to her--to tell her of his long and profound admiration for her art. Her voice came as she shivered over the fire:
"Murder! That water"s cold. Rosenblatt swore he"d have it warmed but I"m here to say it wouldn"t boil an egg in four minutes."
He could not at first identify this voice with the remembered tones of Beulah Baxter. But of course she was now hoa.r.s.e with the cold. Under the circ.u.mstances he could hardly expect his heroine"s own musical clearness. Then as the girl spoke again something stirred among his more recent memories. The voice was still hoa.r.s.e, but he placed it now.
He approached the brazier. It was undoubtedly the Montague girl. She recognized him, even as she squeezed water from the hair of wondrous gold.
"h.e.l.lo, again, Kid. You"re everywhere, ain"t you? Say, wha"d you think of that Rosenblatt man? Swore he"d put the steam into that water and take off the chill. And he never." She threw aside the blanket and squeezed water from her garments, then began to slap her legs, arms, and chest.
"Well, I"m getting a gentle glow, anyhow. Wha"d you think of the scene?"
"It was good--very well done, indeed." He hoped it didn"t sound patronizing, though that was how he felt. He believed now that Miss Baxter would have done it much better. He ventured a question. "But how about Miss Baxter--when does she do something? Is she going to be swept off the boat, too?"
"Baxter? Into that water? Quit your kidding!"
"But isn"t she here at all--won"t she do anything here?"
"Listen here, Kid; why should she loaf around on the set when she"s paying me good money to double for her?"
"You--double for Beulah Baxter?" It was some more of the girl"s nonsense, and a blasphemy for which he could not easily forgive her.
"Why not? Ain"t I a good stunt actress? I"ll tell the lot she hasn"t found any one yet that can get away with her stuff better than what I do."
"But she--I heard her say herself she never allowed any one to double for her--she wouldn"t do such a thing."
Here sounded a scornful laugh from Jimmie, the prop--boy. "Bunk!"
said he at the laugh"s end. "How long you been doublin" for her, Miss Montague? Two years, ain"t it?--I know it was before I come here, and I been on the lot a year and a half. Say, he ought to see some the stuff you done for her out on location, like jumpin" into the locomotive engine from your auto and catchin" the brake beams when the train"s movin", and goin" across that quarry on the cable, and ridin" down that lumber flume sixty miles per hour and ridin" some them outlaw buckjumpers--he"d ought to seen some that stuff, hey, Miss Montague?"
"That"s right, Jimmie, you tell him all about me. I hate to talk of myself." Very wonderfully Merton Gill divined that this was said with a humorous intention. Jimmy was less sensitive to values. He began to obey.
"Well, I dunno--there"s that motorcycle stuff. Purty good, I"ll say.
I wouldn"t try that, no, sir, not for a cool million dollars. And that chase stuff on the roofs down town where you jumped across that court that wasn"t any too darned narrow, an" say, I wisht I could skin up a tree the way you can. An" there was that time--"
"All right, all right, Jimmie. I can tell him the rest sometime. I don"t really hate to talk about myself--that"s on the level. And say, listen here, Jimmie, you"re my favourite sweetheart, ain"t you?"
"Yes, ma"am," a.s.sented Jimmie, warmly. "All right. Beat it up and get me about two quarts of that hot coffee and about four ham sandwiches, two for you and two for me. That"s a good kid."
"Sure!" exclaimed Jimmie, and was off.
Merton Gill had been dazed by these revelations, by the swift and utter destruction of his loftiest ideal. He hardly cared to know, now, if Beulah Baxter were married. It was the Montague girl who had most thrilled him for two years. Yet, almost as if from habit, he heard himself asking, "Is--do you happen to know if Beulah Baxter is married?"
"Baxter married? Sure! I should think you"d know it from the way that Sig Rosenblatt bawls everybody out."
"Who is he?"
"Who is he? Why, he"s her husband, of course--he"s Mr. Beulah Baxter."
"That little director up on the platform that yells so?" This unspeakable person to be actually the husband of the wonder-woman, the man he had supposed she must find intolerable even as a director. It was unthinkable, more horrible, somehow, than her employment of a double. In time he might have forgiven that--but this!
"Sure, that"s her honest-to-G.o.d husband. And he"s the best one out of three that I know she"s had. Sig"s a good scout even if he don"t look like Buffalo Bill. In fact, he"s all right in spite of his rough ways.
He"d go farther for you than most of the men on this lot. If I wanted a favour I"d go to Sig before a lot of Christians I happen to know. And he"s a bully director if he is noisy. Baxter"s crazy about him, too.
Don"t make any mistake there."
"I won"t," he answered, not knowing what he said.
She shot him a new look. "Say, Kid, as long as we"re talking, you seem kind of up against it. Where"s your overcoat a night like this, and when did you last--"
"Miss Montague! Miss Montague!" The director was calling.
"Excuse me," she said. "I got to go entertain the white folks again."
She tucked up the folds of her blanket and sped around the pool to disappear in the mazes of the scaffolding. He remained a moment staring dully into the now quiet water. Then he walked swiftly away.
Beulah Baxter, his wonder-woman, had deceived her public in Peoria, Illinois, by word of mouth. She employed a double at critical junctures.
"She"d be a fool not to," the Montague girl had said. And in private life, having been unhappily wed twice before, she was Mrs. Sigmund Rosenblatt. And crazy about her husband!
A little while ago he had felt glad he was not to die of starvation before seeing his wonder-woman. Reeling under the first shock of his discoveries he was now sorry. Beulah Baxter was no longer his wonder-woman. She was Mr. Rosenblatt"s. He would have preferred death, he thought, before this heart-withering revelation.