Sandy, Russ and Paul at once hurried out, and went in the direction where Alice and Ruth had last seen the man. The girls, including Miss Pennington and Miss Dixon, also went out to see what success should attend the efforts of the young men. But it was the same as before--there was no sign of the man. This was not strange, though, considering that he might have slipped off at either side of the road, and gone into hiding in the fields, or in a patch of woodland nearby.

"Guess we'll have to give it up," said Russ, as he and the others turned back. "I'd like to find out who he is, though."

"Do you suppose he could be one of those men who tried to get your patent?" asked Alice. "I mean, he might be disguised."

"I hardly think so," was the answer of the young moving picture operator. "Besides, my patent is fully protected now. They couldn't make anything out of that."

"Then he must be after something on the farm," suggested Paul, who was walking beside Alice.

"There ain't nothin' valuable lyin' aroun' here loose," said Sandy, with a short laugh. "I only wish there was. I'd get it myself an' pay off th' mortgage. More likely that fellow is after some of your movin' pictures. Aren't those reels, as you call 'em, valuable?"

"That's so!" exclaimed Paul. "I never thought of that. Maybe he is after some of our films, Russ! We'd better speak to Mr. Pertell about it."

"Perhaps we had. There are some moving picture men mean enough to try to take the ideas of other folks, and they might not be above taking the reels of exposed films, too. We've got some good ones on hand."

Mr. Pertell was a little skeptical about the matter when it was mentioned to him, but he agreed that there was something in the idea, after all, and that it was rather odd for the mysterious man to remain so long in the vicinity of Oak Farm, without disclosing his errand.

"He's a stranger--that's sure," said Mr. Apgar, Sandy's father. "He's a stranger here, for none of th' farmers in these parts know him.

I've heard one or two mention seein' a lame feller going about, as if he had plenty of spare time. It must be this man. But, as Sandy says, we ain't got nothin' he can git. It all belongs t' Squire Blasdell,"

he added with a rueful laugh. "Or it will after th' mortgage is foreclosed," he finished with a sigh.

The old man looked over at his wife, who was seated in a rocking chair, mending stockings. She was a good sewer, and members of the theatrical troupe had her do work for them, thus enabling her to earn a little money, for which she was very grateful.

The plight of the old people was really pitiful, with the dark shadow of losing their home ever looming nearer. Sandy tried to be cheerful, and several times said that perhaps at the last minute a way might be found to save the farm. But he was not very hopeful. He worked hard--doubly hard, since his father was able to do very little. This made it necessary to hire help, and that left so much less profit on the gathered crops.

"Perhaps it wouldn't be a bad idea to keep watch to-night," suggested Mr. DeVere, when the matter of the mysterious man was being discussed. "That fellow may have designs on some of your farm buildings, Mr. Apgar."

"That's so, he might," agreed the farmer. "Barns has been sot afire afore this."

"Don't talk that way, Father, you'll scare the young folks," chided his wife gently, as she looked at Ruth and smiled rea.s.suringly.

"That'll never happen," she added, for, at the mention of the word "fire," Ruth had glanced nervously at the door, as though the limping man stood on the other side of it.

"I'll keep an eye open to-night," said Sandy. "If that fellow comes around I'll be ready for him."

"I'll help you," volunteered Russ, and Paul, too, said he would help in standing guard.

It was arranged that the three men should take turns in keeping watch, and, during the night, patrol the barns and other buildings occasionally, to watch for any signs of the stranger.

At first the girls, and even Mrs. Maguire, were a bit nervous, and this made little Tommy and Nellie, the latter's grandchildren, somewhat timid. Then Mr. Pertell suggested that they all consider their parts in a new drama that was to be started next day, as that would take their minds off the scare.

Save for the occasional barking of a dog, who bayed at the moon, and the lowing of the cattle, there was scarcely a sound, except those of the night insects. The night pa.s.sed quietly, and there was no sign of the mysterious man.

"I guess you girls scared him away for good," remarked Paul, at the breakfast table.

"I hope so," murmured Alice. "I had one look at his face, and if ever I saw a hard and cruel one I saw it then."

Work and rehearsals of the new play occupied all for the next two days. Several new things in the way of properties were needed, and this kept Pop Snooks busy. One of the things he had to provide was a rickety two-wheeled cart, that was to be hitched to a donkey, one of the farm animals.

"Who's going to ride in that cart?" asked Mr. Bunn, as he strode about the place with the new silk hat which, true to promise, Mr.

Pertell had purchased to replace the water-soaked one.

"I think I'll cast Ruth DeVere to ride in the cart," said the manager. "Someone will have to ride the mule, though, and as I want a tall man for that act I think I'll take you, Mr. Bunn. You will black up as a colored man, and----"

"Stop! Stop where you are!" cried the Shakespearean actor, in stentorian tones. "I shall do nothing of the sort. You may consider that I have resigned!"

CHAPTER XIV

AN UPSET

Perhaps Wellington Bunn was disappointed that Mr. Pertell did not at once beg him to reconsider his resignation, and to stay his parting steps, for the actor had turned aside after issuing his defiance, and started toward the house, as though to carry out his threat, pack up and go back to New York.

But the manager did not call after Mr. Bunn to stay. All he said was:

"Very well, Mr. Bunn, if you resign now, without the two weeks'

notice called for in your contract, you need not expect another engagement with me, nor with any of the moving picture a.s.sociations with which I am connected. I am not asking you to do anything very difficult."

"But to ride a mule! Great Scott! I can't do that, my dear sir!"

"You told me you could ride."

"Yes, a horse, perhaps; but not a mule. Why, a mule kicks!"

"Oh, I don't believe this one will kick," replied the manager.

"Anyhow, I want you to ride him. There is to be a comic part to this play, and I look to you to provide it. You will blacken your face and----"

"Black up and take the part of a colored man--me, Wellington Bunn--who has played the cla.s.sic Shakespeare--do blackface? Never!"

"You forget that Shakespeare's Oth.e.l.lo was a colored man, I guess,"

laughed Mr. Pertell, "and you told me you had played that character."

"So I have, but Oth.e.l.lo was a Moor--not a common black-faced comedian. He was brown, rather than black."

"Well, we'll go a few shades darker, and be real black, in your case," suggested Mr. Pertell. "And you'll have to ride the mule. It is necessary to make the scene a success."

Wellington Bunn sighed, as he answered:

"Very well. But when this engagement is over no more moving pictures for me! I am through with them!"

"We'll see," replied the manager, as he went on with his preparations for the new play. Nearly the whole company were to take part in this, and Tommy and Nellie had parts that pleased them very much.

"I'm to drive a little goat cart!" exclaimed the small lad, "and you're to ride with me, Nellie."

"Oh, that will be fun!" she cried, clapping her hands. "But your goat won't bite; will he?"

"I won't let him bite you, anyhow," promised Tommy, kindly.