CHAPTER VII
MOVIE STUNTS
Jennie Stone slept in Ruth’s bed that night because, having been parted since they were both in France, they had a great deal to say to each other—thus proving true one of Tom Cameron’s statements regarding women.
Jennie was just as sympathetic—and as sleepy—as she could be and she “oh, dear, me’d” and yawned alternately all through the tale of the lost scenario and notebooks, appreciating fully how Ruth felt about it, but unable to smother the expression of her desire for sleep.
“Maybe we ought not to have come on this automobile trip,” said Jennie. “If the thief just did it to be mean and is somebody who lives around the Red Mill, perhaps you might have discovered something by mingling with the neighbors.”
“Oh! Tom did all that,” sighed Ruth. “And without avail. He searched the neighborhood thoroughly, although he is confident that a tramp carried it off. And that seems reasonable. I am almost sure, Heavy, that my scenario will appear under the trademark of some other producing manager than Mr. Hammond.”
“Oh! How mean!”
“Well, a thief is almost the meanest person there is in the world, don’t you think so? Except a backbiter. And anybody mean enough to steal my scenario must be mean enough to try to make use of it.”
“Oh, dear! Ow-oo-ooo! Scuse me, Ruth. Yes, I guess you are right. But can’t you stop the production of the picture?”
“How can I do that?”
“I don’t——ow-oo!——know. Scuse me, dear.”
“Most pictures are made in secret, anyway. The public knows nothing about them until the producer is ready to make their release.”
“I—ow-oo!—I see,” yawned Jennie.
“Even the picture play magazines do not announce them until the first runs. Then, sometimes, there is a synopsis of the story published. But it will be too late, then. Especially when I have no notes of my work, nor any witnesses. I told no living soul about the scenario—what it was about, or——”
“Sh-sh-sh——”
“Why, Heavy!” murmured the scandalized Ruth.
“Sh-sh-sh—whoo!” breathed the plump girl, with complete abandon.
“My goodness!” exclaimed Ruth, tempted to shake her, “if you snore like that when you are married, Henri will have to sleep at the other end of the house.”
But this was completely lost on the tired Jennie Stone, who continued to breathe heavily until Ruth herself fell asleep. It seemed as though the latter had only closed her eyes when the sun shining into her face awoke the girl of the Red Mill. The shades of the east window had been left up, and it was sunrise.
Plenty of farm noises outside the Drovers’ Tavern, as well as a stir in the kitchen, assured Ruth that there were early risers here. Jennie, rolled in more than her share of the bedclothes, continued to breathe as heavily as she had the night before.
But suddenly Ruth was aware that there was somebody besides herself awake in the room. She sat up abruptly in bed and reached to seize Jennie’s plump shoulder. Ruth had to confess she was much excited, if not frightened.
Then, before she touched the still sleeping Jennie Stone, Ruth saw the intruder. The door from the anteroom was ajar. A steaming agateware can of water stood on the floor just inside this door. Before the bureau which boasted a rather large mirror for a country hotel bedroom, pivoted the thin figure of Arabella Montague Fitzmaurice Pike!
From the neatly arranged outer clothing of the two girls supposedly asleep in the big four-poster, Bella had selected a skirt of Ruth’s and a shirt-waist of Jennie’s, arraying herself in both of these borrowed garments. She was now putting the finishing touch to her costume by setting Ruth’s cap on top of her black, fly-away mop of hair.
Turning about and about before the glass, Bella was so much engaged in admiring herself that she forgot the hot water she was supposed to carry to the various rooms. Nor did she see Ruth sitting up in bed looking at her in dawning amusement. Nor did she, as she pirouetted there, hear her Nemesis outside in the hall.
The door suddenly creaked farther open. The grim face of Miss Susan Timmins appeared at the aperture.
“Oh!” gasped Ruth Fielding aloud.
Bella turned to glance in startled surprise at the girl in bed. And at that moment Miss Timmins bore down upon the child like a shrike on a chippy-bird.
“Ow-ouch!” shrieked Bella.
“Oh, don’t!” begged Ruth.
“What is it? Goodness! Fire!” cried Jennie Stone, who, when awakened suddenly, always remembered the dormitory fire at Briarwood Hall.
“You little pest! I’ll larrup ye good! I’ll give ye your nevergitovers!” sputtered the hotel housekeeper.
But the affrighted Bella wriggled away from her aunt’s bony grasp. She dodged Miss Timmins about the marble-topped table, retreated behind the hair-cloth sofa, and finally made a headlong dash for the door, while Jennie continued to shriek for the fire department.
Ruth leaped out of bed. In her silk pajamas and slippers, and without any wrap, she hurried to reach, and try to separate, the struggling couple near the door.
Miss Timmins delivered several hearty slaps upon Bella’s face and ears. The child shrieked. She got away again and plunged into the can of hot water.
Over this went, flooding the rag-carpet for yards around.
“Fire! Fire!” Jennie continued to shriek.
Helen dashed in from the next room, dressed quite as lightly as Ruth, and just in time to see the can spilled.
“Oh! Water! Water!”
“Drat that young one!” barked Miss Timmins, ignoring the flood and everything else save her niece—even the conventions.
She dashed after Bella. The latter had disappeared into the hall through the anteroom.
“Oh, the poor child!” cried sympathetic Ruth, and followed in the wake of the angry housekeeper.
“Fire! Fire!” moaned Jennie Stone.
“Cat’s foot!” snapped Helen Cameron. “It’s water—and it is flooding the whole room.”
She ran to set the can upright—after the water was all out of it. Without thinking of her costume, Ruth Fielding ran to avert Bella’s punishment if she could. She knew the aunt was beside herself with rage, and Ruth feared that the woman would, indeed, give Bella her “nevergetovers.”
The corridor of the hotel was long, running from front to rear of the main building. The window at the rear end of it overlooked the roof of the back kitchen. This window was open, and when Ruth reached the corridor Bella was going head-first through the open window, like a circus clown diving through a hoop.
She had discarded Jennie’s shirt-waist between the bedroom and the window. But Ruth’s skirt still flapped about the child’s thin shanks.
Miss Timmins, breathing threatenings and slaughter, raced down the hall in pursuit. Ruth followed, begging for quarter for the terrified child.
But the housekeeper went through the open window after Bella, although in a more conventional manner, paying no heed to Ruth’s plea. The frightened girl, however, escaped her aunt’s clutch by slipping off the borrowed skirt and descending the trumpet-vine trellis by the kitchen door.
“Do let her go, Miss Timmins!” begged Ruth, as the panting woman, carrying Ruth’s skirt, returned to the window where the girl of the Red Mill stood. “She is scared to death. She was doing no harm.”
“I’ll thank you to mind your own business, Miss,” snapped Miss Timmins hotly. “I declare! A girl growed like you running ’round in men’s overalls—or, what be them things you got on?”
At this criticism Ruth Fielding fled, taking the skirt and Jennie’s shirt-waist with her. But Aunt Kate was aroused now and the four women of the automobile party swiftly slipped into their negligees and appeared in the hall again, to meet Tom and Colonel Marchand who came from their room only partly dressed.
The critical Miss Timmins had darted downstairs, evidently in pursuit of her unfortunate niece. The guests crowded to the back window.
“Where did she go?” demanded Tom, who had heard some explanation of the early morning excitement. “Is she running away?”
“What a child!” gasped Aunt Kate.
“My waist!” moaned Jennie.
“Look at Ruth’s skirt!” exclaimed Helen.
“I do not care for the skirt,” the girl of the Red Mill declared. “It is Bella.”
“Her aunt will about give her those ‘nevergetovers’ she spoke of,” chuckled Tom.
“Ma foi! look you there,” exclaimed Colonel Marchand, pointing through the window that overlooked the rear premises of the hotel.
At top speed Miss Timmins was crossing the yard toward the big hay barn. Bella had taken refuge in that structure, and the housekeeper’s evident intention was to harry her out. The woman grasped a clothes-stick with which she proposed to castigate her niece.
“The cruel thing!” exclaimed Helen, the waters of her sympathy rising for Bella Pike now.
“There’s the poor kid!” said Tom.
Bella appeared at an open door far up in the peak of the haymow. The hay was packed solidly under the roof; but there was an air space left at either end.
“She has put herself into the so-tight corner—no?” suggested the young Frenchman.
“You’ve said it!” agreed Tom. “Why! it’s regular movie stunts. She’s come up the ladders to the top of the mow. If auntie follows her, I don’t see that the kid can do anything but jump!”
“Tom! Never!” cried Ruth.
“He is fooling,” said Jennie.
“Tell me how she can dodge that woman, then,” demanded Tom.
“Ah!” murmured Henri Marchand. “She have arrive’.”
Miss Timmins appeared at the door behind Bella. The spectators heard the girl’s shriek. The housekeeper struck at her with the clothes stick. And then——
“Talk about movie stunts!” shouted Tom Cameron, for the frightened Bella leaped like a cat upon the haymow door and swung outward with nothing more stable than air between her and the ground, more than thirty feet below!