The New Hand
"And how did your photographs turn out, Alan?" asked Mr. Armitage, when he reappeared on deck, none the worse for his involuntary shower bath.
"I haven't any prints yet, sir," replied Hepburn. "The man at the photographer's shop said he could only develop the films in the time. Here they are, sir."
The Scoutmaster took the proferred envelope, and from it extracted six films.
"Ah, that's good!" he exclaimed. "The 5th Weymouth Scouts on board the Olivette. Bruin begging—that's capital. Lulworth Cove—rather a large subject for so small a film, Alan. No. 4: Old Harry viewed from seaward. You'll have a good light-and-shade effect there when the film's printed. Hello! What in the name of creation is this—and this?"
Mr. Armitage held up the fifth and sixth films, first longway and then upright. Alan watched the Scoutmaster's puzzled expression with amusement, but offered no explanation of what the negatives were supposed to be.
"I can't make either of them out," he declared. "It might represent a view of St. Alban's Race taken from the masthead, but I know that you didn't go aloft, Alan. Perhaps some of the other fellows would like to have a shot at solving the mystery."
The two films were passed round, after the general caution being given to avoid touching or scratching the gelatine face.
"Looks like a complicated contour map," hazarded Flemming, "or fancy furrows on a hill-side. Is it?"
Alan smiled and shook his head.