“Well, what’s the program for to-day?”
“Down the river—more pictures—and make all the inquiries we can about our friends.”
It was Joe who asked the question, and Blake who answered it. The moving picture boys were getting breakfast aboard the motor boat, which was still safely tied to a big tree in the cove where they had made a stop the night before, following the fire on the cotton barge.
It had stopped raining, but the sky was not clear, and the flood was all about them, the waters being higher than ever. There seemed to be no cessation to the increase.
“We certainly are getting a fine lot of pictures out of it all,” murmured Joe, as he glanced at the pile of films in the water-proof cases.
“Yes, that’s the one redeeming feature,” agreed Blake, as he put the coffee on to boil.
“How’s the weather outside?” called Mr. Ringold, from his bunk.
“Nothing to boast of,” replied Blake. “Looks as if it would rain more any minute.”
“Anything out there worth filming?”
“Nothing much—a lot of stuff coming down the river, but we’ve got enough of that,” spoke Joe. “I only wish we could have filmed the burning cotton barge, but we had enough to do as it was, to get clear of it ourselves.”