“I’m with you,” agreed Joe; and, seeing that their craft was securely moored, they went ashore.
The town was a fairly large one, and contained several stores. But business was practically at a standstill now, for everyone who could was working at the levee. There were anxious looks on the faces of all—men, women and children. But women and children were about the only ones in the streets, the men all being at the river front.
“Look!” exclaimed Joe, pointing to a moving picture theater. It was closed, probably from lack of patronage during the flood season, but in front were some advertising lithographs.
“Some of our films!” cried Blake, as he saw some gaudily-colored representations of those pictures he and Joe had taken in earthquake land.
“So they are!” echoed Joe. “Who’d ever thought of seeing them here?”
“I wonder how they took with the audiences?” went on Blake, for he always interested in the financial end of their business, and he and his chum really tried hard to get the very best sort of moving pictures.
“I’d sort of like to know that, myself,” murmured Joe.
A small boy was standing in front of the lithographs of the colored pictures, looking at them interestedly.
“Would you like to go in? What time does the show start?” asked Blake, handing the boy a dime, which he took eagerly, and wonderingly.
“Would I like to go in, mister? Well, I guess I would. But they ain’t givin’ no shows while the river’s risin’. Nobody comes and the feller what runs the place says it don’t pay him to open. But I saw them pictures,” and he nodded at the ones showing a volcano in eruption, and the ground quaking—views that Blake and Joe had taken at a great personal risk.