“I rather guess I will—if I ever find out what it’s about,” murmured the other. “Have a heart, and tell me.”
“Good-bye,” called Blake, into the telephone. “I’ll see you in New York.”
Then he hung up the receiver, and, turning to his chum, asked:
“What do you think has happened?”
“I haven’t the least idea, unless New York is wiped off the map by a dynamite explosion, and we’re wanted to help put it back.”
“No, it isn’t exactly that,” said Blake. “I was talking just now to Mr. Ringold. He’s in a peck of trouble!”
“How’s that?”
“Why, he wants us to start for the flooded Mississippi district at once, and get a lot of scenes out there. But that’s not the worst. Part of his company, that he sent out near Hannibal, Missouri, to take part in several film dramas, have been lost in the flood.”
“Lost in the flood?” cried Joe. “His company of players?”
“Yes. He could give me no particulars, but he’s going to start and organize a rescue party, and try to save them. He wants us to help with that work, as well as to make moving pictures for him. Some of the valuable films the company had already taken were also lost, when they were carried down the river.”