“I think so. But I’ll get more. There’s a photo-supply house about three blocks away. You start grinding away at the crank, and I’ll chase down there and get another reel of film in case we want it. I guess they’ll be open yet.”
“All right,” answered Blake, with a nod. Then he looked for a vantage point from which to make pictures of the big fire.
He decided to stand on a square pillar, near the steps of a building nearly opposite the burning structure, and, slipping under the rope which the police had stretched as the limits of the fire lines, Blake was about to set up his machine when a man, also bearing a moving picture camera, made for the same place. It was really about the only spot where a good picture could be taken, but there was room for only one operator there.
The opposite pillar, or pedestal, was occupied by a portable searchlight, operated by some firemen, to aid their comrades in the work of rescue and fighting the flames, and the brilliant, white light being flashed on the burning structure made it possible to get a good moving picture film. So Blake was anxious to reach this place of vantage.
He was about to start his machine, when the man, who had reached the spot just too late, cried:
“Say, kid, come down out of there! That’s my place!”
“Yours?” cried Blake, as he noted that the man was James Munson, a rival moving picture operator, and one with whom Blake and Joe had had trouble before.
“Yes, mine!” sneered Munson. “I was here a minute ago, and decided on that place, and now I want it.”
“Well, you’re not going to get it!” declared Blake, firmly. “If you were here you should have stayed,” and the young operator started the mechanism of his apparatus, by turning the handle.
“I had to leave, to get some extra film!” Munson cried. “I want you to come away—come down and let me get up there!”