“The wreck—it’ll come close on shore, the guard says; why not make some moving pictures of it? They’ll be just what Mr. Hadley wants.”
“That’s it!” yelled Blake. “You’ve struck it. Go on and tell Mr. Ringold, Mr. Hadley and the others, and I’ll get the fishermen. Then we’ll go down the beach until we meet the life savers. It’s a great chance, Joe!”
The lads separated, one to arouse the fishermen, most of whom were in their shacks, for it was out of the question to lift the nets in the tremendous seas that were running.
“Come on!” cried Blake, as he saw old Abe Haskill come out to look at the weather. “Wreck—ship coming ashore. The coast guards need help!”
“Aye, aye, lad. We’re with you!” cried the sturdy old man. “I’ll get the boys. A wreck; eh? Pity the poor sailors that come ashore in such a blow!”
Having given the alarm, Blake turned back to join his chum and the others of the theatrical colony.
“We may need all three cameras,” he reasoned; “it is such a good chance we don’t want to risk it on one film.”
Blake found Mr. Hadley and his chum, with the theatrical manager and the male members of the company, ready to set out. Joe had his own camera, while Mr. Hadley was getting the largest one in readiness.
“Let’s take the automatic, too,” suggested Joe. “We can start it going and not have to worry about it.”
“All right,” agreed Blake.