“Well, it was too bad,” said Mr. Ringold, when C. C. was once more ashore. “I guess we’ll have to get you a little larger boat.”
“Get me one?” asked the actor, with the accent on the personal pronoun.
“Certainly. We’ll have to do this scene over again. I guess we could use one of the fishing boats, though they’re a little large. But we can move the cameras back. Take one of those, C. C.”
“I guess not.”
“What’s that?”
“I said I guess not. No more for mine!”
“Do you mean to say you won’t go on with this act? Are you going to balk as you did in the Indian scene?”
“Say,” began C. C., earnestly, as, dripping wet as he was, he strode up to the theatrical man, “I can’t swim, and I don’t like the water. I told you that the time you took me up in the country, where we found these boys,” and he motioned to Blake and Joe, who were looking interestedly on, ready to work the cameras as soon as required.
“And yet,” went on Mr. Piper, “you insisted that I jump overboard then and rescue Miss Shay. Now you want me to drift in as a shipwrecked sailor. It’s too much, I tell you. There is entirely too much water and tank drama in this business. I know I’ll get my death of cold, if I don’t drown.”
“Oh, can’t you look on the bright side?” asked Miss Shay, who was to come into the drama later. “Why, it’s so warm I should think you’d like to get into the surf.”