CHAPTER XI
A STRANGE CHARGE
“Are you going to take a camera with you, boys?” asked Mr. Ringold, as Joe and Blake were saying good-bye to their friend, preparatory to making a brief stay in San Francisco.
“A camera? No. Why?” inquired Blake.
“Well, I happen to need some San Francisco street scenes for one of the dramas,” went on the theatrical man; “and it occurred to me that you could get them when you weren’t busy.”
“Of course we could,” answered Joe. “We can take the automatic, and set it up wherever you say, and go looking for that shipping agent. When we come back we’ll have all the pictures we need.”
“Good!” exclaimed Mr. Ringold. “Try that, if you don’t mind. Get some scenes down in the financial district, and others in the residential section. Then, as long as you have to go to the shipping offices, get some there.”
The boys promised they would, and added the small but compact automatic camera to their luggage as they started off.
This camera worked by compressed air. There was a small motor inside, operated by a cylinder of air that could be filled by an ordinary bicycle pump. Otherwise it was just like the other moving picture cameras.
There was the upper box, in which was wound the unexposed reel of film. From this it went over a roller, and the cog wheel, which engaged in the perforations, thence down by means of the “gate,” behind the lens and shutter. There two claws reached up and grasped the film as the motor operated, pulling down three-quarters of an inch each time, to be exposed as the shutter was automatically opened in front of the lens.