“You don’t speak as if you meant it.”
“But I do, Joe. There’s nothing the matter with me—really there isn’t.”
“Well, I’m glad of it. If there is, and you need help, don’t forget to come to me. Remember we’re pards, and chums, not only in the moving picture business, but in everything else, Blake. Anything I’ve got is yours for the asking.”
“That’s good of you, Joe, and if you can help me I’ll let you know. I didn’t realize that I was acting any way strange. I must brighten up a bit. I guess we’ve both been working too hard. We need some amusement. Let’s go to a moving picture show to-night, and see how they run things here, and what sort of films they have. We may even see one of our own.”
“All right. I’ll go you. We can’t see that shipping agent until to-morrow. A moving picture show for ours to-night, then. Though, being in the business, as we are, it’s rather like a fireman going around to the engine-house on his day off, and staying there—a queer sort of a day’s vacation.”
But, nevertheless, they thoroughly enjoyed the moving picture play, interspersed, as it was, with vaudeville acts. Among the films were several that Mr. Ringold’s company had posed for, and several that the boys themselves had taken. The reels were good ones, too, the pictures standing out clear and bright as evidence of good work on the part of the boys and Mr. Hadley.
“Had enough?” asked Joe, after about an hour spent in the theatre.
“Yes, let’s go out and take a walk.”
“Feel any brighter?” went on Joe.
“Yes, I think I do,” and Blake linked his arm in that of Joe, wondering the while, as they tramped on, how he should ever break the news to his chum, in case Joe himself did not find it out. “The only hope is that he isn’t guilty,” mused Blake, “and yet running away just before the accusation was made public looks bad, just as Mr. Stanton said. However, I’m not going to think about it.” As long as it had gone thus far without any outsider giving away the secret to Joe, his chum began to feel that there was little danger.