But there were now so many fishermen rushing about here and there that they paid no attention to the excited theatrical man, who issued orders right and left.
“What shall we do?” demanded C. C., who had gotten off to one side with the girl he was supposed to have “rescued” from the burning cabin.
“I don’t know!” cried Mr. Ringold. “The whole play is spoiled by those fellows butting in. Hi, there!” he called to Blake and Joe, as he saw them operating the cameras. “Stop the reel! We don’t want any of this!”
The clicking machines grew silent, and then the boys knew that something was wrong.
Meanwhile, the hand engine was placed in position. It was learned, later, that the fish concern kept it for use in cases of emergency. There had been some small blazes, in which the old engine had proved its worth.
The fishermen knew how to operate it to advantage, too, and soon a double line of them, extending from the surf to the tank, began passing the filled buckets up one side and the empty ones down the other. As the tank filled, other men worked the handles and a stream of water was soon spurting on the fire.
“Quit it! Oh, quit it!” begged Mr. Ringold. “I want that shack to burn!”
“He’s crazy—don’t mind him!” shouted the self-appointed chief. “We’ll soon have it out now.”
“I’ll see if I can stop them,” said C. C., for the water had about quenched the blaze, and it was useless to try to go on with the play. “They’ll listen to me,” the comedian declared.
He rushed forward, but at that moment the hose got from the control of the two men holding it. The nozzle swung around, and the stream came full force over Christopher Cutler Piper, drenching him in an instant.