“The next time I’ll tell the inhabitants here what my plans are,” went on Mr. Ringold, grimly. “I told you I wanted it to burn.”
“I know you did,” admitted the chief; “but I thought you was so excited you didn’t know what you was sayin’.”
“So did I,” admitted several of the volunteer fire-fighters. “It’s too bad!”
“Well, you meant all right, anyhow,” went on Mr. Ringold, with cheerful philosophy; “and I’ll make the department a donation. But next time, please don’t interfere. I’ll set another shack on fire as soon as I can arrange to buy one,” he said to his company. “Meanwhile we’ll go on with another drama. Save whatever you can of the films,” he added to Blake and Joe. “Up to the time the firemen broke in they’ll be all right. Next time I’ll be more explicit.”
“I knew something would happen,” declared C. C., gloomily, as he tried to wring some of the water from his clothes. “I didn’t burn, but I nearly drowned.”
There was nothing to do but return to their boarding place and arrange for another drama, rehearsals for which would take place in a day or so.
“Meanwhile,” said Mr. Ringold to Joe and Blake, “you may have a little time off. I tell you what you might do. We could use a fishing scene, I believe. Suppose you go out in one of the small boats here and get a series of views when they lift their nets.”
“The very thing!” cried Blake. “We’ll do it; eh, Joe?”
“Sure thing!”
“You might, in fact,” went on Mr. Ringold, “show the whole process of fishing, from the launching of the boats until they come back filled with the day’s catch.”