The Moving Picture Girls at Oak Farm | Page 9

dearly loved a romantic r?le.
"Really and truly--truly rural, I call it."
"How did you hear of it?"
"Oh, I overheard daddy and Mr. Pertell talking about it. Mr. Pertell asked daddy if he'd object to your taking a part like that."
"And what did dad say?"
"Oh, he agreed to it, as long as you weren't in danger. But I want something funny. I believe I'm to be a sort of 'cut-up' country maid, in some of the plays. I'm to upset the milk pails, tie a tin can to the calf's tail, hide under the sofa, when your country 'beaus' come to see you, and all that."
"Oh, Alice!"
"That's all right--I just love parts like that. None of the love business for me!"
"I should say not--you're entirely too young!" exclaimed Ruth, with sudden dignity.
"Pooh! You're not so old! Oh, there goes the supper bell. Come on! I'm starved!"
The entire theatrical troupe gathered about the table, and a merry party it was. That Mrs. Apgar was a good cook was one of the first matters voted on, and there was not a dissenting voice. It was well that there was plenty of chicken, for nearly everyone had more than the first helping.
"Ach! But I'm glad that I came here!" announced Mr. Switzer, as he passed his plate for more. "Ven I get so old dot I can vork no more, I am coming here!" and he leaned back with a contented sigh.
Even Pepper Sneed smiled graciously, and for once seemed to have no fault to find, and no dire prediction to make.
"The meal is very good," he said to Pop Snooks, the property man.
"Glad you think so--even if we did come out on track thirteen," was the reply. "I think that accident was the best thing that could happen. It delayed us so we all had fine appetites."
After supper the members of the company went on the broad veranda, to sit in the dusk of the evening and listen to the call of the night insects.
"We'll all have a day or so of rest," Mr. Pertell said. "That is, you folks will, while I lay out my plans and decide what we are to make first. Russ, I'll want you, the first thing in the morning, to take a walk around the farm with me, and we'll decide on which are the best backgrounds."
"Oh, may I come!" cried Alice, before Ruth could restrain her.
"Why, yes, I guess so," answered the manager, slowly. "Only we'll probably do a deal of walking."
"I don't tire easily," Alice replied.
"Oh, by the way, Mr. Apgar," said Mr. Pertell after a pause, turning to the farmer, "I am planning one play that has a barn-burning incident in it. Have you some old barn on the premises I could set fire to."
"Good land!" exclaimed the farmer, starting from his chair. "Set fire to a barn! Why th' idea! Th' sheriff will git after you, sure pop. That's arson, man!"
"Oh, no, not the way I'd do it," laughed the manager. "I'd be willing to pay you for the barn, so no one would lose anything. Haven't you some such building on the place--one that isn't of much use?"
"Wa'al, I reckon there might be," was the slow answer, as if the farmer could not understand the strange proposition. "But as fer settin' fire to it; wa'al, I reckon you'll have to git permission of th' mortgagee. You see we're in trouble about this place. Sandy, maybe you'd better tell him," and he turned to his son.
CHAPTER V
SANDY'S STORY
For a moment or two Mr. Pertell seemed rather embarrassed. He feared he had forced some unpleasant secret from the farmer, and he did not want to hurt his feelings. Then, too, he remembered that Sandy had hinted at some trouble at the farm. This was probably it, and it had to do with money.
"Perhaps you would rather not talk about it," suggested the manager, after a pause. He and Sandy were at one end of the porch now, the others having gone in. Felix Apgar, preferring to let his son do the talking, had risen from his chair, and was going slowly down the gravel walk to close the gate lest some stray cow wander in from the highway and eat his wife's favorite flowers.
"Oh, I reckon I might jest as well tell you," spoke Sandy, slowly. "It's bound to come out sooner or later, and then everybody in Beatonville will hear of our trouble."
"Then it is trouble?" asked Mr. Pertell.
"That's what it is."
"If I could do anything to help," suggested the manager, "I would be glad to."
"No, I don't reckon you could, unless you wanted to invest quite a sum of money in this farm," returned the young man.
"Well, I'm afraid I'm hardly ready to do that," declared Mr. Pertell. "Farming isn't in my line,