"I am afraid Jim Hooley will have to fake the whole scene after all,"

continued the manager. "Those women came all dressed up 'to have their pictures took,' it is true. But the worst of it is, they could not be natural. It was impossible. They showed in every move and every glance that they were sitting with a bunch of actors and were not at all sure that what they were doing was altogether the right thing.

"We worked over them as though it were a 'mob scene' and there were five hundred in it instead of twenty. But twenty wooden dummies would have filmed no more unnaturally. You know, in your story, they are supposed to be discussing the bit of gossip about your heroine's elopement with the schoolteacher. I could not work up a mite of enthusiasm in their minds about such a topic."

Ruth laughed. But she saw that the matter was really serious for Mr.

Hammond and the director. She became sympathetic.

"I fancy that if they had had a real scandal to discuss," she observed, "their faces would have registered more poignant interest."

"'Poignant interest'!" scoffed the manager in disgust. "If these Herringport tabbies had the toothache they would register only polite anguish--in public. They are the most insular and self-contained and self-suppressed women I ever saw. These Down-Easters! They could walk over fiery ploughshares and only wanly smile----"

Ruth went off into a gale of laughter at this. Mr. Hammond was a Westerner by birth, and he found the Yankee character as hard to understand as did Henri Marchand.

"Have you quite given up hope, Mr. Hammond?" Ruth asked.

"Well, we'll try again to-morrow. Oh, they promised to come again! They are cutting out rompers, or flannel undervests, I suppose, for the South Sea Island children; or something like that. They are interested in that job, no doubt.

"I wanted them to 'let go all holts,' as these fishermen say, and be eager and excited. They are about as eager as they would be doing their washing, or cleaning house--if as much!" and Mr. Hammond's disappointment became too deep for further audible expression.

Ruth suddenly awoke to the fact that one of her best scenes in the "Seaside Idyl" was likely to be spoiled. She talked with Mr. Hooley about it, and when the day's run was developed and run off in one of the shacks which was used for a try-out room, Ruth saw that the manager had not put the matter too strongly. The sewing circle scene lacked all that snap and go needed to make it a realistic piece of action.

Of course, there were enough character actors in the company to use in the scene; but naturally an actor caricatures such parts as were called for in this scene. The professional would be likely to make the characters seem grotesque. That was not the aim of the story.

"I thought you were not going to take any interest in this 'Seaside Idyl,'

at all," suggested Helen, when Ruth was talking about the failure of the scene after supper that night.

"I can't help it. My reputation as a scenario writer is at stake, just as much as is Mr. Hooley's reputation as director," Ruth said, smiling. "I really didn't mean to have a thing to do with the old picture. But I can see that somebody has got to put a breath of naturalness into those ladies' aid society women, or this part of the picture will be a fizzle."

"And our Ruth," drawled Jennie, "is going to prescribe one of her famous cure-alls, is she?"

"I believe I can make them look less like a lot of dummies while they are cutting out rompers for cannibal island pickaninnies," laughed Ruth. "Tom, I am going to the port with you the first thing in the morning."

"By all means," said Captain Cameron. "I am yours to command."

Her newly aroused interest in the scenario at present being filmed, was a good thing for Ruth Fielding. Having found nothing at all in the submitted stories that suggested her own lost story, the girl of the Red Mill tried to put aside again the thing that so troubled her mind. And this new interest helped.

In the morning before breakfast she and Tom ran over to the port in the maroon roadster. While they were having breakfast at the inn, Ruth asked the waitress, who was a native of this part of the country, about the Union Church and some of the more intimate life-details of the members of its congregation.

It is not hard to uncover neighborhood gossip of a kind not altogether unkindly in any similar community. The Union Church had a new minister, and he was young. He was now away on his vacation, and more than one local beauty and her match-making mamma would have palpitation of the heart before he returned for fear that the young clergyman would have his heart interests entangled by some designing "foreigner."

Tom had no idea as to what Ruth Fielding was getting at through this questioning of the beaming Hebe who waited on them at breakfast. And he was quite as much in the dark as to his friend's motive when Ruth announced their first visit to be to the office of the Herringport _Harpoon_, the local news sheet.

CHAPTER XVII

JOHN, THE HERMIT'S, CONTRIBUTION

A man with bushy hair, a pencil stuck over his ear, and wearing an ink-stained ap.r.o.n, met them in the office of the _Harpoon_. This was Ezra Payne, editor and publisher of the weekly news-sheet, and this was his busiest day. The _Harpoon_, Ruth had learned, usually went into the mails on this day.

"Tut, tut! I see. Is this a joke?" Mr. Payne pursed his lips and wrinkled his brow in uncertainty.

"A whole edition, Miss? Wall, I dunno. I do have hard work selling all the edition some weeks. But I have reg'lar subscribers----"

"This will not interfere with your usual edition of the _Harpoon_," she hastened to a.s.sure him.

"How's that, Miss?"

"I want to buy an edition of one copy."

"One copy!"

"Yes, sir. I want something special printed in one paper. Then you can take it out and print your regular edition."

"Tut, tut! I see. Is this a joke?" Mr. Payne asked, his eyes beginning to twinkle.

"It is the biggest joke you ever heard of," declared Ruth.

"And who's the joke on?"

"Wait and see what I write," Ruth said, sitting down at the battered old desk where he labored over his editorials and proofsheets.

Opening a copy of the last week's _Harpoon_ that lay there, she was able to see the whole face of the paper.

"I've got the inside run off," said Mr. Payne, still doubtfully. "So you can't run anything on the second and third pages."

"Oh, I want the most prominent place for my item," laughed Ruth. "Front page, top column---- Here it is!"

He bent over her. Tom stared in wonder, too, as Ruth pointed to an item under a certain heading at the top of the middle column of the front page of the sheet.

"That is just where I want my item to appear," she said briskly to the editor. "You run that--that department there every week?"

"Oh, yes, Miss. The people expect it. You know how folks are. They look for those items first of all in a country paper."

"Yes. It is so. One of the New York dailies is still printed with that human foible in mind. It caters to this very curiosity that your _Harpoon_ caters to."

"Yes, Miss. You're right. Most folks have the same curiosity, city or country. Shakespeare spoke of the 'seven ages of man'; but there are only three of particular interest--to womankind, anyway; and they are all _here_."

"There you go! Slurring the women," she laughed. "Or do you speak compliments?"

"I guess the women have it right," chuckled Mr. Payne. "Now, what is it you want me to print in one paper for you?"

Ruth drew a scratch pad to her and scribbled rapidly for a couple of minutes. Then she pa.s.sed the page to the newspaper proprietor.

Mr. Payne read it, stared at her, pursed his lips, and then read it again.

Suddenly he burst into a cackle of laughter, slapping his thigh in high delight.