"I am only the manager of the company. Who is your father, child?"

"Well, of all the---- Wouldn't that give you your nevergitovers!"

exclaimed Bella, in broad amazement. "Say! I guess my pa is your leading man."

"Mr. Hasbrouck? Impossible!"

"Never heard of him," said Bella, promptly. "Montague Fitzmaurice, I mean."

"And I never heard of him," declared Mr. Hammond, both puzzled and amused.

"What?" gasped the girl, almost stunned by this statement. "Maybe you know him as Mr. Pike. That is our honest-to-goodness name--Pike."

"I am sorry that you are disappointed, my dear," said the manager kindly.

"But don't be worried. If you expected to meet your father here, perhaps he will come later. But really, I have no such person as that on my staff at the present time."

"I don't know---- Why!" cried Bella, "he sent me money and said he was working here. I--I didn't tell him I was coming. I just got sick of those Perkinses, and I took the money and went to Boston and got dressed up, and then came on here. I--I just about spent all the money he sent me to get here."

"Well, that was perhaps unwise," said Mr. Hammond. "But don't worry. Come along now to Mother Paisley. She will look out for you--and you can stay with us until your father appears. There is some mistake somewhere."

By this speech he warded off tears. Bella hastily winked them back and squared her thin shoulders.

"All right, sir," she said, picking up the bags again. "Pa will make it all right with you. He wrote in his letter as if he had a good engagement."

Mr. Hammond might have learned something further about this surprising girl at the time, but just as he introduced her to Mother Paisley one of the men came running from the point and hailed him:

"Mr. Hammond! There's a boat in trouble off the point. I think she was making for this harbor. Have you got a pair of gla.s.ses?"

Mr. Hammond had a fine pair of opera gla.s.ses, and he produced them from his desk while he asked:

"What kind of boat is it, Maxwell?"

"Looks like that blue motor that Miss Fielding and her friends went off in this morning. We saw it coming along at top speed. And suddenly it stopped. They can't seem to manage it----"

The manager hurried with Maxwell along the sands. The sky was completely overcast now, and the wind whipped the spray from the wave tops into their faces. The weather looked dubious indeed, and the manager of the film corporation was worried before even he focused his gla.s.ses upon the distant motor-boat.

CHAPTER XXIII

TROUBLE--PLENTY

Even Ruth Fielding had paid no attention to the warning of the Reef Island hermit regarding a change in the weather, in spite of the fact that she was anxious to return to the camp near Herringport. It was not until the _Stazy_ was outside the inlet late in the afternoon that Skipper Phil Gordon noted the threatening signs in sea and sky.

"That's how it goes," the one-armed mariner said. "When we aren't dependent on the wind to fill our canvas, we neglect watching every little weather change. She's going to blow by and by."

"Do you think it will be a real storm?" asked Ruth, who sat beside him at the steering wheel and engine, watching how he managed the mechanism.

"Maybe. But with good luck we will make Beach Plum Point long before it amounts to anything."

The long graybacks were rather pleasant to ride over at first. Even Aunt Kate was not troubled by the prospect. It was so short a run to the anchorage behind the Point that n.o.body expressed fear.

When the spray began to fly over the bows the girls merely squealed a bit, although they hastily found extra wraps. If the _Stazy_ plunged and shipped half a sea now and then, n.o.body was made anxious. And soon the Point was in plain view.

To make the run easier, however, Skipper Gordon had sailed the motor-yacht well out to sea. When he shifted the helm to run for the entrance to the bay, the waves began to slap against the _Stazy's_ side. She rolled terrifically and the aspect of affairs was instantly changed.

"Oh, dear me!" moaned Jennie Stone. "How do you feel, Henri? I did not bargain for this rough stuff, did you? Oh!"

"'Mister Captain, stop the ship, I want to get off and walk!'" sang Helen gaily. "Don't lose all hope, Heavy. You'll never sink if you do go overboard."

"Isn't she mean?" sniffed the plump girl. "And I am only afraid for Henri's sake."

"I don't like this for my own sake," murmured Aunt Kate.

"Are you cold, dear?" her niece asked, with quick sympathy. "Here! I don't really need this cape with my heavy sweater."

She removed the heavy cloth garment from her own shoulders and with a flirt sought to place it around Aunt Kate. The wind swooped down just then with sudden force. The _Stazy_ rolled to leeward.

"Oh! Stop it!"

Bulging under pressure of the wind, the cape flew over the rail. Jennie tried to clutch it again; Henri plunged after it, too. Colliding, the two managed between them to miss the garment altogether. It dropped into the water just under the rail.

"Of all the clumsy fingers!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Helen. But she could not seize the wrap, although she darted for it. Nor could Ruth help, she being still farther forward.

"Now, you've done it!" complained Aunt Kate.

The boat began to rise on another roller. The cape was sucked out of sight under the rail. The next moment the whirling propeller was stopped--so abruptly that the _Stazy_ shook all over.

"Oh! what has happened?" shrieked Helen.

Ruth started up, and Tom seized her arm to steady her. But the girl of the Red Mill did not express any fear. The shock did not seem to affect her so much as it did the other girls. Here was a real danger, and Ruth did not lose her self-possession.

Phil Gordon had shut off the power, and the motor-boat began to swing broadside to the rising seas.

"The propeller is broken!" cried Tom.

"She's jammed. That cape!" gasped the one-armed skipper. "Here! Tend to this till I see what can be done. Jack!" he shouted to his crew. "This way--lively, now!"

But Ruth slipped into his place before Tom could do so.

"I know how to steer, Tommy," she declared. "And I understand the engine.

Give him a hand if he needs you."

"Oh, we'll turn turtle!" shrieked Jennie, as the boat rolled again.

"You'll never become a turtle, Jen," declared Tom, plunging aft. "Turtles are dumb!"