CHAPTER V

THE MARY ELLEN

During the silence that followed the rather sudden ending of the old salt's story, Ruth and Alice looked at each other with wonder in their eyes. On all sides of them could be heard the clicking of the moving picture cameras, the loud directions issued by the men who were managing the different little dramas, and occasionally the sound of shots from the cowboy play that was going on in front of where our friends were seated on the bench, though at some distance away, for the studio was large.

"But that can't be all of it," said Alice, at length.

"All of what, Miss?" Jack Jepson asked.

"The mystery."

"That's all there is to any mystery, Miss," he said. "A mystery is a mystery, an' if it isn't solved, it's a mystery still, an' n.o.body can make any more of it. Th' captain and Mike Tullane completely disappeared, an' were never heard of afterward. That's th' mystery, an'

all there is to it, jest as I told you."

"But about yourself?" asked Ruth. "You said you were put in chains, under arrest, as the ringleader of the mutiny."

"So I was."

"But what became of you?"

"Well, I escaped, Miss. It may not be a very nice thing to confess, but I escaped. Th' British ship took us to a jail on some island--I forget th' name of it. Anyhow I was locked up, an' so were a lot of th' others.

We were tried, an' I was accused of startin' th' mutiny. Some of th'

worst men on th' ship put th' blame on me, an' I wasn't a bit guilty.

But it was no use in denyin' it. They was all banded together t' accuse me t' save themselves. I was found guilty, though I wasn't at all, an' I was sentenced to a long imprisonment. I just escaped hanging by a hair, for mutiny on th' high seas is a serious crime.

"But I was innocent, an' I knew it, an' when I found th' trial goin'

against me, I took a chance that offered, an' planned t' escape. I found a French vessel puttin' t' sea an' as they was short handed I signed on.

Since then I've been in many vessels, but I always keep away from English ones, and from English ports, for I would be arrested the minute I set my foot on sh.o.r.e in one. A big reward is out for me."

"How long ago was all this?" asked Ruth.

"Oh, some years."

"But isn't the unjust charge outlawed now?" Alice wanted to know.

"I'm afraid not, Miss. Such things are never outlawed. I daren't go t'

an English port, an' that's hampered me. I have to take what berths I can get."

"Can't you disprove the mutiny charge?" asked Ruth.

"Not unless some of them involved was to confess, Miss. An' land knows where those fellers are now. They've disappeared with th' captain an'

Mike Tullane. Of course if I could find either one of them, I could prove my innocence, an' then I'd be free t' go where I pleased. But I've about given _that_ up, Miss.

"So I sort of come t' anchor in th' Sailors' Snug Harbor, an' when I heard about this movin' picture business, and th' chance it gave t' make a little money, I took it. But when it comes t' doin' some crime for it, I draws th' line. As I said, I've always lived honest, man and boy, for many years, an' that one charge is th' only one against me. I'm not goin' t' take them papers, and subst.i.tute false ones."

"But you don't exactly understand," Ruth said with a smile. "I am going to explain it to you. Mr. Pertell said I might. Now here is the story we are supposed to act out; and, mind you, it is only _supposing_--make believe, as we children used to say."

"Oh, it's make believe; is it?" asked Jack Jepson.

"Yes, just make-believe."

"I had a little gal once--long years ago," he said softly, "an' she used to be great on make-believe games. Is this takin' of them papers a make believe game?"

"Exactly!" chimed in Alice. "My sister and I have to pretend every day.

It's fun!"

"Well, of course I didn't know _that_," said Jack. "Maybe I made a mistake in bein' so quick. There was nothin' wrong in it?" he questioned.

"Not the least in the world," said Ruth. "It is just a game, played for the amus.e.m.e.nt of the public. I'll explain," and from the typewritten scenario she held she went over the outlines of the big marine drama, as one of the authors of the Comet company had written it. As she gave the details, the simple, kindly face of the sailor cleared. His doubts vanished.

"Say, wasn't I th' old landlubber though!" he cried. "T' think I thought I was really committin' a crime. Ha! Ha!"

"Well, your past experience had made you careful," Alice said.

"That's what it had, Miss. It's no fun t' be barred from the ports of the country that has more of 'em than any nation of the world. It hampers a man. But I daren't go on British soil."

"Could they come here and take you?" asked Ruth.

The old man looked around before replying.

"They maybe wouldn't know me," he hoa.r.s.ely whispered. "I've grown a beard since those days."

"Well, then, how would the British authorities know you?" asked Alice with a smile.

"I'm not takin' any chances, Miss," was the answer. And though it might seem to an outsider that it would be safe, under those circ.u.mstances, for Jepson to visit British ports, if he kept away from the island where he had been imprisoned, he could not see it that way.

"No sir!" he exclaimed. "No British ports for mine!"

By this time Mr. DeVere, who had been engaged in finishing a few scenes in a play that had started the day before, came up to join his daughters.

"Well, how is the great marine drama coming on?" he asked, his voice being more hoa.r.s.e than usual. He had done some talking, as he found it helped to give a better idea of the characters he portrayed, but it was not necessary, in these picture plays, to get his voice "over the footlights."

"There has been a halt," explained Ruth with a smile. "This is Jack Jepson, Father. He is to have one of the princ.i.p.al parts, but he balked at some underhand work, and--"

"Pleased t' know you," Jack broke in with a jerky bow. "Your daughter's a smart gal," he said. "She made everything as clear as daylight t' me.

I'm goin' on with th' play now."

"That is when Mr. Pertell is ready," put in Alice. "He seems to have found some difficulty in that cowboy drama."

This was evident, for the Western play had been stopped, and the camera operator, with a weary look on his face, was leaning against a post, as if in despair of ever completing that day's run of film.

"No, no, Mr. Bunn, you must not do it that way," the manager was saying.

"When Ardite, in the character of the young outlaw, shoots at you, stand up without flinching. That's your part--to be indifferent to gunfire."