Читать книгу Ruth Fielding Treasure Hunting - W. Bert Foster - Страница 6

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Those who had known Jabez Potter for long must, like Tom Cameron, have felt surprise at the change in his appearance. The vigorous old miller had suddenly become haggard, worn, and—although not senile—certainly weaker of mind as well as of body than he had been.

He talked for a while with the young ex-soldier. But the doctor had at last impressed Uncle Jabez with his real condition. He must rest. And business worries of any kind were forbidden him.

“It’s mighty tough on you, Ruth,” Tom said, when the young people were together. “Helen says that Uncle Jabez was about ready to go into partnership with you to back the production of your picture.”

“So he was,” sighed Ruth. “Poor man!”

“Poor Ruth!” exclaimed Helen promptly. “I should think you’d quarrel with Fate.”

“I don’t know that that would do any good,” said her chum, with a smile. “I have some money, and with what Uncle Jabez might have been encouraged to put in, I would have risked making the picture.”

“You need at least a hundred thousand dollars?” asked Tom reflectively.

“I should not dare start it without knowing where I could get that amount at least if I should need it.”

“Let Helen and me go in with you,” said Tom.

“No. It is too much of a gamble,” said Ruth. “And besides, I will not sponge on my friends,” she added resolutely.

But, of course, they knew that was not exactly her reason for dismissing their offer without consideration. They knew her too well to insist, however. Helen had already warned Tom that Ruth was determined upon this point.

“What is your idea, anyway?” asked Tom. “Helen and I are not rival producers, so you can safely tell us.”

“Of course I will tell you. Helen knows the germ of the story already,” said Ruth frankly. “It is vague yet; but it deals in my mind with buried treasure. You know everybody is interested in the romance and possibilities of treasure trove.”

“Buried treasure!” exclaimed Tom, with a quick laugh. “Good! I am interested in that myself. Here’s a pirate story I heard the other day—and you can have it for what it is worth, although it cost me ten dollars.”

Laughingly, yet with some earnestness, he told the girls about the wooden-legged man and his story of the supposed treasure chest. His sister was excited, but it was Ruth Fielding herself who showed the deeper interest.

“Why, Tom Cameron, what a perfectly splendid thing!” she cried.

“Let’s get up a searching party and go and find that buried chest,” giggled Helen.

“Do you mean that, too, Ruth?” asked the amused young man.

“No. It was just a yarn, of course. And how those old sailors can spin them! But don’t you see the beautiful possibilities in the tale?”

“Oh! Ah! I see!” said Tom. “For the movies?”

“Oh, Ruthie!” actually squealed Helen, “will you use the story? Then Tom is really a scenario writer.”

“I haven’t written it. And it is that old fellow’s story, not mine. He might write for the screen.”

Ruth laughed and shook her head. “No, no. You miss the point that your wooden-legged man has no ‘heart interest’ in his story—none at all. It would never do for moving pictures—not just as he told it.”

“She means the usual mush they have to put into screen stories to satisfy crazy girls,” said Tom loftily.

“I like that!” began Helen, but Ruth interposed.

“Do let me explain,” she pleaded. “I had an idea about finding treasure in the Antilles. I have the skeleton of a plot. But I can see that by using some of the things that old sailor told Tom I can make a better story. Some of those things he told you——”

“The time he lay out on the deck at night, making believe he was doped, and the cross-eyed Spaniard and the two mulattoes took the treasure chest ashore!”

“That is one scene. And how he watched them go up through the bayonet-grass, carrying the chest to its burial place. And—and——”

“And that bully fight in Pedro’s joint where six of them fell on him and he fought them off with his knife! He can use a knife, too! You know it just by watching him,” cried the now enthusiastic Tom.

“Don’t! Don’t!” begged Ruth, stopping her ears. “Don’t tell me anything more than you have until I have managed to digest the story. It is a big idea. I meant to take a company to the Bahamas, anyway, to make my picture. And we will make our headquarters at Nassau. Hotels are open there in summer, even if the sightseers and tourists are not on the spot. Sea pictures can be taken there all the better in the summer. We’ll find a small island——”

“Say!” gasped Tom, “that old fellow is going to make me a map of the island where the treasure chest was hidden.”

“Magnificent!” cried Helen. “And we’ll hunt around and find the buried chest while Ruthie is shooting her picture.”

“It—it is a great idea,” stammered Tom. “And see how it has grown. Ruth, we must make the picture! It will be a great one.”

But Ruth was shaking her head. Her face had fallen into sober lines. She spoke sorrowfully.

“Poor Uncle Jabez! He might really have helped me. But, whether your sailor was telling you a true story or just a wild yarn, Tom, it is really of no use to me. I can’t make a picture without money—a lot of money. And a lot of money is not within my reach.”