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Moving Picture Girls, The

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<h2>CHAPTER XX</h2> <h3>FARMER SANDY APGAR</h3> For a moment there was considerable confusion and excitement. Men in pursuit of the frantic animal had rushed after him, calling warnings to those in the zone of danger. Two policemen ran up to intercept the steed. As for the moving picture actresses they hardly knew what to do. If the plunging animal crashed into the gang-plank he might injure a number of the performers, and break the rather frail structure, letting them slip into the water. "That picture will be spoiled!" groaned Mr. Pertell. "No, it won't!" cried Russ. "Go on! I'm getting you all right. The horse isn't in range yet and that young fellow has him now. Go on!" Ruth and Alice gathered courage and the others followed, going through with the little gang-plank "business" called for in the play. And indeed the quick-witted, rustic youth had the frantic horse in a firm grip. He seemed to know just how to handle frightened animals, and by the time the two policemen had reached him, the beast, though still restive, had quieted down. "Good work, young fellow!" called one of the officers. "Whose horse is it?" "I don't know, constable," was the answer, given with a country twang that caused several spectators to smile. "I jest seen him comin' and I see he was headed for them people what's goin' to Europe, I expect. I didn't want their voyage spoiled, so I jest jumped at his head." "Well, you know how to do it, all right," said the second "constable," as the young farmer had called the policemen. "I ought to know how to handle horses," was the answer, as the youth relinquished the reins to the officer. "I've been among 'em all my life. I was brought up on a farm." He looked it, but there was something in his simple, manly face, and in the look of his honest blue eyes, that made one like him. "Good work, all right!" repeated the first officer. "I'll take your name, young fellow, for my report," and he drew out a notebook. "I'll also want to find out to whom the horse belongs, but I s'pose the truckman's license number will be a clue." "He's mine," broke in a voice, as a drayman pushed his way through the crowd. "Some boys got to fooling around him, and he started off. No damage done, I hope." "No," replied the policeman, "but you want to tie your animal after this. He might have hurt someone—probably would have if it hadn't been for this chap. What's your name?" he asked the young farmer. "Sandy Apgar." "And where do you live?" "On Oak Farm." "Never heard of the place," went on the officer, with a smile. "Oh, that's the name of our farm. It's jest outside the town of Beatonville, about forty miles back in Jersey." "Oh, Jersey!" laughed the officer. "No wonder! Well, there's your horse, truckman. And now I want your name." "Can I go, or do I have to appear in court?" asked Sandy Apgar. "I hope I don't, 'caused I'm in a hurry to git back to the farm. I've got a passel of work to do there, with the weather coming on the way it is. "No, I guess you won't have to go to court," laughed the policeman. "We're much obliged to you." "And so am I," added the truckman. "I haven't got any money to give you, because business is poor——" "Oh, that's all right," said Sandy with a generous wave of his hand. "I don't stop runaway horses for a livin'. I farm it." "If you ever want any carting done," went on the drayman, "you send for me, young feller, and it won't cost you a cent." "Guess you wouldn't want to do any cartin' as far as Beatonville," laughed Sandy. "Folks out there don't ever move—they jest die and are buried in the same place. And I guess this is my last trip to New York in a long while. I'm jest as much obliged though," and patting the nose of the now quieted horse, he moved off through the thinning crowd. But he was not to escape unnoticed. Mr. Pertell had learned, by a hasty talk with Russ, that the horse had been stopped just in time to avoid spoiling any of the film. Russ had continued to make the pictures and the first act of the new drama was a success. The other scenes would take place on board the chartered yacht. So when the manager saw Sandy Apgar, who by his quick work had saved a film from being spoiled, making his way out of the throng, the theatrical man called to him: "One moment, please. I want to thank you." "Gosh! I'm getting thanked all around to-day!" laughed the young fellow. "Well, I want to make it a little more substantial, then," went on the manager. "You saved me a few dollars." "Oh, pshaw, that's nothing!" returned Sandy. "I guess your trip to Europe could have gone on." "Europe?" questioned Mr. Pertell. "Yes; ain't you folks going to Europe?" "No, this is only a make-believe trip," laughed the manager. "It's for moving pictures. See, there's the chap who was taking the films, and they'd been spoiled if that horse got on the gang-plank. So you see what you did for us." "Moving pictures; eh?" mused Sandy. "I thought they had to be took in the dark. Leastways, all I ever saw was in the dark." "Oh, that's just to show them," the manager explained. "But we ought to be under way now. Can you come aboard for a little trip? We'll soon be back, and I want to thank you properly. I haven't time now. Come, take a little trip with us." "Well, I s'pose I can," responded Sandy, slowly. "But I ought to be gettin' back to Oak Farm." However, he went aboard the yacht, looking curiously about him, and more curiously at Russ, who began making more pictures as the yacht steamed off down the bay. There were to be a number of scenes on board, but they would not be filmed until the yacht was farther out. Meanwhile, however, the progress of the ship down the bay was to be depicted on the screen, so Russ took pictures from either rail, no members of the company being required in these. Mr. Pertell thus had a chance to talk to Sandy. The young fellow was very willing to tell about himself. "Yes, I live on a farm," he said. "It's a right nice place, too, in summer, though lonesome in winter. I've lived there all my twenty-two years—never knew any other place." "Do you live there all alone?" asked Ruth, for the young farmer had been introduced to the members of the company. "No, my father and mother are there with me. Father is Mr. Felix Apgar—maybe you've heard of him?" the young man asked the manager, innocently. "No, I don't think so," and Mr. Pertell had hard work to repress a smile. "Well, he used to ship a lot of asparagus to New York, but maybe that was before your day," went on Sandy. "Pop is too feeble to work now, so I'm running the farm for him. And it—it's sorter hard," he added, rather pathetically. "Especially when you ain't got any too much money. I come to New York to raise some," he went on, "but folks don't seem to want to part with any—especially on a second mortgage." "Is that what you came for?" asked Mr. Pertell. "Yep. I come to raise some money—we need it bad, out our way, but I couldn't do it." "Suppose you tell me," suggested Mr. Pertell. "I may be able to help you." "Say, Mister, I reckon you've got enough troubles of your own, without bothering with mine," said Sandy. "Besides, maybe Pop wouldn't like me to tell. No, I'll jest make another try somewhere else. But we sure do need cash!" "What for?" asked the manager, impulsively. "Oh, maybe pop wouldn't like me to say. Never mind. It was sure good of you to ask me for this ride. The folks at Beatonville won't believe me when I tell 'em. But say, if ever you folks come out there, we'll give you a right good time—at Oak Farm!" he added, generously. "Is your farm a large one?" asked the manager. "Hundred and sixty acres. Some woodland, some flat, a lot of it hilly and stony, and part with a big creek on it." "Hum," mused Mr. Pertell. "That sounds interesting. I've been looking for a good farm to stage several rural dramas on, and your place may be just what I need." "To buy?" asked Sandy, eagerly. "Oh, no. But I might rent part of it for a time. I'll talk to you about it later. I've got to get some of these scenes going now," and the manager went to confer with Russ. <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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