ond.

"Fancy daddy, Russ," laughed Alice, "wanting us to give up a chance to
go to sea just because he dreamed of a shipwreck!"

"Oh, I didn't actually want you to give it up," her father remonstrated.
"Perhaps I was foolish even to mention it. But I can't forget it--I
can't!" and he seemed to look through the walls of the room on some
distant and fateful scene.

"Well, I must be getting back," Russ said. "You've won the rubber, as
usual, Mr. DeVere. Lots to do tomorrow, and I have a new assistant to
break in, so I'll say good-night."

There were busy times for all next day, in the studio of the moving
picture concern. In the big room brilliant with electric lights as well
as from the illumination that came through a sky-glass, there were
several scenes from different dramas being filmed at the same time.

When Ruth and Alice DeVere entered with their father, Mr. Pertell, the
manager of the Comet company, was engaged off to one side, evidently
instructing a man in what he must do before the camera. The man was a
sailor, and it needed but a glance to show that he was a real one, and
not "made up" for the occasion.

"You see," said Mr. Pertell, "you come into the shipping office, and
pretend to hand over the papers. But you slip the clerk the wrong ones,
and while he is examining them you reach over behind him and take the
documents you want."

"Avast there! Belay!" came the hoarse voice of the sailor. "I do that
there, do I?"

"Yes."

"Steal the papers?"

"Well, it isn't _stealing_, exactly. It's only----"

"Stealin' is what I call it, and it can't be called by another name to
my way of thinkin'. It won't do, sir, it won't do! Jack Jepson got into
trouble once, but he isn't goin' to do it again. No sir! That stealin'
won't do for Jack Jepson. You've got to get someone else to sign them
articles for you. No stealin' for Jack Jepson!" and the figure of the
old sailor turned and, with a rolling gait, he started across the big
studio room.

CHAPTER III

SOMETHING OF A MYSTERY

"Look out there!"

"Where you going?"

"Hold him back, somebody! Look out, you'll spoil that scene! Don't cross
in front of the camera!"

Half a dozen frantic voices were calling to the sailor who, with dogged
persistence, kept on, shaking his grizzled and gray head, and muttering
over and over again:

"It won't do for Jack Jepson! No sir! It won't do. I had one experience
with trouble and I don't want any more. No sir