“Now, if I could fit up a dark tent with my show and exhibit films of wild animals as they are in the jungle, people could look at them, and then, by stepping into the next tent, they could see the very animals themselves--at least, some just like those in the pictures. I think it would make a hit.” “It does sound good,” remarked Mr. Ringold, with a theatrical man’s insight into what would please the public. “It’s going to be good!” declared Mr. Stone. “Now, if you boys will make the films, I’ll do the rest. What do you say; is it a go? I’ll pay you what’s right, and the only stipulation is that I am to have an interest in the films, for we can doubtless sell a number of the reels. Will you do it?” Joe and Blake hesitated. The idea appealed to them. Joe looked at his father. “I don’t see why you can’t do this,” said Mr. Duncan. “We have to go to the jungle, anyhow, to find Jessie, and there’s nothing to hinder you from taking moving pictures. I think you may accept the offer.” “That’s the way to talk!” exclaimed Mr. Stone. “Shall we, Blake?” asked Joe. “I’m willing.” “Then it’s a go!” cried his chum. “We’ll do the best we can for you, Mr. Stone.” “Good!” cried the circus man. “Now you’re going to New York, as I understand it. You’ll probably be there a week, won’t you, before you can complete your arrangements for going to Africa?” “Probably,” replied Mr. Duncan. “All right. I’ll come on before then and look you up. I’ve got to go on with the circus for a time, and then my helpers can look after it. I want to be in New York, anyhow, to see about suing the railroad, and that will just fit in. That’s all settled, then? You’ll get pictures for me of the wild animals of the jungle?” “We’ll do our best,” promised Joe and Blake. “Then I’ll see you later and arrange details. Good-bye.” “All aboard!” called the passenger conductor again, and the train, somewhat crippled, pulled away from the scene of the wreck. “Well, what do you know about that?” asked Joe of his chum, when they had settled down, nursing some minor cuts and bruises. “Isn’t that about the limit--filming wild animals in the jungle!” “It sounds strange, but it’s reasonable, I suppose.” “If you got films of the fanatical Indians, I don’t see why you can’t get wild animals,” said Mr. Duncan. “It can’t be much harder than getting the wreck in which I came ashore.” “But it’s more dangerous,” said C. C. Piper, in his most melancholy voice. “Think of standing beside a camera, grinding away at the handle, with a rogue elephant charging at you; or a big rhinoceros. Not for mine! You’ll never come back alive!” “Oh, don’t say such horrid things!” cried Miss Lee. “You are worse than ever, Gloomy.” “Well, it’s so. They’ll have a terrible time. I wouldn’t go for a fortune. New York for mine. We’ll probably be dead when we get there, but we’ll get there.” “Oh, go get something to eat,” advised Mr. Ringold. “That may put you in better humor.”